One Small Thing(57)

“Did you see him not pull the alarm?”

I pause, not quite understanding the question.

“Go to class,” Chase says in a voice that is more tired than confrontational.

“You heard your boyfriend. Go back inside.” The officer jerks his head toward the brick building. “Kids these days. No sense at all,” he mutters to his coworker. “Come on. In you go.” He jerks Chase forward.

I try to intervene and am met with a hard arm.

“Go inside,” the cop orders.

“He’s not my boyfriend. And I’m telling you the truth. He didn’t do this.”

“You can make a statement at the station.”

“But—”

“Don’t” is Chase’s urgent whisper.

The look of pain on his face wounds me. Without another word, I spin on my heel and run in the opposite direction toward the school. Screw this. The cops obviously don’t want to hear what I have to say. Chase doesn’t even want me to say what I have to say.

But there’s no way I’m letting this happen.

There are more whispers as I sprint past groups of students. Words pelting me like sharp sleet.

“Isn’t that Beth Jones?”

“What was she doing with him?”

“You’d think she had better taste.”

I burst into the principal’s office to find it thick with adults. I search for Principal Geary, standing up on my tiptoes to see over the heads of people crowded in the administration hallway. I give up and arrow to the front desk.

“Where’s Principal Geary?” I ask our receptionist.

“He’s busy, dear.” She barely looks up from her computer.

“I know, but—” I spot him out of the corner of my eye, huddling with a few other teachers. “Mr. Geary!”

“Beth—” the receptionist intervenes.

I ignore her. “Mr. Geary.” I wave my hand in the air.

He walks over. “What is it, Elizabeth?”

“It’s about Chase—I mean, Charlie. Donnelly. It’s about him. I know—I saw—He’s not.” I can’t get the words straight.

“It’s all right.” He pats me on the shoulder. “This should be enough to get him expelled.”

“But he didn’t do it,” I cry, throwing up my hands in frustration.

“You don’t need to stand up for him. It’s admirable that you want him to get a fair shot here and we gave him one. Now it’s time for him to get his education in a place that doesn’t disrupt the rest of you.” Geary smiles with encouragement and turns away.

I could scream. No one is listening to me. Absolutely no one. I feel the tears coming and I blink through the stinging sensation. I don’t care how mad I am right now. I cannot cry. Everyone is already not taking me seriously. Tears will just make me look hysterical.

I scan the room frantically, looking for someone—anyone who will take me seriously.

When I spot my guidance counselor, I hustle over and tug on her sleeve. “Ms. Tannenhauf, please listen to me.”

“What is it?” she asks, turning in my direction.

I launch into my defense. “Charlie didn’t do it. I was with him—um, walking right beside him when the alarm sounded. He got called to the principal’s office because his probation officer was on the phone, but the probation officer wasn’t on the line. You can call the officer. There have to be records, right?”

Ms. T squeezes my shoulder. “I’m sure they’ll check all those details out at the station.”

Will they? Why would they? They have their target, and I’m afraid Chase won’t speak up for himself. He doesn’t want to cause trouble.

“Take me there,” I beg.

“Where?” She smiles, not comprehending my request at all.

“To the station. I need to go there. Nobody is listening to me here.”

Enlightenment dawns, and with it a frown of disapproval. “You should go back to class, Beth.”

That’s when I lose it. With a dark glare, I plant my hands on my hips and face off with the guidance counselor. “All my life you teachers have said that we need to stand up and do the right thing. That if we see someone being bullied, we need to say something. If there’s something bad going down, we don’t turn away. That it takes one voice to make a difference. Well, I’m that voice.” I jab my thumb in my chest.

Around me the room has fallen silent. The teachers and administrators are staring at me. I might’ve been shouting, but I force myself to lift my chin and not avert my eyes. I’m doing the right thing here. I’m not going to be embarrassed.

“Please.” I direct one last plea in my guidance counselor’s direction.

She sighs, but nods. “Okay. I’ll take you down.”

“Emma, do you think that’s wise?” Mr. Geary interjects.

“Yes, I do. It’s the police station, Jim. What could happen there?”

I hope exoneration.

*

The ride to the police station is quiet. Ms. Tannenhauf doesn’t play any music, so the car is filled with road noise and the engine of her white Toyota Camry. I twist my fingers in my lap, wishing that the drive wasn’t taking so long.

Ms. T keeps glancing at me, questions in her eyes. I don’t want to talk about Chase, though.