Danny releases the longest sigh in the history of sighs, which immediately makes me feel like such a terrible person for asking him that at this moment. But still, tonight’s events serve as more evidence that Mr. Werner doesn’t deserve to be a teacher.
Danny closes his eyes for a long moment before opening them and sitting back up. But even when he’s sitting upright, he keeps his gaze at his lap, avoiding my eyes. “Sorry. It’s been a shitty night. I mean, not as bad as yours, obviously. But.” He sighs again. “My cousins are in Indo and weekends are always hard on Uncle James, especially in that big house all alone. And then I asked him to look for my old baseball cards, and while he was looking for them in the garage, I went through his home office. It was just—I felt like such a shit, and I didn’t find anything. I’m sorry.”
The disappointment is crushing. Sickening. I haven’t realized just how much hope I’ve pinned on him finding something until this point.
“It’s okay.” It’s not okay. It’s so not, but there’s no use in pushing him. He’s tried his best, and he looks so deflated, I can’t bear to say anything else.
Danny takes my hand, interlaces our fingers. “We’ll find another way,” he says.
It’s all I can do to bring myself to nod. Another way. I close my eyes and try not to think of Sophie, lying alone in Mr. Werner’s office, staring forever at his ceiling.
Chapter 13
The next morning, I take a longer time than usual brushing my hair into a neat ponytail and making sure my uniform’s flawless. Shirt: crisp. Blazer: ironed. Skirt: three fingers above the knee. Socks: four fingers above the ankle. I force myself to focus on each task with a fierce intensity so I don’t have to think about last night, but Sophie haunts every minute I’m awake. Every time I close my eyes, her blank, unseeing face flashes through my mind until I can’t take it any longer. I need to talk to someone. A grown-up. Someone who will solve everything.
I can’t stomach the thought of going to breakfast. I haven’t even dared to look at my phone. I know DD has probably blown up with stories about last night, and I don’t want to know all the nasty gossip that must have been posted about Sophie. I don’t want to see my classmates’ faces at the dining hall, eating while gossiping with barely concealed glee about Sophie. Once I’m dressed, I head straight to the principal’s office.
The receptionist is a kindly old lady who takes one look at my pale face and somber expression and says, “Let her finish her coffee first. It’ll be best for everyone.” I give her a weak smile and sit there, wringing my hands, until the receptionist nods and tells me it’s probably safe for me to go in. My legs are all wobbly when I get up.
Mrs. Henderson sits behind a stupidly huge mahogany desk. It’s the kind of desk a dude might buy to compensate for smaller things. Or maybe the kind of desk one buys to intimidate the shit out of problematic students. It’s working. I feel tiny and dispensable.
She looks up when I enter, and I swear she actually sighs. “Ah, Lia Setiawan.”
Why does she know my name? Does she know the name of every student here? Considering there are over a thousand students in this school, probably not, which brings us back to the first question: Why does she know mine?
“Sit down, Lia.”
I do as she says, reminding myself not to pick at my fingernails or fidget or anything. Mrs. Henderson looks harried, the lines on her face deeper than usual, locks of hair flying loose from her usually flawless bun. I realize belatedly that she must have spent all night putting out fires everywhere and that maybe this isn’t the best time for me to…do whatever the hell it is I’m trying to do.
“What can I do for you?” Mrs. Henderson says with a small, tight smile. A smile that obviously takes a lot of effort to put on.
“Um, I—um, I came here to talk about, um—” Stop saying um. “Ummm…” I clear my throat. My fists are clenched. “I wanted to talk about last night.”
Mrs. Henderson’s lips tighten, like a purse whose strings are being tugged closed. “I’m sorry, but I cannot discuss any details regarding last night.”
“No, I know, I’m not here to talk about Sophie—well, I sort of am—but only in relation to Mr. Werner.”
Now a frown appears on her face, and she clasps her hands and leans forward. “Mr. James Werner, your English Lit teacher? What about him?”
God, here it goes. My hands clench tightly. “Um, it’s going to sound really crazy.”
She utters a sharp, bitter laugh. “Given the night we’ve all just had, I think it’s safe to say nothing else will faze me now.”
“Okay,” I manage. I take a deep breath, then I tell her everything. Mr. Werner’s class, track and Mandy, dating Danny. She frowns when I tell her about failing English Lit, looking concerned. With shaky, sweaty hands, I lay out all the pieces of evidence I have—printouts of my emails with SiliconBrains, the copy of the test SiliconBrains gave me, pictures of Sophie’s messages on my walls, and my English Lit test papers.
Mrs. Henderson flips through the papers, and the whole time, the groove between her eyebrows deepens, but she says nothing as I babble on until I get all the way to last night. “And I think he was doing the same thing to Sophie, which was why she—”
“Let me stop you right there,” she says, holding up her hand. “We’re not going to make wild guesses on Sophie Tanaka or any other students or ex-students here, okay?” She sounds so stern that my insides shrivel up and I quickly nod.
“Yeah, of course. Sorry, I didn’t mean to be disrespectful.”
She makes a “hmm” noise, like she’s not convinced, then she frowns at me again. “Is that why you were at Mr. Werner’s office last night? You told the officers that it was a dare. But it wasn’t, was it?”
My mouth opens, but no words refuse to come out. Why would she ask me about that? Who cares why I was there, especially after everything I’ve just told her?
Seconds crawl by painfully before I finally manage to say, “Uh, sort of. I just. Um, ignoring the events of last night, because you’re right,” I add quickly, “I’m not here to gossip about Sophie at all, I guess I’m here because I needed to tell you about what’s been going on with Mr. Werner. About him selling grades to students.”
Mrs. Henderson’s eyes close, and she pinches the bridge of her nose like she’s trying to wish away my presence. After a while, she clicks her tongue and says, “Alright. Hang on a second, Lia.”
She picks up her desk phone and taps a number. “Morning, April. I need you to look into an email account for me. The address is [email protected]. Yes, this person—oh right.” She puts a hand over the receiver and says, “Lia, April has to go into your email account in order to trace the messages from SiliconBrains. Is that all right with you?”
“Uh.” I mentally scroll through the latest messages in my email. Anything bad or embarrassing? Not that I can remember.
“Lia?” Mrs. Henderson is watching me expectantly.
“Yeah, okay.”