But no one needs to answer her. We all know Principal Wilson can do whatever he wants.
“For those of you applying to college, I don’t have to tell you what that kind of consequence will look like on your transcript, but let me spell it out for you,” he adds. “No school would accept such a girl.” I think about the college fund Mom has been building for me since I was in kindergarten. I remember the years she worked Christmas Eve and the times she pulled double shifts to be able to sock away some extra money.
“Now in conclusion, I would like to have your class vice president, Emma Johnson, share a few words with you,” Principal Wilson says. At this, Emma tosses her hair over her shoulder and steps up to the microphone. She gazes down at her note cards for a moment, but she never uses them as she speaks. Instead she looks toward us, but I can tell she’s using that public speaking trick of talking at the tops of our heads. She’s not really making eye contact with any of us.
“Y’all, Principal Wilson asked me to talk with you today about the importance of being a lady,” she begins, her voice soft and even. She pauses and looks out, then takes a breath and keeps going.
“Being a lady means acting in such a way that you show respect to other people and places, too. Places that should be close to your heart, like our school. East Rockport High is our home away from home, and we need to treat it as such when we’re here. So I’m asking you, girl to girl, to please stop all this nonsense with the stickers and remember to hold yourself to the standards of a Texas lady.” She gives us a little nod to punctuate her speech, then steps back and sits down. There’s a smattering of applause from a handful of girls in the front row—Emma’s friends. But mostly I want to squirm. To see one of our own—even someone who always seems to have it all—shilling for the administration is super gross and weird. It’s almost enough to make me feel sorry for Emma, but not quite.
Then Principal Wilson steps back up to the microphone.
“I hope you take those words to heart, girls, and I hope you take my warning very, very seriously,” he says. “Now you’re dismissed. Get to your first period classes immediately.”
Quietly, we file up the ratty red carpet that covers the aisles. Girls are looking at each other with wide eyes and open mouths. The buzzing and sense of possibility that I felt yesterday has fizzled into fear. My heart sinks.
Up ahead Assistant Principal Shelly is standing by the main doors of the auditorium, watching us exit.
“Lucy Hernandez?” he says as my friends and I head toward him.
“Yeah?” says Lucy. Not yes, but yeah.
“Try ‘Yes, sir,’ next time,” Mr. Shelly says, scowling. Girls coming up the aisles glance at us as they pass by, then start whispering to each other. Claudia is standing just behind us with Sara and the others, and when I turn to check on her, her face is strained.
“I need you to come with me,” Mr. Shelly says, curling his index finger toward himself like Lucy is a misbehaving toddler and he’s about to send her to the naughty chair.
“For what?” Lucy asks, and the tiny little tremor in her voice tells me that her level of bravado has fallen a notch or two.
“We’ll discuss it in my office,” he says. And just like that, Lucy is spirited away down the crowded halls of East Rockport.
“Shit,” I say once they’re out of earshot, and I turn to look at Claudia, Sara, and the others.
“I wonder if she did make those stickers,” Claudia says, frowning.
“I really believe she didn’t,” I say, turning my focus toward the direction where Mr. Shelly went with Lucy. I should go after them. I should at least tell Mr. Shelly that I helped plan the bake sale. But my feet don’t move. Shame courses through me.
“What do you think’s going to happen to her?” Sara asks.
“I don’t know,” I answer.
Claudia bites her bottom lip. “Even if she did make those stickers, she doesn’t deserve to get in tons of trouble,” she says. “I think girls used them for a reason. Not just to mess with school property.”
“Yeah,” I say, and as my eyes meet Claudia’s, I know that she’s a Moxie girl now for real. But given Principal Wilson’s warnings, being a Moxie girl can only mean danger.
*
We don’t see Lucy in any of our classes or at lunch. When I text her, she doesn’t respond. All day long I can’t sit still, constantly checking my phone, willing it to buzz with some message from Lucy telling me she’s okay. Guilt keeps building inside me, leaving me half-queasy.
“I’m worried,” I tell Seth when he meets me at my locker at the end of the day. “She’s going to take the fall for everything because she put her name on that club form to do the bake sale.”
Seth scratches the back of his neck and frowns. “But they can’t prove anything, right?”
“That doesn’t matter here,” I say, my voice barely a whisper. “If they want to pin it on her, they will.”
Seth shakes his head. “You make this place sound like it’s run by the Russian mob or something.”
I can tell he doesn’t get it. “Sometimes it feels like that,” I say, my voice tight.
Just then, at last, I get a text.
Can you please please please come over? To my house? I’m home now. Do you remember where I live? 9762 Memorial? I really need to talk
“Oh, good, it’s Lucy,” I say, holding up the phone as proof. “She’s at home. Maybe the school sent her home early? God, I hope she wasn’t suspended.” Before Seth answers, I text Lucy back that I’m on my way.
“I need to see her. Think you can give me a lift?” I ask, lugging my backpack over my shoulder.
“Yeah, no problem,” says Seth, but he doesn’t sound like it’s no problem.
We trudge out to the parking lot, dodging other students. It’s weirdly quiet between us. “Thanks again,” I say, eager to fill the space. “I just want to make sure she’s okay.”
“Yeah, I get it,” Seth says, clicking open his Honda. “So when do you want to watch the documentary we were going to check out this afternoon?”
“Oh, yeah, that,” I answer, sliding into the front passenger seat. Suddenly I feel like the subject of one of those stupid quizzes in the teen magazines that I used to read in middle school. (“Are You a True Blue BFF or a Fair-Weather Friend?” “Is It Love or Lust?” “Do You Put Your Guy or Your Gal Pals First?”) Lucy needs me. I promised to hang out with Seth. I don’t want either one of them to be disappointed in me. I want to see Lucy and find out what happened to her today. And I want to kiss Seth again. I really want to kiss Seth again.
But I also want him to get how much trouble Lucy could be in, and how much that matters to me. And I don’t know that he does.
“I’m sorry, I just feel like everything that’s happened to Lucy is all my fault … which it is.”