Anything implicating the other four.
I do explain their part in the water tower, but beyond that, I leave Ellie, Wheeler, Malone, and Adleta out of it. I don’t even tell my parents about the fake website because the pictures on it are from pranks the other four did. So yes, I lie. And I feel bad for doing it, but it’s necessary.
“Is there anything else?” Mom says.
“No.”
“Why didn’t we hear about the water tower from the school when it happened?” Dad says.
The question’s a right hook to the jaw I didn’t see coming. Dad’s staring directly at me, giving me no chance to work up a lie.
“Boyd came and got me,” I say.
Dad sighs and Mom’s eyes narrow. She’s this close to growling.
Uh, sorry, Uncle Boyd.
My parents exchange silent words with a long look, then Mom says, “We’ll pick this up again in the morning, after your father and I have had a chance to talk.”
“Okay,” I say, getting up. “I’m really sorry.”
Neither of them says anything back.
I’m halfway up the stairs when Dad says, “Max, leave your laptop and phone outside your door.”
Um.
Now I understand what it means to break out in a cold sweat.
“Did you hear me, Max?”
“Yes, sir.”
I walk upstairs thinking about my browser history. And my text messages. Usually I’m pretty good at erasing my web adventures, but I can’t remember the last time I cleared my history. If Mom asks me, “Max, why did you do a search for ‘naughty teachers in glasses’?” I may die of embarrassment. But considering the alternatives, that may not be a bad thing.
? ? ?
I make myself a ghost for the rest of the weekend. When I do venture downstairs, Mom and Dad keep to basics, like asking me to pass the mustard or to turn the TV down. I’m told I’m grounded for an indefinite amount of time. My guess is until I’m forty-six. They also break the news that I’m to be charged with trespassing and criminal mischief, which could put me in jail for up to sixty days, along with a $5,000 fine. I could be prison bound by the spring.
On Sunday night, while all of us are in the family room, the doorbell rings. I automatically rise from the couch, but Dad stops me.
“You stay,” he says.
He opens the door, and I hear Ellie’s voice.
“Hi, Mr. Cobb. Is Max here?”
Dad’s normally a big Ellie fan, but not tonight. He blocks the door so she can’t see or come inside.
“He’s not allowed to see anyone right now, Ellie, but I’ll tell him you stopped by.”
“Is everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine. He’s not allowed visitors.”
“Because I’ve texted him and called a bunch of times but haven’t heard back.”
Ellie’s confused and upset—bonus for me?—and suddenly I’m pissed at Mom and Dad for sending her away to worry even more. I stand up and start for the door.
“Max, sit down,” Mom says.
I keep going.
“Maxwell Connor Cobb.”
I clear the corner, and Ellie and I see each other, but Dad blocks me from getting closer.
“I’m okay,” I tell Ellie.
“What happened?” she asks.
“I’m just in some trouble. I’ll talk to you soon.”
“Okay, I guess.”
Dad tells her to be safe driving home before closing the door.
“You should probably get up to bed,” Dad says to me. “We have an early day tomorrow.”
? ? ?
In the morning, I learn something new—school districts have lawyers. In the case of Asheville, the lawyer is Mr. Huelle—rhymes with mule—and he’s about as friendly and personable as his name. He’s in a full suit and sits sour faced beside Mrs. B at the end of a long table in the high school conference room on Monday morning. Also present are Stranko and Hale, who take seats on Mrs. B’s side. Assuming my parents are on my side, which is debatable, I’m outnumbered three to four.
“Jim, Beth, it’s nice to see the two of you. I just wish we were all meeting under different circumstances,” Mrs. B says.
“You and us both, Mrs. Barber,” Dad says.
Mrs. Barber. I guess no matter how old you get, there are just some people you can’t force yourself to call by their first name.
“Well, Max, we’re here today to discuss what happened the other night and what to do about it,” Mrs. B says. “Mr. Stranko has already filled me in on what he saw, but I’d like to hear your version of the events, please.”
Déjà vu all over again.
My right knee bounces spastically underneath the table as I repeat the story I told my parents, about finding the note in my locker and what happened after meeting the Chaos Club at the baseball field. My eyes are glued to the table as I talk, not because I can’t look at Mrs. B but because the three goons sitting beside her are as intimidating as hell.
“I know I shouldn’t have gone, especially after what happened at the beginning of the year, but I felt like I had to.”
“Why?”
“Because I hoped it would give me some clues as to who’s in the Chaos Club.”
“And did it?”