He looked confused. “And why not?”
“I don’t know,” I said, trying to think of a good reason. A good lie. But nothing came. “I just can’t.” Then it hit me. “But I can call my uncle.”
“Your uncle,” he said matter-of-factly, like he knew that was impossible. The other thing I should tell you about files is that sometimes they have way too much information about you in them. Stuff that don’t be nobody’s business. “And where is this uncle?”
“He’s working, but he can come get me.”
“Why haven’t I ever heard of this uncle before?” he asked suspiciously.
“He’s been gone,” I explained, trying to keep a straight face. Looked him dead in the eye. “But he’s back now.” Yikes. Not really that smooth of an answer.
Mr. Marshall just sat there squinting at me, one eye slightly more closed than the other, tapping his leg. Then he humphed and handed me the phone.
“Call him.” He sighed.
I unzipped my backpack and dug around for the card that said THE DEFENDERS, COACH, in black block letters. I dialed and waited while it rang. Come on, come on, pick it up, I thought. Please, pick it up.
“Yes.” It was Coach’s voice on the other end of the phone, but he didn’t say hello or nothing so it caught me off guard.
“Hello?” I said.
“Who’s this?”
“It’s me, Castle, um, uh . . . ,” I spoke low into the phone. “Ghost.”
“Ghost? Boy, what are you doing calling me at”—he paused, I guess to check the time—“at twelve twenty-two? Ain’t you in school?”
“Yeah, but I need you to come get me,” I said, looking up at Principal Marshall, who was staring a hole in my head. I was trying not to say “uncle,” which was what he was waiting for. “I got in trouble.”
“What?” Coach said, and before I could say anything else, he told me to hold on. “Nine seventy-five, ma’am. Uh-huh. Thank you so much. Have a good day.” Then the sound of a door slamming. “Now, what you talking about, Ghost?”
“I got in trouble and they’re suspending me for the day, so I need you to come get me.”
“Why you calling me? Why don’t you call your . . .” and before he could even finish his sentence, he answered his own question. “Oh. I see. Kid, you’re already killing me.”
I glanced up at Principal Marshall again. He was getting antsy, and I knew I only had a few seconds before he snatched the phone. Turns out I had even less than a few seconds.
“Give me the phone,” Principal Marshall said, getting up and grabbing it from me. Then he aired everything out. “Hello, Principal Marshall here. Is this Castle’s uncle?”
I dropped my head and waited to pretty much be body slammed.
“Uh-huh. Yes. Well, I need him off the premises as soon as possible. Just for the rest of the day.” Principal Marshall sat on the edge of his desk, waiting for me to look him in the eye. But I wouldn’t. I just looked around the office at all the posters that said stuff like EXCELLENCE and DISCIPLINE. And he had pictures of past students, probably kids who did excellent things. Disciplined things. Holding ribbons at a science fair. Clutching a trophy. Some kid giving the camera a thumbs-up like a cornball. Probably all good students, not kids like me. Mr. Marshall was uh-huh-ing Coach. “Uh-huh. I see. Okay.”
Then he handed the phone back to me, but Coach had already hung up. Principal Marshall walked back behind his desk and took a seat.
“What did he say?” I asked, bracing for the slam.
“He said he’ll be here in a minute.” It would’ve been the worst mistake ever to smile, but I sure wanted to.
I sat there in the office while the principal went on about his business, flipping through folders, clicking at something on his computer, scribbling in a notepad, when I finally asked him about the pictures of the different students on the wall.
“Who those kids?” I asked, biting a fingernail. Must’ve snagged it in the scuffle.
Principal Marshall looked up from all his busywork. “You don’t get to ask me any questions until tomorrow,” he snapped. His tone was sharp, and I could tell he wasn’t playing. “I don’t want to hear your voice. Your job right now is to sit there and wait for your uncle. Got it?”
I just nodded and sank into myself. Thankfully, it wasn’t too long before Coach came marching up the hallway. The look he gave me was just as bad as the look Mr. Marshall had given me, which were like the looks my mom gave me whenever I was in these situations. The I’m so disappointed in you look, which is way worse than the I’m mad look.
“I’m here to get Castle,” Coach said to the secretary, Mrs. Dickson.
“Okay, just sign him out,” she said.
Coach scribbled something on a piece of paper, checked his watch, jotted the time down, met the principal, shook his hand, apologized to him for what I did, and we were out of there. On the way down the hall, Coach didn’t say a thing. Not a word. But as soon as we got in his cab, he lit me up.
“What were you thinking telling those people I’m your uncle? Do you know that’s probably against the law? I’m not sure if it is or isn’t but it probably is, and if it is, you got me out here committing crimes. I’ve known you for one day. One day! And I just kidnapped you!”
I kept quiet because Coach was really mad. Plus, I was super grateful that he came and got me, and I didn’t want to say anything to mess that up. Shoot, he might’ve turned around and took me back to the school if I said the wrong thing.
Then finally, after a few minutes, he calmed down a little and asked, “What happened anyway?”
“I got in a fight.” I stared out the window as we passed Mr. Charles’s store.
“Care to elaborate?” Coach pried.
“Okay. So there’s this dude, Brandon Simmons. He’s always getting on me about my mom and where I live and how I look and all that. And today, I just couldn’t take it no more.” I faced Coach. He glanced at me and then back to the road. “So I jumped on him. Beat him down.”
“And what, you think that makes you tough?” Coach scoffed.
I thought about it for a second. “I don’t know.”
“Does that make it right?” he asked.
What is it about adults that makes them all just say the same things? Like they all studied the same book about grown-up-ness, memorizing phrases like, Does that make it right? and Be the bigger person.
I just shrugged. Spoke with my shoulders. I kinda wanted to say, Yes. Yes, me punching Brandon in the face makes it right, because he had been begging for it for forever. It made it right for everybody he joked on, and those kids would’ve given me their honor roll certificates for what I did. That wasn’t the answer Coach was looking for. But man, that’s how I felt.