You'd Be Home Now (71)

“No. Yes. S-sort of.” I can’t help but stammer. “He didn’t actually hit him or anything. Gage slipped. I swear, he slipped on the grass before Joey got to him.”

She folds her hands. “I understand. There are some differing stories, but I’m sure the truth will come out. I’m a little concerned about something else right now.”

I brace myself. I think I know what’s coming. But what are they going to do, expel me? Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. I’d have to go away to boarding school, probably, but at least I’d be far from here.

She reaches into her desk drawer and pulls out a phone.

“This is Mr. Galt’s phone. Someone found it on the practice field and turned it in this morning. It wasn’t locked, and in an attempt to determine whose it was, we looked through it.”

She presses the phone and turns it toward me.

There I am, in my window.

Fingers pushing the side of my pajama pants down. A hand pushing one side of my shirt up.

My blood runs cold at the same time my face gets very, very hot. This is not something I wanted anyone to ever see, least of all my principal.

    He said he deleted them. And he didn’t. He lied to me. He lied.

“I don’t—”

“This wasn’t taken on school property, but both of you are minors—and of course I’m not trying to shame you. But it has come to my attention that this photo, and others on the phone, may have been shared before the phone was turned in.”

She hands me a tissue. I wipe my eyes. I do not want to sob in front of her, so I try to be very quiet with my crying.

“I know that high school can be very rough, and that you’ve had a hard time this year. With the accident. Your brother. I know what’s been happening with your peers today and I think, just for a day or two, that you should think about staying home. Let things simmer a bit.”

“Am I getting suspended? Expelled? I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Not a suspension. Not at all. I just think you should stay home. I’ve called your father to come get you. He’s on his way.”

“You called my dad?” Oh my god.

I’m going to have to talk to my dad in the car about sexy window photos with my not-boyfriend. Photos that my dad has probably seen by now.

I thought things couldn’t get worse, but evidently, they can.

“Your mother was in court, so yes, we had to call your father.”

Oh, god. My mother. Boarding school is looking better and better.

    The phone on her desk lights up. “Yes,” she says, picking up the receiver. “I’ll send her out.”

She puts the phone down. “Your father is here, Emory.”



* * *



—

My dad is waiting by Mrs. Tisby’s desk. He gives me that specific grimace parents have when they’re boiling with emotion but don’t want to show it in public.

The silence between us lasts through the hallway and until we’re out in the parking lot.

I steel myself, waiting for him to yell at me for interrupting his work, or for the photos, but he doesn’t.

Instead, he just turns to me and shakes his head.

“Oh, Emory,” he says sadly. “How did we end up here?”

And I don’t know what to say to that, because it’s all too much to put into words.

Then he’s hugging me, something he hasn’t done in a long, long time, and I’m crying against his jacket.



* * *



—

We’re walking to the car when I hear my name. I turn around.

It’s Amber, Joey’s tutor. She runs up to us.

“Hey,” she says.

“Hey,” I say back. “Uh, Dad, this is Amber, Joey’s tutor.”

“Hello,” he says.

“Hi.” She turns to me. “Listen, if you see Joey, will you tell him that what happened…on Friday? What that girl said. It doesn’t matter to me. Will you tell him that?”

“Why can’t you just tell him yourself?” I say. “Aren’t you supposed to be tutoring him right now?”

    She shakes her head. “No, he didn’t show up. I’ve been waiting, and I texted him, but he hasn’t answered.”



* * *



—

My dad and I sit in his car in the visitors’ parking lot. We’re both texting Joey, the photos of me forgotten for now, but getting no replies.

“Where do you think he could be?” my dad asks.

I shake my head. “Should we call the police? What if something happened to him?”

I’m nervous, thinking about the dance, and the Oxy, and that maybe, just maybe, he’s doing something like that right now.

Joey you have to answer, I text.



* * *



—

My dad drives around Mill Haven. “Maybe he’s parked somewhere,” he says. “I don’t know. I’m at a loss, frankly. With everything.”

He sounds exhausted.

“I know you’re mad,” I say slowly. “And I’m sorry.”

My dad sighs. “I’m not mad at you, Emory. I might be a bit disappointed, but I’m not mad. And if I am mad, it’s more at myself than you.”