“Duncan Fletcher!!”

My heart stops.

“What is going on in here?!” Mrs. Thompson storms into the bathroom, pointing a quavering finger at Melissa.

“YOU.” Melissa turns a bright red and manages to look like she’s been caught stealing. “My office. NOW,” Mrs. Thompson hisses, her face livid.

I catch myself wondering how she’s got any tears left as Melissa bursts into sobs and scurries out of the bathroom. As Mrs. Thompson slams shut the door and advances on me, though, I wrench my mind back to the present.

“What the HELL are you DOING?!” I can’t stop myself from falling back a few steps under Mrs. Thompson’s furious advance. After this initial lapse, though, learned instinct kicks in and I hold my ground, forcing myself to keep my eyes on my shoes.

“What is WRONG with you?” Mrs. Thompson continues, emphasizing her words with a slight push on the side of my head every so often, “What did you do to the new girl?” Another shove, and I force myself to remain completely rigid, “This is too far, Duncan! I’ll have you expelled this time! You unbelievably disgusting, vile, sick, twisted,” Each of the last four words was reinforced with a quick, firm smack, and my fear rises as Mrs. Thompson finishes, “Little SHIT!”

I can’t help but flinch as Mrs. Thompson pulls her hand back, and maybe it’s this that sparks the regret I can see in Mrs. Thompson’s eyes. Maybe it’s the fact that her hand has just made stinging contact with my face. Maybe it’s the way the sound echoes in the empty bathroom.

Whatever it is, Mrs. Thompson takes a step back and eyes me warily. “Explain yourself.”

I dart a quick glance as her face. “I didn’ do anythin’. I swear.” Mrs. Thompson just stares at me, so I forge on, forcing the words over my fear-number tongue, “Mrs. Thompson, ya’ gotta’ believe me!” I raise my gaze to hers again, “Ya know I ain’t like that.” I gesture behind her, toward the door, “Ask her. Jus’ talk t’Melissa.” Seeing Mrs. Thompson narrow her eyes, I hasten to add, “I’ll stay right here; I won’ move, I swear…”

Mrs. Thompson glares at me as I trail off, doing my best to look meek. “We’re not done,” she growls as she turns and stalks out the bathroom door. I hear a key click in the lock, and let my breath out.

It takes me ten minutes to get my heart rate back to normal, and once I do, I slam my fist into the tiled wall, cursing myself twice over for my stupidity. How could I let Letti talk me into coming in here? I was sure that she had tipped off Mrs. Thompson that I was in here; as far as I knew, the faculty had their own bathrooms. No one was going to believe that I came in here to make the new girl feel better…and Melissa was just shaken up enough that she might not be able to give a convincing account of what happened. Damnit!

I punched the wall a second time, this time sinking down beside the sinks and clutching my hand against the pain. Settling my back against the wall and putting my hands safely in my lap, I reflect that this might not be Letti at all. It could just be my shitty life, dumping more crap I can’t handle onto my shoulders. Either way, I was screwed.

Mrs. Thompson came back a while later to find me still sitting next to the sinks, staring dully at the vanity wall. I look up as she walks in, dimly wondering if a fifteen year old can serve jail time. She glares down at me and folds her arms across her chest.

“Truth,” she barks, “Now.”

And, like a well-trained seal, I reel off the whole story: First period, the note, lunch, Letti and Chad’s involvement. I stumble to a halt as I wrap up stupidly with, “…and then you were there.” Mrs. Thompson stares at me a moment more before speaking.

“Detention, every day, starting today. For two months. Your story matches the girl’s, so I can’t expel you, but,” she adds as she sees the relief that brushes across my features, “If you put one toe out of line, I will find a way to make it happen. I better not EVER find you in a girl’s bathroom again, you understand?”

I lower my head and nod, partly because I know it’s what she wants, partly because I don’t trust myself not to smile at the knowledge that she’s failed again to get me expelled. “Yes, ma’am,” I tell her, giving my voice just the right amount of resignation. Mrs. Thompson huffs and stomps out of the bathroom, ordering me to class, and slams the door behind her.

I groan and follow her out after a minute to let her get ahead of me. I have a class and a half, plus detention, to figure out a way to explain to Bruce how I managed to get two month’s worth of detention on the first day of the school year…shit.