Between the Lines 8
The next day, Eddie let himself into Mr. Sweet's office with two boxes of takeout. "Hey, Dad," he said quietly. "This week started off kind of wild, huh?"
"Hello, Edison. Do come in and take a seat," Mr. Sweet greeted back with a tired smile. "It's so nice to see you."
Tuesday lunch with his dad wasn't his favorite activity ever, but it was already the middle of October and Eric Sweet was his dad. Eddie might as well give it a shot. He was kind of the only reason he ended up in England, anyway. Some good came out of it: escape from his crazy stepfather, a new beginning at a new school, some stability. Patricia. Plus he had promised Patricia he would try for a relationship with his newly present father, and he couldn't really deny her that since she had lost her own dad.
"How's everything in America?" Mr. Sweet asked. "I trust all is well?"
"Not really," Eddie muttered darkly. Did he know anything at all? the young American wondered. "But I'd rather not talk about that."
"Okay," Mr. Sweet agreed easily while sticking his fork into his rice. Thai food was his favorite. He knew that getting to know his son might be a bit rocky at first, but he had never guessed that Edison would hate him this much. "What would you like to talk about?"
"What's up with this Jack Jackal situation?" Eddie blurted out. He watched his father carefully lay down his fork and lean back in his chair with his hands folded.
"Jack Jackal is not new to Frobisher Academy," Mr. Sweet started. He didn't particularly want to talk about this matter either, but he was desperate for something to connect him to Edison. This matter seemed to spark his interest, so he ran with it. "Jack Jackal's previous articles were usually not so inflammatory. They would include information on unhealthy lunch ingredients, student stress levels, unfair homework policies, other general subjects. Sort of like an opinion article."
"That's kinda cool," Eddie said through a mouthful of noodles.
"I guess so," Mr. Sweet agreed. "The students tend to give me quite a headache, but Jack Jackal was their hero for exposing issues like this."
"Yeah, we can be a handful," Eddie admitted with a small smile. Victory! Mr. Sweet thought to himself. Now we're getting somewhere.
"But this new issue… it's something bigger, right?" Eddie prompted at his father's silence.
"You could say that," Mr. Sweet answered with a sigh. "Dealing with issues like this is much different when you're a school administrator, and this accusation is very serious. If what Jack Jackal says is true, I would have to expel those three students."
Eddie felt his blood burn at the mention of the three boys who had hurt Patricia. "So what's stopping you then? Shouldn't you drag them in for questioning or whatever it is principals do?"
"I've investigated those same three boys in the past," Mr. Sweet answered carefully.
"And?" Eddie scoffed impatiently.
"Each investigation was inconclusive."
Eddie was absolutely floored by his father's response. He stared at him, ignoring the piece of chicken that fell off his fork. "What? Why?"
"There was never any significant proof," Mr. Sweet replied nervously. "There was nothing I could do."
"Nothing you could do?" Eddie gripped the arms of his chair in an attempt to stop himself from throwing a stapler at the man. "Dad, I know for sure that they attacked two of my friends. They attacked one on Saturday! How can you sit there and do nothing?"
"Saturday? What happened?" Mr. Sweet leaned in, concerned.
Eddie blanched. He remembered how violated Patricia had felt, how she had lost all sense of control when those jerks had attacked her. Would she want him to report it? Or would telling her story, without her permission, be one more violation to add to her burden? Eddie desperately wanted those assholes punished to the fullest extent of the law, and then some, but would that hurt her at the same time? Maybe he shouldn't have said anything.
Eddie cleared his throat. "I don't think that's my story to tell," he admitted.
"See, Edison? I simply can't do anything without all the facts. If the stories are true, they could be expelled, yes. But if I make the wrong move based on a few stories, I could lose my job," Mr. Sweet reasoned, trying to sway his son to his side. This only made Eddie's anger flare.
"Damn it, all you care about is yourself," Eddie snapped. "I've only been here for, like, two months, and even I already see that those three assholes should have been thrown out of here years ago." He slammed his chair back and stood up to leave.
"Edison Sweet-"
Eddie whipped around. "That's not my name." He leaned over the desk, pointing an accusing finger in his father's face. "For fuck's sake, it's Eddie. E-D-D-I-E. Miller. For the one parent that has been in my life. I don't know what kind of Happy Land Fantasy you've got rolling around in your brain, but it's not coming true. Ever."
Eddie slammed the door behind him so hard that a window cracked. Eric Sweet dropped his face in his hands and didn't come out all afternoon.
"Wooooooooooooah, slow down there, buddy." Eddie barely registered two hands braced against his shoulders blocking his way from storming out of the school.
"Outta mah way," he grunted.
"Eddie." He focused on the insistent voice and realized it was Patricia. He wasn't sure if he was in the mood to talk to her about his dad, especially because he had just been talking to his dad about her. What a nightmare. Just when he had found someone he could tell everything he had to stop himself from saying the most important thing on his mind.
"You okay?" Eddie zoned back in and realized that Patricia had been repeating this same question for several minutes.
"I'm fantastic," he grumbled, pushing through her and walking outside.
"Eddie, wait up!" Patricia grabbed his hand and leaned into his side, refusing to let him be alone.
"Don't you have class or something?" Eddie muttered without changing pace. He had no idea where he was going. Oh well.
"We have gym. But don't worry about that – Joy will sign us in. Now… where are we going?"
Eddie finally looked down at her and let out a laugh. "Alright, fine. Wanna sit in the middle of nowhere and throw stones at squirrels?"
"Sure, dork," Patricia snorted.
Eventually, the pair ended up sitting on that same log from weeks before. The one where Eddie had revealed his smoking habit and Patricia had had her first panic attack in front of him. Maybe the space should have felt haunted, but Patricia couldn't help but feel safe with her best friend right beside her. Warm despite the early November air. She burrowed deeper into his side, happy that Eddie preferred soft fleece jackets. Plus he smelled good. Something forest-y, or maybe ocean-y.
"Watcha doin' there, Yickity Yack?" Eddie asked with a bemused smile. Patricia was in a good mood today. It was infectious. Eddie loved her. Ahem, like, um, as a friend, of course. Nothing more. Of course.
"What? It's not my fault you smell good," Patricia snarked back lightly.
Eddie laughed. "Oh, the wonders of laundry detergent and deodorant." He wrapped an arm around her side, drawing her even closer.
"Sooo… you wanna tell me what's been bothering you today?" Patricia asked after a pause. Eddie flicked a dead leaf at a particularly adventurous chipmunk.
He didn't answer for a moment. "You know," he began. "I think you're my best friend."
Patricia blinked. "Oh, really?"
"Yeah," Eddie smiled.
A younger Patricia would have frowned. Walked away. Crossed her arms if she had felt particularly defensive. But younger Patricia hadn't had someone like Eddie who had been there through nightmares and had been content with unanswered questions. Sure, she had Joy, but Joy had left for a year because her father did something-or-other. And Joy was never okay with unanswered questions; when Patricia needed space and silence, Joy always needed to know all the details, constantly asked what was wrong, would never give up. She was sweet, but she was exhausting. Eddie, somehow, had become half of her. For the first time in a long time, Patricia felt the clouds clearing away, if only just a little.
"That's good," Patricia finally said, mirroring Eddie's happy expression. "I think you're mine too."
"So that means we tell each other everything, right?" Eddie asked. Patricia thought she could detect the tiniest hint of uncertainty in his voice. Eddie stared off into the distance.
"Uhh…" A nervous twitch ran through her fingers. Yes, she felt safe with Eddie. Yes, theoretically, she could tell him everything, but would she.
"I mean," Eddie hastily continued, "you know pretty much everything about me, give or take a few super ugly details. You know about my abusive stepdad and my actual dad and my half-brother and the smoking. And you haven't necessarily told me every single thing that's on your mind."
"Okay…" Patricia had no idea where this was going and it made her a little anxious. She knew that she wasn't as forthcoming with deep, dark details as he was. Was that something she was supposed to reciprocate? A secret for a secret?
"I just mean that…" Eddie blew air from his lips. Pfffffffffffffbt.
"Are you mad that I don't tell you as much as you tell me?" Patricia questioned quietly. She picked at her fingernails.
"Huh? What?" Eddie was completely surprised. "Nooooo, no, no, no, no. That's not what I was going for. Hey, Patricia, look at me for a sec." He fit one hand along curve of her jaw and stroked her hair back with the other. Green eyes on brown. She started blinking rapidly. Eddie had lived with his jerkoff stepdad long enough to know that when his mother started blinking like that, she was trying to belay tears.
"Hey," he said softly. "I am not upset with you. At all. You got that?" Eddie said firmly.
Patricia nodded slightly.
"I know that your first instinct is usually to run and hide when something bothers you," he continued. "And that's fine. Really, it is. You're not one to talk about your feelings or whatever. That's okay. If I can't figure it out, I'll ask."
Patricia nodded again.
"It's just that I was upset at my dad because he wouldn't do anything about those nutjobs who attacked you. What were their names? Asshole, Douchebag, and Garbage Truck?"
"Something like that," Patricia conceded with a small smile.
"He was all 'we don't have enough evidence' and 'past investigations were inconclusive,'" Eddie continued, mocking his father with an unnecessarily deep voice. "I mean, they did shit to you! We all know they're bad people, even me, and I've been here for like two months!"
"Wait," Patricia suddenly interrupted with a start. "Did you tell him about what happened to me?"
Eddie softened and slowed down. "No, 'course not. I kinda-sorta wanted to, but I thought it was your story to tell. You or I or someone could always tell him later, but you can't really untell someone something. I just, ummm, didn't want to upset you, because that sort of thing is really personal and traumatic and stuff…"
"Okay, quit your rambling," Patricia ordered. Then, in a lighter tone, she added, "Thank you for not telling him. I would have wanted to control the way my story came out."
"Okay." Eddie exhaled slowly. "I dunno, I'm just tired of feeling disappointed all the time. Not that I had very high hopes to begin with."
"Well," Patricia started, unsure of how to untangle her conflicting thoughts. She would probably always have a grudge against Mr. Sweet, and any figure of authority, for not taking more decisive action over Paul, Ryan, and John. But didn't the burden of proof fall on the accuser, or something like that? Patricia had seen enough cop shows, and paid just enough attention in history class, that it was innocent-until-proven-guilty and not the other way around. And she was the one who had told Eddie that he should try to reach out to his father, to try to build a relationship with his family. She couldn't get in the way of that, could she?
BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRING! The school bell rang in the distance. "Oh, God," Eddie jerked up with a start. "I have a math test next period. We gotta go!"
And with that, the pair took off.
Eddie, believe it or not, loved math class. Not because it was interesting. No way. Math was fucking boring. He loved it because it was easy; it was easy because he already knew half of the material. When he first walked in to class on the first day of school, Eddie had quickly realized how different the UK and American math systems were. While Americans tended to learn math in a sequential, categorical way – Algebra I and then Geometry and then Algebra II and then Precalculus and then Calculus and so on and so forth – Brits took little bits of each category and smushed all of them together in one class called maths. Why they insisted on the plural Eddie would never understand, but he was perfectly happy receiving an A-Star instead of an A-Plus for trig concepts he had already learned two years ago.
The young American was halfway through his test, about to solve for the length of the side of some weirdly shaped triangle, when he heard the family dinging of the school intercom. The students of the Year 13 maths class (check it out! Eddie had even managed place one year ahead) raised their heads at the sound and waited expectantly for the upcoming announcement.
After a pause, a garbled voice boomed through the speakers. "Students of Frobisher Academy," it intoned, "Mara Jaffray of Year 12, class president and editor of our student newspaper, has been wrongfully accused and punished for her nonexistent role as Jack Jackal. Follow Jack Jackal FA on Facebook for the full video. For now, enjoy this short excerpt from Mara and Mr. Sweet's meeting yesterday…"
"Everyone, settle down," Mrs. Geraldine ordered. No one paid attention. Eddie jumped out of his seat and raced down the hall towards Mr. Sweet's office. What was going on?
The audio continued, this time with clear voices. "A pseudonym, Mr. Sweet, is a literary construct designed to protect authors from potential backlash after printing hurtful truths." Mara's voices carried clearly down the hallway. Arriving at the office, Eddie could see that he wasn't the only one who wanted to see the scene of crime. A crowd of students had swarmed the office, surrounding a red-faced Mr. Sweet who was desperately trying to break down his own door. Jack Jackal had locked him out.
"An alias, Mara Jaffray, is an excuse to print falsities while escaping punishment," Mr. Sweet's voice declared. "You leave me no choice. Academic probation. Six weeks."
The crowd roared. Mara was a beloved member of the school, dedicated peer tutor, and humble leader. Mr. Sweet had declared war on Frobisher Academy's 600 students.
Someone shoved a slip of paper into Eddie's hand. It had the Facebook logo on it and JACK JACKAL FA printed in bold letters. He scanned the QR code. Within twelve minutes of going live, Jack Jackal had already accumulated over a hundred followers.
"Oi! Mates!" A younger student shouted over the din. "We got it to work on the telly! Come over and watch the full video!"
Before he was swept up by the crowd, Eddie grabbed Mara, who was profusely apologizing to Mr. Sweet for the chaos, by the arm and dragged her away. "Now isn't the time for that," he whispered to her. The sea of people ended up in the student lounge. Eddie pushed Mara up on a table. "Speak to the people who need to hear you, not the old man who refuses to listen." Mara stared at him. Could she do it? Take a stand, in public, for once in her life? She swallowed. Yes, she can.
Mara nodded at Eddie. "HEY! Listen up!" Eddie's deeper voice rang through the crowd. Seeing Mara up on the table, the people silenced.
With one last squeeze of the hand for support, Mara took a deep breath and began to talk. "Hello, everyone." She paused.
"Woo!"
"Mars, we love you!"
She smiled at the few voices that popped up here and there. "I'm Mara Jaffray and I was wrongfully placed under academic probation because Mr. Sweet believes that I am Jack Jackal."
The crowd booed. Mara thought her heart would fall out of her chest at the ridiculous rate it was beating. She could barely concentrate over the effort of making sure her voice wouldn't shake. She was ready to climb off the table, but she suddenly caught Amber's face in the crowd. Despite the pain and the drama and the heartbreak, Amber was smiling. She was the most vocal of the boos, the loudest of the cheers. Mara would not let her friends down.
"I am not Jack Jackal, and I have no idea who she is," Mara continued. "But I am a journalist. I am dedicated to the truth. I am loyal to free speech."
"Yes, girl!" More cheers, a few whistles.
"Above all, I will listen. I will take what you have to say very seriously. I will raise my voice to support victims when their voices are silenced. Frobisher Academy, will you listen?" Mara demanded the crowd. The entire school flooded the lounge and strained to listen in the hallways. A few teachers dotted the back of the room. Several camera phones were pointed at Mara, but she was no longer afraid.
"YES!" the students shouted.
"Frobisher Academy, will you take a stand for justice?"
"YES!"
"Frobisher Academy," Mara paused, choosing her words carefully. The crowd leaned closer. "Will you search for the truth, nothing more and nothing less?"
"YES!"
"Then let's watch that video!" Mara shouted, swinging her arm to point at the television.
The crowd roared and swiveled to face the screen. The scene played out from the perspective of the window behind Mr. Sweet's desk. Mara's face was in plain view. Having already lived through it once, present-day Mara chose to look away.
"Hey, Mara," Eddie whispered from down below. "Quick question."
"Yeah?" Mara leaned down so he could come closer.
"You called Jack Jackal 'she.' What makes you think Jack Jackal is a girl even though Jack is a boy's name?"
Mara was stumped. She had never really thought about it, just assumed without noticing… but she suddenly had her answer. "I've read the article probably a hundred times," she whispered back. "Jack refers to the victims as 'we.' She writes from the perspective of being unified with them. I believe that Jack Jackal was attacked by Paul, Ryan, and John."
Eddie's eyes widened. Whoever she was, he needed to find her and beg her to stop incriminating his father so that he wouldn't get fired. As much as he hated to need his dad, Eric Sweet was his only chance of saving his mother from his wreck of a husband, and he wouldn't be much help without a job. His musings were interrupted by the end of the video.
"Leave my office!" video-Sweet demanded. Assuming that the important parts had passed and the video was over, Mara looked up. She was very wrong.
Mara saw herself on screen standing up and turning for the door. The camera, however, was no longer still. It spun around until its user, dressed in a black cape and large jackal mask, was in full view. Jack Jackal waved for her fans.
The screen went black. White letters flashed on the black background:
THURSDAY. LUNCH HOUR. AUDITORIUM.
ALL WILL BE REVEALED.
JACK JACKAL AND CO. WILL TAKE OFF THEIR MASKS.
DON'T MISS IT.
There was no way Mara could have been on screen as Jack Jackal and been in Mr. Sweet's office at the same time. Mara was exonerated, but the most important part was yet to come.