Allegra (26 page)

The other students trickle in. I see Spencer come into the room, but he doesn't acknowledge me. When everyone has arrived and is seated, Mr. Carter clears his throat and begins. “Mr. Rocchelli will not be returning to teach for an undetermined amount of time.” There is a rumble of voices as the news settles over the class. “I cannot discuss the situation,” Mr. Carter continues, “but I do want you to welcome Mr. Rae and treat him with the same courtesy and respect that we give all our teachers at Deer Lake. I know it will take some time for him to get up to speed on where you are at in your studies, but I ask that you be patient and help him get to know you and what you are working on. It's not easy to step into a classroom, especially at our school, in the middle of a semester.”

Julia raises her hand. “Why can't you discuss what happened to Mr. Rocchelli?”

“It's a personal situation, Julia. Any other questions?”

The class sits in stunned silence. Mr. Rocchelli is well liked by all his students, and everyone will be worried about him until they get some answers.

“Okay then,” he says. “I'll leave and let Mr. Rae get started. Allegra, would you come with me, please?”

In that instant, I see Spencer's head swivel around to look at me. His eyes are flat. I can't read his expression.

I grab my bag and follow Mr. Carter out of the portable and across the pavement to the school. He holds the door open for me, then leads the way down the hall to the school office. When we enter the room, Ms. Jennings gets up from her chair. She follows us into the principal's office. Clearly, she was invited to this meeting and was just waiting for us. He shuts the door and asks me take a seat. Ms. Jennings sits as well.

I glance at Ms. Jennings, but she doesn't acknowledge me.

“Allegra, I will get right to the point. Another student has reported to Ms. Jennings that you are involved in an inappropriate relationship with Mr. Rocchelli. A second student has confirmed the allegation.”

For the second time in just minutes, the blood drains from my face.

“This is a very serious allegation,” he continues. “What do you have to say about it?”

Shock is turning to anger. “I am NOT having an inappropriate relationship with anyone,” I tell them. “Mr. Rocchelli and I are writing some music together. That's it.”

“I was told that you confessed to having a relationship.”

“I did not confess anything!” Damn Talia anyway. “Talia accused me of it, and I was so mad she'd even think such a thing that I didn't answer her. That was all.”

He regards me for a moment. My palms are sweating, but I won't allow myself to fall apart right now. Noel is counting on me to set the record straight. “Ms. Jennings saw Mr. Rocchelli embracing you in the portable on Friday afternoon.”

I turn to look at her. “Through the window,” she says quietly.

“That was not an
embrace
,” I say, spitting out the words. “It was a hug. I'd just shared some sad news with him and he was giving me a friendly hug. Is that not allowed?”

“No, Allegra, it's not. It's too easy for a hug to be misconstrued as something else. Mr. Rocchelli knows the rules.”

I just roll my eyes.

“As well, it has come to my attention that you have been meeting him in the portable at night. Were there any other students with you at these sessions?”

Talia and her big mouth. “No,” I say quietly. “Because no one else was writing the music with us. It was my project.”

“You can't see how this is inappropriate behavior, Allegra? For a young male teacher to be meeting his student, alone, at night?”

“No, I can't see how it's inappropriate. He teaches all day and I have a busy dance schedule. We meet whenever we can squeeze in the time.”

“Are you sure you're not just denying these allegations to protect Mr. Rocchelli, Allegra?” Ms. Jennings's voice is low.

“No, I am not.” Tears spring to my eyes.

“That looked like a pretty intimate hug to me.”

“It was a friendly hug, nothing more.”

“What was the news that you shared with him?”

“It's none of your business.”

“I think it is. This is a very serious situation, and we need to gather all relevant information.”

I stare at her, wondering again why such an insensitive woman is working at a school where the students are supposed to dig deep to create their art. She has no idea about passion.

“Allegra?” Mr. Carter says. “It's important that you tell us everything.”

I look first at him, then her. “My parents have separated.”

A momentary look of concern crosses her face before she goes back to looking cranky. “We'll be calling your parents, Allegra. They will be asked to verify this information.”

“You don't believe me about that either?”

“That's not what I'm saying.”

“That's exactly what you're saying.”

“Allegra,” Mr. Carter says, breaking in like a referee. “I'm sorry. This is clearly very difficult for everyone. But here are the facts. A student came to us with some information about you and Mr. Rocchelli. Another student confirmed that information with evidence that supposedly came directly from you. Ms. Jennings saw the two of you hugging when there was no one else in the room. I have no choice but to launch an investigation into this matter. If there is enough evidence, then charges will be laid against Mr. Rocchelli. I would hope that we will have your total cooperation.”

Charges will be laid
. The words repeat themselves over and over in my head as the enormity of the situation begins to sink in.

“In the meantime, Mr. Rocchelli has been suspended until the investigation is complete.”

My heart slams. I breathe deeply, trying to fight the nausea and dizziness, but it's too late. Black spots appear in the air around me.

“Allegra?”

I hear Mr. Carter's voice, but I can no longer see him across the desk. The last thing I remember is noticing how cool the floor is as my cheek makes contact with it.

Mom picks me up from school and we drive home in silence. My cheek is bruised, but the only other injury from my fainting was to my dignity. Ms. Jennings had helped me to the medical room, where I lay on the cot until Mom arrived. I have no idea what they told her.

At home, I head straight to my room and bury myself under my blankets. A short time later, I hear my mom enter my room, and I can smell the tea she places on my desk.

“We need to talk, Allegra,” she says from the foot of my bed.

“I didn't do anything wrong!” I say, my voice muffled by the blankets that are pulled over my head.

I feel her tug at the blankets. “Okay, then that's what we'll talk about.”

I don't respond; instead, I begin to think of ways I could end this agony. Running away, maybe joining Dad on tour, seems like the only option.

Mom sits down on the end of my bed. “Did Mr. Rocchelli behave inappropriately with you?”

“No!” I sit up with a lurch and smack the bed with my fist.

“Okay, okay,” she says. “I believe you.” She places a hand on my knee. “So why, then, does the school think something happened?” she asks gently.

That whole misunderstanding with Talia and the hug that Ms. Jennings witnessed…it all feels way too complicated to explain. “I don't know!” It comes out in a kind of wail.

“You must have an idea, Allegra. These kinds of allegations don't come out of nowhere.”

We sit in silence for a long moment. Then she says, “They asked me if your dad and I had separated. What does that have to do with this situation?”

“What did you tell them?” I freeze, knowing her answer is crucial to my credibility.

She sighs. “I told them yes, for now we are living separately, but that we are trying to sort things out.”

A trace of relief runs through me. At least they'll know I wasn't lying about that.

After a few more minutes, I'm finally ready to explain; I know I'm going to have to get this over with sometime. Taking a deep breath, I let it out. “Noel and I were composing a piece of music together. We often worked alone in the music portable, but nothing inappropriate ever happened.” There.

Feeling slightly better, I pick up the mug of tea she's brought, thinking of the chamomile tea that I drank with Noel.

“Noel? You call him by his first name?”

“He asked me to call him that because we were more like collaborators than student and teacher when we were writing.”

Her eyes widen. “Are you serious?”

“Yes! What's wrong with that?” Anger surges through me again.

“This is the music-theory assignment we talked about.”

“Uh-huh.”

She thinks about it. “Okay. I believe you, of course. But why don't the others?”

I'm not sure that she really does believe me, but I explain about the night I twisted my ankle, about how Talia accused me of having sex with Noel and how I was too pissed off at her to even deny it. I told her about the hug in the portable and how innocent it was. What I don't tell her about are my feelings for Noel and how I think maybe he feels the same for me. I don't need to, because the thing is, we didn't do anything wrong.

We
didn't, I suddenly think, lying back on my pillow. But
I
did. I didn't deny Talia's accusations. If I'd only told her the truth from the start, this would never have happened, Noel would still be teaching, and the two of us would still be writing music together.

Dad arrives on Wednesday afternoon and knocks on the door to my room, which I haven't left since Monday afternoon except to use the bathroom. After getting the call from the school, Mom had contacted him, and he immediately arranged to come home for a few days. “Hey, Legs,” he says as he steps inside, a sad smile on his face. “I hear there's been some trouble.”

Obviously Mom has filled him in. Despite my best intentions, I feel yet another onslaught of tears threatening to overcome me.

“Oh, honey,” he says, picking up one of my hands. “We'll sort this all out.”

I don't know what to say, so I simply melt into his shoulder. “It's all my fault,” I sob. “I should have told Talia the truth, and none of this would have happened.”

After some time, Dad sighs and clears his throat. I pull myself away. “It's funny,” he says, wiping a tear off my cheek. “I feel like it's all
my
fault. If I'd been here to work on the composition with you, maybe none of this would have happened. And your mom feels like it's all her fault, that she should have been paying closer attention to what was going on in your life.”

“And Noel probably feels like it's all his fault, for being so enthusiastic about our music,” I add.

Dad lifts my chin and looks into my eyes. “Maybe we are all a little bit to blame, or maybe none of us are.” He shrugs. “But whatever,” he adds. “Like I said, we're going to sort it all out.”