My parents graduated from this very high school with Stranko twenty years ago, and all you need to know is that Stranko was voted Most Likely to Be Accused of Police Brutality. Cop, vice principal—there’s really no difference. Supposedly, Stranko’s been waiting for Mrs. B to retire so he can take over, but every year she returns, and you just know it makes Stranko want to scream his throat bloody. To make matters worse, Stranko hates me. It turns out he takes it personally if you quit his summer lacrosse camp two days in. And yes, you read that right—in my search for some purpose, I tried lacrosse. Feel free to laugh hysterically. Everyone else sure did.
“Well, good evening, everyone,” Mrs. B says. “This certainly isn’t the preferable way to meet, is it? Kids, whatever happened to causing trouble during school hours? It’s way past my bedtime.”
Everyone laughs politely. Minus Stranko.
“To keep this orderly, I’d like to hear from Officer Hale first, then the students, before opening the floor to everyone else,” Mrs. B says. “Officer Hale, will you get us started?”
“Yes, ma’am. At approximately ten o’clock, I received an anonymous text reporting vandalism occurring at the water tower located on school grounds. Living close by, I drove over immediately. I quickly discerned something was amiss because the tower lights were off. When I parked, I could hear voices from up top. I ordered them down, and here we are, presently.”
“Wait,” Wheeler says, his head cocked, “you do know you’re not a real cop, right?”
Mama Wheeler rolls her eyes in an exhausted See what I have to live with? way before smacking Wheeler’s head.
“Thank you, Officer Hale,” Mrs. B says. “And for the defense?”
Ellie looks shamefaced at the table.
Malone’s face scrunches up like she doesn’t know how to start.
Wheeler picks at his fingernail with a paper clip.
And Adleta looks like he’s just been wheeled out from electroshock therapy.
“Well?” Mrs. B says. “Anyone?”
“We were set up,” I blurt.
I glance around the table, just as surprised by my outburst as everyone else. I slouch in my seat but fail to disappear completely.
“Would you care to elaborate?” Mrs. B asks.
Malone gives me a nod of encouragement, and when my silent prayer for a sudden embolism isn’t answered, I open my mouth. What follows is a ramble about the Chaos Club notes we received and the instructions to climb the tower. It’s sloppy storytelling at best, but the longer I talk, the easier the words come. I finish with, “Right after we saw the golden shower thing, Hale showed up. And that’s it.”
Mrs. B looks like she believes me. But Stranko’s glaring at me with such intensity I have to look away.
“Where are your parents?” he says to me, then turns to Hale. “Did you call his parents?”
“He said they were out of town. I left a message with his guardian.”
“Out of town?” he says to me.
“They left yesterday for Seattle for a broadcasting convention. Dad’s one of the speakers. I’m staying with a family friend.”
“Seattle, huh?” he says. “And who is this person supposedly watching you?”
Stranko sounds like he’s going to call bullshit on me. And when he does, the first thing he’ll do is leave the room and call my house. Then it’s RIP Not Max.
“I asked who’s watching you,” Stranko says.
And right as Not Max is about to fold, the universe gives me the first real break of my life, and in a moment of perfect timing, the conference room door opens.
? ? ?
Here’s the scoop on Uncle Boyd:
1. He’s not my real uncle but Dad’s oldest friend.
2. He calls himself an artist, although I’m not sure his so-called sculptures qualify as art.
3. And finally, and most importantly, Uncle Boyd sees me as the son he’s never had, meaning I can trust him.
Hopefully.
“Sorry I’m late, Mrs. B,” he says. “I didn’t get the message about Max until a few minutes ago. I must’ve had the radio up too loud.”
Boyd’s wearing ripped jeans and a paint-splattered Rage Against the Machine shirt. He comes up behind me and nods to Stranko.
“Howdy, Dwayne. Been a while.”
Stranko flinches like a bee’s just flown by his face.
“With students in the room, Boyd, I prefer to be called Mr. Stranko.”
“I’ll do my best, Dwayne. I mean, Mr. Stranko. Sir.”
“So Max is staying with you, Boyd?” Mr. B says.
“For the next few days, yeah. It doesn’t look like I’ve been doing a very good job watching him. I apologize for that.”
Stranko’s looking all bullshit again but doesn’t say anything.
Mrs. B says to Boyd, “Max here was just filling us in on the evening. Max, do you have any evidence to back up your story?”
I hold out my invitation and the climb up message from the gate. Stranko lays both on the table before taking pictures with his phone.
“Is there anything else?” Mrs. B asks.
“I have a video too,” Malone says.
Kate unlocks her phone, then passes it over to Mrs. B. Stranko and Hale crowd behind her, but they only make it through fifteen seconds of us on the tower talking about looking for another clue before Mrs. B turns it off.
“I don’t think I need to see any more,” she says. “Is there any other information you’d like to share?”
All five of us collectively shrug.
“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to interrupt,” Malone’s mother says, “but this Chaos Club, is it a school-approved organization?”
“Absolutely not,” Stranko says. “We would never sanction such behavior.”