Sawyer felt her jaw tighten. “You mean because my boyfriend died? Because I’m fragile and they make me take drugs?”
Redness bloomed in Ms. Alum’s cheeks. “No, that’s not it. And antidepressants are nothing to be ashamed of, Sawyer. They’re medicine for an illness that you have. You’ll get better.”
She batted her big eyes, and Sawyer felt slightly sorry for the curt way she bit off her words.
“I’m just here in case you want to talk, to share any feelings of unfinished business or if you want to talk about how you are feeling.”
Sawyer pinched a piece of Styrofoam from her cup. “I feel fine.”
“Okay,” Ms. Alum said slowly, “then you won’t mind answering a few questions for Detective Biggs.”
“Wait, what? Why do I need to answer more questions?” Sawyer spun around in her chair to focus on Detective Biggs, trusty notebook still poised in one hand, pen in the other.
“Again, I’m sorry we have to meet again this way. I’ll try my best to make it quick and painless.”
“Are you allowed to do this?” Sawyer asked, suddenly nervous, suddenly gripping the armrests of the cheap leather chair she sat in.
“Principal Chappie got the okay from your parents.”
“From my parents? My mother is an attorney. There is no way she’d let you question me especially when I don’t know anything—anything about Mr. Hanson.” She began gathering her backpack. “I need to get back to class.”
Detective Biggs pushed the end of his pen against Sawyer’s arm. “Your mother was at home when we called.”
“No, she—Tara? You mean Tara. You talked to Tara, my stepmother. She can’t—she can’t say what I should do.” Sawyer felt her words trailing off. “She doesn’t know what I can do.”
“Your father called back and agreed. I spoke to him personally. Is there a reason you don’t want to talk to me today, Sawyer?” Detective Biggs’s deflated balloon cheeks pressed up into a weird smile. “You’re not in any trouble. We’re just trying to get a clear picture of what happened in the hours before Mr. Hanson’s death.”
Sawyer pulled her sleeves down over her hands, fisted them. “Then why are you asking me?”
“Mr. Hanson had his grade book open to your file. It looked like he was making notes. Did you talk to him about that?”
Sawyer just shook her head, staring at the sweater wrapped over her knuckles.
“Did you see Mr. Hanson after school, Sawyer?”
Sawyer felt the same prick of disgust crawl up the back of her neck. “Yeah. Just for some”—she paused, sucked in a steadying breath—“just for some homework help.”
“About what time was that?”
Sawyer shrugged. “Two, almost three o’clock, I guess.”
“And can you tell us what transpired when you saw Mr. Hanson for homework help?”
“What transpired?”
“What happened, Sawyer?”
Sawyer tucked her knees to her chest. “Nothing. He gave me my test. I got a bad grade. He told me how I could improve it.”
“And how was that?”
Sawyer bit her lip. “Um, extra credit.”
“Extra homework, worksheets, stuff like that?”
Sawyer nodded. “Uh-huh. Stuff like that.”
“And how was Mr. Hanson when you left him?”
Lecherous, Sawyer wanted to reply, blue-balled. Instead, she just shrugged. “Fine, I guess.”
“No signs of respiratory distress?”
Sawyer wagged her head, bit her thumbnail. “No.”
Detective Biggs wrote something on his notepad, tapped the end of his pen against it as if considering his next question carefully. “Was he eating anything? Did he have any food on his desk that you could see? Did he offer you anything to eat?”
“No. Nothing that I could see,” Sawyer said. “And he was fine when I left.”
Biggs puckered his lips. “And you didn’t give him anything? A snack, a cookie or—”
Sawyer felt herself gape as terror seized her heart. “You think I did this?”
“No, no,” Ms. Alum broke in.
“We’re just trying to get a clear picture of—”
“Of what transpired, I know. But I didn’t do anything. I didn’t force-feed him peanuts or anything. Is that what you think?”
“We know that you wouldn’t do anything deliberate like that. But just so I know, how did you know it was peanuts Mr. Hanson consumed?”
Sawyer’s mouth fell open. “I—Principal Chappie told me.”
Principal Chappie’s eyes widened, pinning Sawyer. “But everyone knew it,” Sawyer backpedaled, “everyone knew that was what Mr. Hanson was allergic to. He had a no-peanut sign up in his classroom.”
“A no-peanut sign?” Detective Biggs asked.
“You know, like, Mr. Peanut with a red slash across him.” Sawyer made the sign of a circle and a slash with her hands, then felt immediately ridiculous doing so. “Everyone knew,” she finished softly.
“That’s fine, Sawyer, thanks. Now, after you met with Mr. Hanson, did you drive home right after school?”