His explanation didn’t make me feel better, because in my world here at Poplar Hollow High, the public had already found me guilty and I was paying the price for it. “Oh,” was all I could say.
Donny took up my hand again and swung it back and forth. “Hey,” he said. “Buck up, li’l camper. Let’s have our talk with the superintendent, and then let’s see about chasing down that lead that’ll help Stubs.”
When we got to the principal’s office, I noticed that all but one of the secretaries had gone home. The woman who remained was Miss Langley (7-22-2076), and when she saw me, she offered me a nervous smile. She’d been the witness to Mr. Harris’s last, dismissive conversation with me.
“You can go right in,” she told us, and Donny led the way into Principal Harris’s office.
I was surprised to find a petite Asian woman with shiny black hair and knobby jewelry sitting there. “Mr. Fynn,” she said warmly, getting to her feet to come around and shake his hand. “Thank you for coming on such short notice.”
She then introduced herself to me. “You must be Madelyn.” I shook her hand and nodded. “I’m Mrs. Matsuda, the superintendent of schools”
Mrs. Matsuda (1-15-2056) then pointed to the two chairs in front of the desk, and we all took our seats. For the next hour, I was asked to tell her exactly what’d been happening at the school since word got out that my best friend had been arrested for the murder of Payton Wyly and my house had been searched by the FBI. After that, Donny showed her the picture of my bike, my locker, and the stairwell where Mario and Eric had jumped me. She remained silent as I told her what’d been going on, and her face betrayed nothing of what she might be thinking—not even when she saw the image of the garbage heap that’d once been my bike.
At last I was done, and she started to ask me questions. She’d been taking notes all along, and I realized some of what she’d been jotting down were questions that she wanted to ask me. They weren’t all about the bullying in the hallways or the hard time Mr. Harris and a few of the teachers were giving me, but things like how long had Stubby and I been friends? Did I like going to school at Poplar Hollow High? And, most interesting of all, she said that she’d heard about my special ability and found it very intriguing. “Can you see everyone’s deathdate, Maddie?” she asked me.
I nodded.
“Really?” She didn’t seem doubtful so much as surprised.
“Yes, ma’am. I can see them on anyone as long as I’m within about four or five feet of them. I can also see them on a person in a photograph as long as it’s not taken from too far away.”
“What if the person is already dead?”
I shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. Their deathdate still shows up even if it’s in the past.”
Donny sat forward, but he didn’t comment. I could tell that he was prepared to stop me from answering any question she might ask that could be used against me later.
Mrs. Matsuda stood up and moved over to a row of books. I saw that they were all the textbooks we used here at the high school. Taking one down she thumbed through it. “This is the senior history book,” she said. And then she paused about the middle of the book and turned it toward me. On the page was a black and white photo of a bearded man in period attire. “Do you know who this is?” she said, careful to hold her hand over the caption underneath the photo.
I leaned forward to really look at the picture, then shook my head. “No, ma’am.”
“Can you see his deathdate?”
“December tenth, eighteen ninety-six, ma’am.”
Mrs. Matsuda’s brow shot up. “You’re correct, Maddie,” she told me, turning the book back toward her. “That is Alfred Nobel. He invented dynamite.”
I looked at Donny, but he seemed focused on Mrs. Matsuda. The superintendent then thumbed a few more pages and swiveled the book toward me again. “How about this woman. Do you know her?”
That photo was far more contemporary, but I still didn’t recognize the woman. “No, ma’am. I don’t know her.”
“What about her deathdate?”
“March twenty-sixth, twenty eleven.”
Mrs. Matsuda sat down and stared at me with a mixture of wonder and disbelief. “You really don’t know who she was?” she pressed.
I shook my head. “No, ma’am. I’m sorry.”
Mrs. Matsuda chuckled. “There’s no need to be sorry. That’s a photo of Geraldine Ferraro. She was the first female candidate for vice president of the United States. She was a personal hero of mine, and she died of cancer a few years ago. I don’t know the exact date, but I’ll bet if I look it up you’ll be right.”
And then Mrs. Matsuda reached down to her pocketbook and pulled out her iPhone. Thumbing through it she finally turned it toward me. Pictured there was the superintendent with her arm around an older woman who bore a slight resemblance to her. “Can you tell me the deathdate for the woman sitting next to me?” she asked.
I squinted and bit my lip when I saw the numbers. “She died last month, ma’am. The twentieth of October. I’m really sorry.”
Mrs. Matsuda’s eyes misted, and she put the phone to her chest. “It’s okay, Maddie. My mom was sick for a long time.”
After tucking her phone back into her purse, Mrs. Matsuda moved a manila file from the right of the desk over to the center and opened it. She then ran her fingers down the side of the top page, and I wondered what was in the folder, and then she began to read from it. “Madelyn Fynn; junior; cumulative GPA of three-point-eight-five. Fourth in your class with an excellent attendance record.” I realized then that she was reading from my student file. “Last summer, you contributed one hundred and sixty hours of community service to Habitat for Humanity; you are a member of the Concerned Students for Animal Welfare; and your PSAT scores from last year put you in the ninety-seventh percentile overall.”