Worse yet, Mr. Pierce seemed to be the only teacher who was on my side. In French class Mrs. Johanson (2-2-2031) snapped at me for using the wrong preposition while Mike Dougherty (5-6-2067) had done the very same thing right before and she hadn’t even blinked. Stubs leaned forward from behind me and whispered, “Why’re they all acting so weird around you?”
I didn’t answer him, because out in the hallway I heard Harris call to a student caught out of class after the bell. It suddenly dawned on me that maybe nobody knew I’d been called into the FBI offices over the weekend, but they could know about the meeting in Principal Harris’s office. The faculty’s reaction was too intense for them to have just learned that I’d met with the agents. They seemed to know the details of the conversation in Harris’s office, which meant it could only have come from Harris himself.
I didn’t know if he was allowed to tell the other teachers about what was said, but it was pretty obvious that he had, and it really upset me. I started to wonder who else he’d told. The news reporters covering the story were saying what a monster Tevon’s murderer was, and after seeing the photo of his dead body, I knew that firsthand. It was bad enough to think that Agents Wallace and Faraday thought me capable of doing something like that to a young kid, but it was a whole different kind of nightmare to think that all my teachers believed I was capable of that, too.
As if to have my worst fears confirmed, a little later as I was leaving Precalc, Mr. Chavez said, “Did you really kill that kid, Fynn?”
He’d spoken so low I almost hadn’t heard him, but when I glanced up he was looking at me the way Wallace had, like he simply knew I was guilty. Immediately, I dropped my gaze and bolted out of there. Stubs had to run to catch up. “Hey!” he called, following me to a barely used stairwell. “Mads! What’s going on?”
“It’s nothing,” I said, trying to hide my face from him. I didn’t want to make a bigger deal out of it than it already was, and I was terrified everyone else at school was going to find out.
Stubby frowned and caught my arm to stop me from walking away. “Will you talk to me, please? Seriously, what’s up?”
I took a deep breath. “I’m pretty sure Mr. Harris told the other teachers about the meeting with the feds in his office.”
“Whoa,” he whispered. “Can he do that?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know, but it doesn’t matter now because obviously the word’s out, and pretty soon, the whole school will know and everybody’s gonna think I’m a murderer.”
Stubs eyed me with a bit of humor. He always knew when I was being melodramatic, but this time I wasn’t playing. I was actually crazy scared. “Hey,” he said. “Don’t think like that, okay? None of the kids know yet, right? And maybe the teachers will keep it on the down low until the feds actually catch the guy who did this.”
A sudden and terrible thought occurred to me. “But what if they don’t, Stubs? What if they never catch the killer and this hangs over me forever?”
Stubby turned me forward to walk with him and nudged me with his shoulder. “You can’t let yourself go there. You have to believe that the feds just need a little time to do their thing and figure it out, and then everybody’s gonna look totally stupid for thinking it could’ve been you.”
The warning bell rang, and Stubby quickened his steps, hooking his arm through mine. “Come on,” he said. “Try not to think about it, okay?”
I let him pull me along to our next class, but for the rest of the day I avoided looking at anything besides the textbook in front of me.
After school I hurried to meet Stubs out by the bike rack. I found him standing next to my bike with a wad of paper towels again. There were even more eggs this time. “I hate those two,” I spat as he and I worked to get the gunk off. From nearby we could see Eric and Mario laughing and poking each other.
To add insult to injury, at that moment Cathy and a group of her friends walked by. “Ewwww,” they said collectively as we sopped up the mess. I felt my cheeks sear with heat.
“Ignore ’em,” Stubby advised.
I knew he was right, but I couldn’t help looking up to glare at them as they passed. And it was then that I noticed Principal Harris standing near the door watching Stubs and me. He then looked over at Mario and Eric, who were still laughing it up, and then Harris simply turned and headed back inside.
I felt something bitter twist inside of me.
“There!” said Stubs, pulling my attention back. “Good as new.” He’d gotten the last of the egg off and was grinning brightly at me.
“Thanks,” I told him. I really wanted to get the hell out of there.
“Hey,” Stubs said as I straddled the bike and we set off for home. “You ready for the game on Friday?”
I sighed. It’d been such a bad day that it was hard to focus on something good. “What time are we meeting up?” I asked, still a bit distracted.
“I figure if we get there before seven we can grab a good seat. Unless you want to go to the cheer-off at three?”
I cocked my head at him. “The what?”
Stubs grinned. “The Jupiter cheerleaders challenged our squad to a cheer-off. That’s at three.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. Stubby was so adorably devoted to our cheerleading squad—one of the best in the state—that it cracked me up. I think his unique fascination started when Stubs was younger and he used to sit with his dad on Sunday afternoons and watch football. His dad, who was from Texas, always rooted for the Cowboys, and when the Dallas team wasn’t performing well, which was often, his dad would focus on the league’s best cheerleaders. Stubs, who was super klutzy, never really got into football, but he had become enamored with all those pretty girls shakin’ their moneymakers and doing their flips, twists, and turns. Cheer combined two things Stubs idolized: pretty people and great coordination. He loved it. “I hear Jupiter’s got a great squad this year,” I said, just to taunt him.