Aftermath(56)

“Josh kept pulling up girls’ skirts to see their underwear. So I showed off his. I tried putting it on the school flagpole, but I wasn’t tall enough to reach the winch.”

“How’d you get his underwear?” Jesse asks.

“I promised I’d never tell. Having his Superman Underoos run up the flagpole was embarrassment enough.”

“I’m glad you’re amused, Jesse, but you both fail to recognize the point, which is that Miss – Skye – has a history of attention-seeking behavior.”

“No,” Jesse says. “She has a history of harmless revenge pranks. Avenging other people.”

“There may be a few actual pranks in my record,” I say. “And sure, pranks by their very nature are designed to get attention, but you’re talking about the kind where someone falls down the steps and says she was pushed. I don’t do that.”

“No?” Mr. Vaughn flips through the pages. “I see several incidents three years ago where you’ve claimed persecution related to the shooting.”

My cheeks heat. “I didn’t claim to be persecuted. I was.”

“There’s no evidence of that.”

Jesse cuts in. “Because bullies know enough not to leave evidence. No one sees it. Even their parents —”

He stops and pulls back sharply.

“You’ll notice I stopped complaining after the first year,” I say. “That’s because I stopped telling anyone. We’re supposed to report bullying, but those who are bullied know that never goes well. That’s why I haven’t reported anything at RivCol.”

“Instead, you’ve staged serious incidents, knowing that reports of simple verbal bullying aren’t taken as seriously —”

“Simple verbal bullying?” Jesse says. “Wow. Are you going to recite the sticks-and-stones line, too?”

“Mr. Mandal.”

I lift my hands. “We aren’t getting anywhere here.”

“I would agree,” Mr. Vaughn says. “You both seem to be under the impression this is a court of law. It’s a school. We have our own investigative practices —”

“What investigative practices?” Jesse says.

I stop him with a look, and then say to Mr. Vaughn, “Okay, I get it. You think I set a fire. When you refused to accuse me of it, you believe I tampered with the newspaper. So open an investigation. I’ll cooperate in every way.”

“I have opened one. And closed it. In light of your previous activity —”

“You mean previously unproven activity? Previously uninvestigated activity?” I shake my head. “Fine. I’ll do my own investigating.”

“An excellent idea. It will keep you occupied during your suspension.”

“Suspension?”

“For a week.”

“You can’t suspend her on a suspicion,” Jesse says. “If you’re accusing her, then do it. That’s why I’m here – to verify everything that happens in this room. And in case you try to claim we both lied?” He holds up his phone. “I’ve been recording this.”

Mr. Vaughn’s jaw works. Then he turns to me. “Whatever else you have done, Miss Gilchrist, this is your gravest offense. Turning a good student into a fellow troublemaker.”

“Good student?” Jesse chokes on a laugh. “You aren’t talking about me, right?”

“You have been a model student, Mr. Mandal.”

“I have a C average, and I don’t know why it’s not a D. I barely show up for class.”

“You’re a star athlete. Your grades may suffer for that, but it’s only a matter of finding balance. Your IQ tests prove you’re very bright. It’s a rare combination – intelligence and athleticism.”

“Athleticism…” A weird note in Jesse’s voice makes me look over.

“Yes,” Mr. Vaughn continues, oblivious. “You’re the best runner this school has seen in years. You inspire the entire team.”

“Inspire?” Jesse’s laugh sends dread prickling down my spine, that first sense of an approaching storm.

“Steroids,” he says.

“I beg your pardon?” Mr. Vaughn says.

“The secret to my success, if you must know. Anabolic steroids. To build my muscles, because I don’t have my brother’s physique. I need ‘help.’ That’s what my trainer says – the trainer who was recommended by Coach Albright when I was trying to decide which high school to attend. I chose Southside, but my parents took your coach’s recommendation. They hired that private trainer to take me ‘to the next level.’ That’s how Coach Albright put it.”

His voice is so eerily calm that I’m sure he’s kidding, and Mr. Vaughn echoes that, saying, “I believe you should leave the jokes to Miss Gilchrist. That particular one could smear the reputation of your entire team.”

“Forget what I said about Albright. Maybe she had no idea how her recommended trainer turned average runners into champion sprinters. This isn’t about dragging your team through the mud. It’s about me. How I got to be the best sprinter in Riverside. Hint? It’s not hard work and dedication.”

I’m staring at Jesse, and he has his gaze fixed on Mr. Vaughn. His voice stays eerily calm, but a bead of sweat trickles down his cheek.