The Fourth Stall Part II (17 page)

I
t might seem weird to risk further punishment by sneaking out of the house to go to a school meeting when you're grounded. But sneaking out tonight was easy because my parents weren't home. They were at the same meeting I was attending, along with probably over half the neighborhood.

Vince met up with me at my place, and then we went there together. Students weren't normally allowed to attend open school board meetings, but tonight's was different since it was so important.

“Are you ready?” Mr. Kjelson asked as we met up with him near the back entrance of the theater.

I nodded. “I'm going to do what I have to do to save the school,” I said.

Mr. Kjelson nodded solemnly.

We sat next to him near the back of the theater. Right now there were several guys in suits sitting in chairs on the stage, including both Principal Dickerson and Vice Principal George. The other three guys I did not recognize. I figured they were probably the principals' bosses.

The crowd was pretty loud as all the parents and kids in attendance anxiously and openly debated what might be the outcome of the meeting. I waited patiently as some lady who I figured was some kid's mom began talking through a microphone about the meeting agenda. I kept my eyes on the cracked face of Dr. George and his stiff, fake hair.

After a few minutes she introduced some guy in a suit named Mr. Simpson. He got to the podium and announced that the school had been having issues lately, including astoundingly poor state standardized test scores, health code problems, and nutritional violations with school lunches, and that in light of those issues, the school board had decided that the school was going to have to be closed immediately as an unfit environment for learning.

The crowd basically exploded like a parade taking place on a minefield during an earthquake. People shouted questions out of turn. Guys were standing and shaking their fists in outrage, as if that would solve anything. I saw many people crying. I thought I even saw one older lady faint.

Mr. Simpson tried to calm the crowd. “Now listen, this was not an easy decision, but we've determined that the issues facing this school cannot be easily fixed. Definitely not within this school year. This is for the best in terms of your children's educations.”

“What issues? These SMART test things are worthless; they're complete . . .” some guy started yelling before his wife shushed him.

“Your questions are valid. I'm going to bring Vice Principal George to the mike to answer them for you. But please, let's try to keep this orderly and civil,” Mr. Simpson said before stepping aside.

Dr. George got up and moved to the podium. He leaned into the microphone and cleared his throat.

“I know you're all upset,” he said in his typically curt and blunt manner, without even saying good evening or anything like that. “I will do my best to answer your questions and explain the reasons for our actions. Now, you, sir, you can go first.”

He pointed at a guy up front who had his hand raised.

“How do we know these tests weren't bogus? I mean, my kid, he is a smart kid. He, like, just wouldn't do this badly, you know?”

Dr. George nodded and then started shaking his head abruptly. “I assure you all that the validity of these tests has not been compromised. They are strictly regulated and carefully monitored. There's just no way. Additionally, there's . . .”

That's when Kjelson tapped my leg, and we made our move. Vince, Kjelson, and I stood and walked toward the stage. Dr. George saw us coming and stopped in the middle of whatever phony, canned answer he'd been giving to the angry parent. The whole theater hushed as we walked up on stage.

“You can't be up here,” Dr. George finally said to us.

“I'm Mr. Kjelson, a teacher here and a parent, and I have some very interesting information to present regarding this whole mess!” Mr. Kjelson shouted. “If you'll hear me?”

The crowd applauded. It was unenthusiastic, but Mr. Kjelson was given the stage. He stepped to the microphone and introduced Vince and me as students here who had something they wanted to confess.

“What we're about to say to you may be pretty shocking,” Kjelson said. “But you'll hear for yourself.” He turned to me and handed me the microphone.

I faced the crowd. The microphone hit my chin a few times because my hand was shaking so hard. I couldn't believe I was about to publicly out my whole business to the school and my parents. But it had to be done. I knew that, and the more I thought about saving the school, the less nervous I became.

“Hi,” I said into the microphone. My voice sounded so loud through the PA system that it startled me. “You probably don't know me, but my name is Christian Barrett. I run a business here at the school. I solve problems. And it was my fault that everyone failed the SMARTs. I cheated. I cheated for everybody, that is. Vince and I, we broke into the school and altered everybody's answers.”

There was a wave of gasps and then dead silence. I took that as my cue to continue.

“The thing is, I was only trying to help. I'd heard how important the tests were, and I didn't want the school to get closed down. So I stole what I thought were the answer keys and tried to make sure everyone would pass. I thought I was helping everybody, helping the school. I never wanted this to happen. But I know it was a mistake, that I screwed up. I have proof, too.”

Mr. Kjelson walked over and handed the three Suits onstage a bag containing my Books and DVR discs: the ones that showed us sitting in the fourth stall making our plan to cheat on the SMARTs.

“In those notebooks and on those discs you'll find plenty of evidence that backs up my claim. So, you see, the kids didn't fail. I caused them to, accidentally.”

The three Suits immediately started conferring with one another; Dickerson joined them. The audience erupted in gasps and murmurs. I couldn't look at them, for fear of seeing my parents' faces.

One parent shouted, “The tests need to be retaken!” and there were a few halfhearted claps in support of this idea. But most of the people there still seemed to be trying to get over the initial shock.

Then Mr. Simpson stepped forward and held out his hand. I gave him the microphone. He gave me a look that would have melted my brains if I hadn't ducked just slightly.

Mr. Simpson tapped on the microphone and it squealed loudly. The loud whine quieted the crowd just enough for him to be heard.

“Clearly, in light of recent events, we will be delaying our decision regarding this school indefinitely, pending an investigation. The evidence presented will be thoroughly reviewed, and if the integrity of the test is found to have been compromised, then steps will be taken for the readministering of the tests to the school. And in light of these doubts surrounding the SMARTs, some discussion will need to be had over possibly not administering them this year at all. In the meantime school will continue here at Thomas Edison at least through the remainder of the school year to give us the appropriate time to conduct a full investigation.”

The kids in attendance all cheered, and the parents seemed pretty happy, too. Now, probably not all kids were going to be so happy, because there are some kids who just hate school no matter what, but our school was pretty unique. Likely how the kids here were acting was how most of the students would feel when the news would break the next day.

I glanced at Dr. George. His face was red and he was almost vibrating with anger. He was doing his best to keep it all in, though, I could tell, because publicly his goal was to save the school. And he didn't want to blow his cover since there still wasn't anything that would tie him to all of this. But, man, was he mad. He was shooting blazing fireballs at me out of his eyes. To be honest, seeing that kinda made confessing worth it.

Vince and I stepped down from the stage, and I finally went over to where my parents were sitting. They looked shocked. And angry. And they should have been both. I knew that my business was definitely over now, and part of me almost felt relieved. Having that business had been a lot of stress. It had been quite a huge thing to keep secret from every adult around me, so it almost felt good to finally be done sneaking around.

My dad glared at me. “We're so disappointed in you,” he said.

“I can't believe you boys would do this,” my mom said. She looked destroyed.

“That said,” my dad continued, “I'm very proud that you did the right thing in the end. That took a lot of guts, to own up to your mistakes.”

I nodded, but he still hadn't stopped giving me the old dagger eyes.

That's when I saw George headed our way. I nudged Vince, and then we glanced at each other. This couldn't be good.

He smiled as he approached, one of his patented shark-on-rollerblades, awkward smiles. His attempts at smiling just split his face in half like cracked, dry wood. I didn't like this one bit.

“Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Barrett,” he said. I'd never, ever heard him sound this friendly.

“Hi,” my dad said, shaking his hand.

“Can I have a word with these two? I want to commend them for coming forward and doing the right thing,” Dr. George said.

My mom smiled and nodded. “I don't see why not.”

“It's a little loud in here. Why don't we step outside?” he said to us.

Vince and I followed him out of the theater. On our way out I saw Hannah sitting in the production booth in the back of the theater. Our eyes locked. I tried to apologize in that one look, but I could see I didn't have to. She smiled at me, and I smiled back.

Then we were out in the empty hallway. Just me, Vince, and Dr. George. Of course I was terrified. I knew how mad he was; I'd just ruined everything for him. What was he going to do?

He grabbed the back of our necks just then. Not too hard but firm enough to tell us that we'd better let him take us wherever he had in mind.

“This way,” he said.

He led us toward the East Wing. Toward my old office. Along the way no one talked. I was too terrified to say anything, and I think George was probably too angry. I had no idea about Vince, but he always has been pretty bad at any confrontations, except for those that occur between pitcher and batter, so he probably just didn't even know what to say at all.

We got to the East Wing boys' bathroom, and Dr. George unlocked the door. Then he held it open and said, “After you.”

We shuffled inside.

That's when he exploded.

“You little . . .” Well, I'm not going to repeat everything he said, but I'll just say that his face bulged, and he screamed at us and called us names for several minutes before calming himself enough to have a somewhat normal conversation.

“You ruined everything!” he yelled. “I had this all planned so perfectly, and you screwed it all up. Do you have any idea how many strings I had to pull, how hard it was to get all of this set up? To stage all of this to where it could look like I was doing such a great job cleaning up the school and to set you up to rig the SMARTs? And now it's all ruined.

“Mark my words, you will pay for this. They don't call me Dr. Discipline over in Harrison School District for nothing. At that high school I got no fewer than ten kids sent to juvie! And that's where you're both going. I have my connections in there, too. So just you wait. Your life will be a living hell. And you'll deserve it.”

Vince and I looked at each other. We didn't know what to say. I knew there was nothing I could do to stop him. And besides, he was probably right: I probably did deserve it for all of the years my business had benefited from other kids' misfortunes.

“Well? What do you have to say now,
Mac
? What about you, Vincent? Huh?”

Vince cleared his throat. “Well, sir, I'd like to quote my grandma if I can?”

“What?” Dr. George sneered.

I smirked. Even in this dire situation I couldn't help it. There was no one I'd rather meet this with head-on than this guy. Vince was the best. It was that simple.

“Well, if she were here right now, she'd probably say, ‘Be careful what you wish for because for every wish there's a demented magical unicorn out there looking to impale someone right in their face.'”

“What!” Dr. George shouted. “That's sick, you little . . .”

It was pretty sick, I had to admit. But she really did say that. I'd heard her say it once at a funeral for one of her friends, right when the pastor was going through a prayer. It was pretty funny in a totally sick way, of course.

Anyway, Dr. George didn't get to finish his sentence because just then the door burst open and Mr. Simpson, Mr. Dickerson, the other two Suits, Mr. Kjelson, and several parents all rushed inside. From the looks on their faces I could tell something was up.

“Dr. George,” Mr. Simpson said. “Perhaps you should step outside with us?”

“Why? What's going on?” he demanded.

Mr. Kjelson pointed up in the corner where our camera was still mounted. “Everything that has been happening in here just played on the big screen in the Olson Olson Theatre.”

“What? No, that's not possible. The recorders aren't even in here!” Dr. George yelled.

“It's a wireless signal,” Hannah said from the doorway. “Anything can pick it up; it doesn't just have to be those DVRs.”

I hadn't noticed her arrival until just then. I made a mental note that I would need to thank her in a big way, since she had just saved us, basically.

Dr. George shook his head.

You had to love that. In the end he was taken down by his own old-man ignorance of technology. Okay, that probably isn't fair to say, but he deserves it. What I didn't know was how Hannah had known to play the signal in the theater and how anyone had known we were in here.

“Let's go, Dr. George,” Mr. Simpson said again calmly. “I think it's best if we all step outside.”