Trouble is a Friend of Mine

‘Listen, my name’s Digby. Here’s my e-mail address.’ The piece of paper he slid under the door said: [email protected]. ‘E-mail the photos if that’s less freaky for you.’


Through the glass panel in the door, I saw him start to knock, so I grabbed the letter opener and flashed it in an I’m-going to-stab-you way. I guess I was convincing, because he said ‘Whoa’ and backed away. When he got to the sidewalk, he looked up to my bedroom window, then stared at the mansion across the street for a long time.

And that wasn’t even the weirdest thing that happened that day. I’d just started as a junior at River Heights High and didn’t know they phoned parents of absent students after first period bell. They called it the Ferris Bueller Rule. Apparently the school board made the new rule after a girl disappeared during summer vacation. Marina Jane Miller (TV news always used all three of her names) had been kidnapped while friends were sleeping over in her room. They hadn’t heard a thing. The whole of River Heights was freaked, especially the rich people, because Marina Miller was rich.

The school called Mom at work and she called me, but when I didn’t pick up, she rushed home only to find me napping. Naturally, she had a mini conniption fit but much worse than that was the fact that cutting school landed me in an early intervention meeting with thirteen other kids who got busted that day.

Which is where I saw Digby again.





TWO


The truancy officer was a hard-ass named Musgrave. He was the kind of man about whom Mom would say, ‘Poor thing wasn’t held enough as a baby.’ He sat us in a circle and slowly walked around outside it. When I was first summoned to the meeting, I didn’t think it was going to be a big deal, but Musgrave’s black uniform and shiny badge were intimidating.

Meanwhile, our guidance counselor, who introduced himself as ‘please-just-call-me-Steve,’ stood in the middle of the circle handing out chocolate chip cookies he’d baked for us. He’d also made HELLO, MY NAME IS stickers. Mine had ZOE WEBSTER in swirly red ink like all the girls’. The boys’ were done in blue.

Musgrave scowled when Please-Call-Me-Steve offered him a cookie. Funnily, the two of them looked evil-twin/good-twin alike. Both were short, dumpy men with bad haircuts and red splotchy faces, but where Steve’s was red with sunburn from riding his bike to work, Musgrave’s was red from, I’d guess, drinking and rage.

Musgrave was halfway through his threats about unexcused absences and summer school when Digby arrived. It had taken Musgrave twenty minutes to wind up to this climax, so he was totally derailed when Digby sauntered in.

‘You must think you’re a funny guy almost missing a disciplinary meeting on truancy,’ Musgrave said. ‘Grab your name tag and get your butt over here.’

Digby had to write his own tag, which he did in swirly red letters. Then he sighed and dragged a chair to the circle. The metal legs screamed the entire way. The other truants clapped and laughed. To my horror, Digby parked himself next to me and greeted me like we’d planned to sit together.

I tried to look saintly and refused to acknowledge Digby’s muttered asides. He stage-whispered things like, ‘It’s nine a.m. – he smells like jerky. Discuss,’ and, ‘Do you think it’s fun to stay at the YMCA in that outfit?’

I sat, frozen, but Musgrave threw me the same evil stare he pointed at Digby. As far as he was concerned, we were in it together. Finally, after repeating the policy on truancy and summer school twice more, Musgrave ended the meeting and cornered Digby and me.

‘How’s it going, Harlan?’ Digby said to him.

‘Welcome back to River Heights, Mr Digby,’ Musgrave said. ‘I haven’t gotten your file from your school in Texas. Did they teach you manners there or are you and I going to have problems?’

‘Harlan and I go way back … before his demotion, when he was an actual police officer,’ Digby said.

‘Guess that answers my question about manners,’ Musgrave said.

‘Don’t be sad, Harlan. You should learn to see the positive in this new job … after all, I believe children are our future,’ Digby said.

‘You will call me Mr Musgrave,’ he said. ‘And you, Zoe Webster, your fancy Manhattan psychiatrist called.’ Everyone in the room was listening. Musgrave checked his clipboard. ‘Didaskaleinophobia? That’s a mouthful. Fancy way of saying you don’t like school. That’s a thing now? When did that become a valid excuse?’

‘That’s confidential student information,’ Digby said.

‘Excuse me?’ Musgrave said.

‘I’m pretty sure if she told her parents you read all that to her classmates, they’d call their “fancy Manhattan” lawyer and sue you and the school board for violating her privacy,’ Digby said.

‘Still a troublemaker,’ Musgrave said. ‘I remember you were fractious and disruptive to our investigation. Nothing’s changed, I see.’

‘And might that be more confidential student information you’re revealing?’ Digby said.