Principal Wells's whiskey-dick baritone voice sounds uncharacteristically sober and predictably dickless today. Fortunately for everyone present—Mom, Rachel, and Rachel's obscenely wealthy Stepford parents—he keeps the curtains drawn so we aren't blinded by the glare from his polished, brown billiard ball head. I have a highly scientific theory that the grey, three-piece suit he wears three days a week is supposed to have a calming effect on the "high-risk students" who get sent in here after Blackwell winds them up. I guess that makes me the shittiest scientist in the world.
"Miss Price," he says. "The last time we met, an agreement was brokered. We agreed that you would rededicate yourself to becoming an exemplary Blackwell citizen. However, in light of recent events as well as your prodigious disciplinary record…" He drops a thick file folder onto his desk. "…we needn't discuss any of what went on yesterday. You severed your relationship with Blackwell the minute you left school grounds without permission."
"Relationship? I never agreed to this marriage."
Mom sighs.
"Your rebellion at a non-mandatory institution leaves me dumbfounded."
"Yeah. I find a lot of dumb here, too."
Wells clears his throat. Mom digs her nails into my neck.
"Nevertheless, it falls upon me to—"
"I made her do it," says Rachel.
Her parents sound like one of those balloon inflating machines, except this one is sucking all the air out of the room.
"Miss Amber?" says Wells.
"Yesterday was all me," she says, leaning forward in her chair. "My idea. I was having a bad day. I needed to blow off some steam and I took it too far."
She looks over at me. I roll my eyes.
"Chloe tried to talk me out of it. 'I've been down that road,' she told me. 'You're better than this.' But I wouldn't listen. See, Chloe was afraid I'd get in trouble or get hurt, so she came with me, but only to keep me safe. I'm just sorry that you got caught up in it. That you allowed me to drag you down to my level. Can you forgive me?"
"For what?" I say. "You didn't do anything."
"Your willingness to stand by me even now is truly inspiring."
"Chloe, is this true?" says Mom.
She puts her hands on my shoulders. I stroke an invisible dick to climax.
"Yes, it's true," I say. "She really is an amazing actress. Even I almost believed her. But it's complete and total bullshit."
"Miss Price," says Wells, "your outburst only serves to strengthen the case against you. Miss Amber, I am as surprised by you as I am disappointed in you. You were clearly trying to cover for your classmate. I appreciate the motive, but I appreciate honesty more."
"I bet you appreciate a nice bottle of Jack even more," my mouth says.
Mom vice grips the back of my neck with one hand.
"Apologize this instant."
"Sure, Mom. I'm sorry I don't give a fuck about any of this."
"I've heard enough, Miss Price. I came into today's meeting planning to suspend you with the chance for reinstatement in the fall. In light of your actions here today, I have no choice but to expel you."
Mom releases my neck. I cross my arms and sit back in my chair. Rachel sits up in hers.
"Fuck you, Chloe."
"Rachel?" says her dad.
"Miss Amber," says Wells. "What is the meaning of this outburst?"
"How about you don't take credit for my shit?" she says.
"She just wants attention," I say. "Can't take her goodie-goodie label any more, so she made up a story." I jut my chin out at her. "Nobody believes you, Princess."
"Yes, we know, Chloe," says Rachel. "You're an outlaw without peer, which means there's no way that someone like me could ever pull you into the Drama Lab, convince you to jump on a train, smoke pot with you at the Overlook, steal a bottle of wine, and drink it with you."
"Rachel," says her mom, "that can't be true."
"Wells," I say, "you can't seriously believe that Little Miss Sunshine here is a criminal mastermind."
"We have witnesses," says Rachel. "Ask Mr. Keaton. Ask Dana, Hayden, Steph, Mikey, Samantha—any one of the students on campus that day who saw me leaving with Chloe." She nods her head at her parents. "Ask my dad. He was at the Overlook."
Rachel's dad looks like he wants to shit his pants but can't because his thick-ass wallet is keeping his butt cheeks firmly pressed together.
"James?" says Wells.
"That much is true," says James. "I was at the Overlook yesterday afternoon. I wasn't aware of my daughter's presence, however."
"Miss Price. Your characteristic attitude appears to be masking something. What is it?"
"I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't jump to conclusions about my daughter," says Mom.
"Ms. Price, I have a file folder full of substantiated conclusions. I'm giving your daughter the opportunity to correct my reasonable assumptions. Miss Price, shall I call in the witnesses Miss Amber mentioned or would you like to spare me the trouble?"
"Call them," I say.
"Very well. Mr. Keaton typically spends his weekends at home; I'm sure he would be more than amenable to verifying Miss Amber's claims that you were present with her in the Drama Lab. Should this be the case, it would fall to her understudy to assume the leading role in the upcoming performance of The Tempest." Wells puts his fingertips together and sits back in his chair. "I'm sure Miss Chase will perform admirably."
The way Rachel's looking at me reminds me of a doe that's wandered into the road right in front of an oncoming semi. On purpose.
"Fine. Yeah. It was Rachel. She wasn't covering for me. We're not friends—we don't braid each other's hair or whatever stupid shit girls do together."
"Very well." Wells folds his hands. "Miss Amber, this being your first infraction in no way reduces its severity. Still, we will not be suspending you at this time. But you have squandered our trust. You will no longer be my administrative assistant first period. And you will no longer be involved in Blackwell's performance of The Tempest."
Rachel slumps back in her chair.
"You were going to kick her out no matter what?" I ask.
"Ray," says James. "She loves that show. Since this is her first infraction, don't you think—"
"I don't tell you how to run the District Attorney's office. Please don't tell me how to run my school. Miss Amber, you must understand that regardless of your status here at Blackwell, adverse actions have adverse consequences. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, sir."
She leans so far forward she looks like she's going to fall out of her chair.
"As for you, Miss Price, since it appears that you simply went along with Miss Amber's plan rather than initiating said plan, I am rescinding your expulsion. You will, however, be suspended for the rest of the year with the chance for reinstatement in the fall. Between now and then, I would advise you to reflect on the way in which you have conducted yourself in this office. Your manners today—or rather, lack thereof—are emblematic of a more serious overarching pattern of behaviors that may preclude your readmission into this institution. Are we clear on that?"
"What's clear is that you can fuck off," Rachel mutters.
"Excuse me?" says Wells.
Rachel's mom puts her hands on Rachel's shoulders.
"She was talking to me," I say.
"Undoubtedly. Miss Amber, you may want to reconsider the company you keep."
"You've given enough advice for one day, Mr. Wells," says Mom. "Chloe has more productive things to do with her time."
"As do we all," says Wells. "You are dismissed."
I dismiss myself to my locker where I recycle my textbooks into the trash can under Skip's watchful eye. Dude's so skinny he'd be the perfect spy if he hadn't fucked up his career path by taking a security job at Blackwell. He makes up for it by being super cool—so cool, in fact, that he doesn't check up on me once while I spend twenty minutes bidding farewell to the walls and stalls of the girls' bathroom with my permanent marker.
"Later, Skip."
"I hope not, Chloe."
I light up one last cigarette to commemorate my time at Blackwell Academy—hard time, the kind of time you don't ever want to have to do again.
"I don't wanna have to bust you," Skip says.
"You don't have to. Just pretend you don't see me, just like I'm going to pretend I don't see my mom and her asshat boyfriend out in the parking lot."
I peer at some brown-haired dude in a jacket leaning against his car and playing a game on his phone—is that Eliot? I'm so wrapped up in playing I Spy that I almost don't notice my cigarette disappearing from my mouth and then from existence underneath the heel of Skip's boot.
"Whoa. Skip, I had no idea."
"You're a lot more visible when you're lit up. If you're trying to avoid people, you might want to think about heading down the frontage road. You know…off the property."
"Nice thinking, Skip."
As soon as the parking lot's out of sight behind the football field, I jog down side streets and into the sprawling forests of the Arcadian countryside. I meander in the general direction of the junkyard, my new home for the rest of the day, the week, however long it takes for David to piss Mom off and get his ass discharged.
[5/8/2010 10:23AM] Rachel: I need a date for the play tonight.
[5/8/2010 10:24AM] Chloe: didn't I get you kicked out?
[5/8/2010 10:25AM] Rachel: All part of the plan. Meet me an hour before showtime.
[5/8/2010 10:25AM] Rachel: And bring those acting skills of yours.
[5/8/2010 10:26AM] Chloe: k
[5/8/2010 10:26AM] Chloe: saw an old truck in the junkyard, maybe I can get it running
[5/8/2010 10:27AM] Rachel: I know you can. You can do anything.
