The Way You Make Me Feel(8)

“Is the cafeteria okay? How bad is the fire damage? Did anyone get injured?” Rose’s mom asked, her voice in professional lawyer mode. Joanne Carver was kind of a big deal around LA because she had been the prosecuting lawyer in a big police-beating case a few years back. She’d also been featured on the cover of Ebony magazine and was named one of People’s Most Beautiful People. So there was that.

“Well, Mrs. Carver, the fire was contained, and it was only the stage that was damaged. And, thank God, there were no injuries. No thanks to these two.”

My dad glanced over at me. “So what happened, exactly?”

Principal Sepulveda wagged a finger at both of us. “Why don’t you two let us know what happened? From Mr. Sinclair’s account, it was very confusing.”

From his corner, Mr. Sinclair began to stand, kind of crouching there and holding up a hand, like he was a student asking for permission. “Uh, I think it was because Clara won prom queen.”

“You won?” My dad whipped around to look at me.

I shrugged.

“Yes, she won,” Rose interrupted. “And it was a joke. She went up there on a skateboard and gave a speech. I mean, who does that? And then! The best part: one of her lackeys dropped a bucket of blood on her head.”

My dad let out a snort of laughter. Principal Sepulveda shot him a reproachful look, and he turned the laugh into a cough.

Rose’s mom threw her hands into the air. “So what, Rose?” At the same time, Rose’s dad looked over at me. “Oh, like Carrie?”

Betrayal flashed across Rose’s face for a second as she looked at her mom. “So what? Mom, she made the entire thing a joke.”

“Well, Rosie, it’s not exactly the most important thing in the world,” her dad said with exasperation.

Rose’s voice shook with emotion. “It’s important to me!”

The room grew silent, and I shifted in my seat. Rose’s feelings about prom were seriously cramping my prank style. In the many years I’d known Rose, I’d never seen her so rattled before.

“Okay, so then what happened?” her mom asked more gently. Rose stubbornly set her jaw.

Pivoting slowly on his sneakered heel, my dad looked at me. Pointedly.

I sighed, clomping my boots down onto the linoleum floor with a loud thud. “This nutjob attacked me.”

My dad rolled his eyes. “Clara, give me a break.”

“It’s true! Tell them, Mr. Sinclair!” I twisted around to look at him in the corner.

He cleared his throat. “Well, it does seem like Rose started the fight.”

Mrs. Carver stared at Rose. “Is this true?”

Rose looked straight ahead at a spot on the wall and nodded without saying anything.

“Yeah, you know it’s true,” I said. “She literally tried to take this stupid crown off my head and then we ended up … I dunno, fighting and stuff.”

Mrs. Carver looked at me. “Can you clarify that?” Dang, no wonder Rose was always so precise in her language. And even though I tried to remain cool, being the object of Mrs. Carver’s attention was like having the Eye of Freaking Sauron on you.

“We fought.”

“Physically?” she asked, her voice a little more high-pitched this time.

“Yup. Your daughter sure knows how to fight dirty.”

My dad poked me. “Watch it.” He looked over at Rose’s parents, his face a mask of deep shame for having me as a child. “Listen, I’m sure it was all Clara’s fault. She pulled that Carrie stunt to provoke people, which is exactly what happened. She can take full responsibility.”

“What!” I exclaimed.

But Mrs. Carver was already shaking her head. “No, Rose is to blame, too, for losing her cool.” She turned to Rose again. “We’re having a little discussion later.”

Principal Sepulveda raised her hands. “Both of the girls are at fault here. Clara, you pulled another crazy stunt that was not only … disturbing, but dangerous, with the fake blood. Which happened to be flammable.” My dad dropped his head and shook it. Principal Sepulveda looked over at Rose. “Rose, you started a fight. And all those things added up to almost burning down the cafeteria. You are both suspended for a week.”

“Suspended?” Rose cried, jumping out of her seat. “I cannot be suspended! This is ridiculous!”

“YOU. STARTED. A. FIRE!”

Principal Sepulveda’s booming voice startled us, and I let out an involuntary nervous laugh. Everyone’s heads swiveled toward me.

My dad stared at me with an unrecognizable stony expression. Something had transformed since he walked in—his typical loose, relaxed demeanor had solidified into something tougher, more stern. “This one isn’t going to learn anything from another suspension,” he said calmly.

Pardon? This one?! I opened my mouth to respond, but he held up a hand. “Quiet. Not another word. You’re going to pay back the damages for the cafeteria. And you’re going to do it by working the KoBra. All summer.”

“WHAT!” This time it was my turn to jump out of my seat. “There’s no freaking way. What about Tulum?” I sputtered to my dad, standing directly in front of him.

But Pai shook his head, resolute. “This is what a punishment is. All your wages from this summer will go toward paying back the school.”