a confrontation. But it wasn’t my locker the shoes slowed in front of,
and when I looked over, it wasn’t Shane or any other student with super-sonic
hearing.
Professor Coleman’s face bore a mask of
consternation as he stood in front of Chase with his arms folded tightly across
his suit.
“You’d
better come with me, Mr. Mitman. Bring your belongings.”
A
look of bewilderment plastered across Chase’s features. “What’s this about?”
“Just
bring your things,” was the only answer Professor Coleman gave.
“Chase,”
I whispered, watching him closely, but I was cut off by a stern look from our
otherwise usually calm English teacher.
Chase
turned his head and followed Professor Coleman down the corridor. He looked
back over his shoulder, his lips mouth out the words “Four o’clock”— and
then he disappeared toward Headmaster Whitley’s office.
Chapter Seventeen
Chase
“Have a
seat, Mr. Mitman,” was the first thing I heard after the door closed behind me.
I was ushered to a wooden chair opposite a large walnut desk with a stark white
desk calendar bearing the Whitley Preparatory crest in the center of it.
Headmaster
Whitley stood behind the desk. He was a tall, slender man with a determined jaw
line and the same ice blue eyes as his nephew. In my opinion, he looked too
young to be a Headmaster, and I briefly wondered if sneaky corruption ran in
the family.
Professor
Coleman stood behind me at the door, guarding my only chance of escape. He
looked at his watch every couple of minutes and appeared uncomfortable when our
eyes met, then he cleared his throat and nodded, motioning for me to turn in my
chair and face forward.
“Do
you use illegal substances, Mr. Mitman?” Headmaster Whitley asked as he drummed
his fingers on the desk.
“I’m
sorry, sir?”
“Illegal
substances. Drugs. Have you ever used them?”
“No.”
That was a ridiculous question. I had never, ever tried a drug in my life.
Headmaster
Whitley turned to face the wall behind his desk, lacing his fingers behind his
back. For a few moments there was utter, excruciating silence, which I tried to
use wisely and wrack my brain for anything that would explain why I was sitting
here.
He
turned back around and tossed a small plastic bag onto the desk and waited for
my reaction. At first, I didn’t know what it was, and then I put two and two
together. Something had been confiscated, and Headmaster Whitley was accusing
me of being its owner.
“Well?”
he asked.
I
motioned with a nod of my head to the little plastic lump taking center stage.
“What is it?”
A
little harrumph escaped his lips. “You don’t know?” I watched as he exchanged
looks with Professor Coleman, who hadn’t moved from his place behind me.
“No,
sir. I don’t.”
“This
was found lying beneath your desk in Professor Coleman’s class. It was found
after a sweep was completed before lunch.” His expression was one of smug
anticipation as he waited for me to break my composure and give in.
“Well,
it’s not mine,” I insisted. “Besides, I wasn’t at my desk during English. I was
at one of the lab tables in the back of the room working on a project.”
Once
again his eyes swept to the door before returning his accusing gaze to me.
“I’ll
be honest with you, Chase. You’ve been through a rough couple of years, rough
enough to change a person, but your record has stayed remarkably clean. We’ve
already had the bag dusted for prints and yours are not on it.”
Dumbstruck,
I lost all sense of reserve and stood up. “Then why did you accuse me?”
“I
didn’t accuse you,” Headmaster explained. “I simply asked if you had ever used
before, not if this happened to belong to you. There’s a difference. You see
the bag was situated just beneath the leg of your desk to imply that you had
dropped it, when really, it was placed there on purpose.”
“Who
put it there?”
“Why
don’t you sit
and when I looked over, it wasn’t Shane or any other student with super-sonic
hearing.
Professor Coleman’s face bore a mask of
consternation as he stood in front of Chase with his arms folded tightly across
his suit.
“You’d
better come with me, Mr. Mitman. Bring your belongings.”
A
look of bewilderment plastered across Chase’s features. “What’s this about?”
“Just
bring your things,” was the only answer Professor Coleman gave.
“Chase,”
I whispered, watching him closely, but I was cut off by a stern look from our
otherwise usually calm English teacher.
Chase
turned his head and followed Professor Coleman down the corridor. He looked
back over his shoulder, his lips mouth out the words “Four o’clock”— and
then he disappeared toward Headmaster Whitley’s office.
Chapter Seventeen
Chase
“Have a
seat, Mr. Mitman,” was the first thing I heard after the door closed behind me.
I was ushered to a wooden chair opposite a large walnut desk with a stark white
desk calendar bearing the Whitley Preparatory crest in the center of it.
Headmaster
Whitley stood behind the desk. He was a tall, slender man with a determined jaw
line and the same ice blue eyes as his nephew. In my opinion, he looked too
young to be a Headmaster, and I briefly wondered if sneaky corruption ran in
the family.
Professor
Coleman stood behind me at the door, guarding my only chance of escape. He
looked at his watch every couple of minutes and appeared uncomfortable when our
eyes met, then he cleared his throat and nodded, motioning for me to turn in my
chair and face forward.
“Do
you use illegal substances, Mr. Mitman?” Headmaster Whitley asked as he drummed
his fingers on the desk.
“I’m
sorry, sir?”
“Illegal
substances. Drugs. Have you ever used them?”
“No.”
That was a ridiculous question. I had never, ever tried a drug in my life.
Headmaster
Whitley turned to face the wall behind his desk, lacing his fingers behind his
back. For a few moments there was utter, excruciating silence, which I tried to
use wisely and wrack my brain for anything that would explain why I was sitting
here.
He
turned back around and tossed a small plastic bag onto the desk and waited for
my reaction. At first, I didn’t know what it was, and then I put two and two
together. Something had been confiscated, and Headmaster Whitley was accusing
me of being its owner.
“Well?”
he asked.
I
motioned with a nod of my head to the little plastic lump taking center stage.
“What is it?”
A
little harrumph escaped his lips. “You don’t know?” I watched as he exchanged
looks with Professor Coleman, who hadn’t moved from his place behind me.
“No,
sir. I don’t.”
“This
was found lying beneath your desk in Professor Coleman’s class. It was found
after a sweep was completed before lunch.” His expression was one of smug
anticipation as he waited for me to break my composure and give in.
“Well,
it’s not mine,” I insisted. “Besides, I wasn’t at my desk during English. I was
at one of the lab tables in the back of the room working on a project.”
Once
again his eyes swept to the door before returning his accusing gaze to me.
“I’ll
be honest with you, Chase. You’ve been through a rough couple of years, rough
enough to change a person, but your record has stayed remarkably clean. We’ve
already had the bag dusted for prints and yours are not on it.”
Dumbstruck,
I lost all sense of reserve and stood up. “Then why did you accuse me?”
“I
didn’t accuse you,” Headmaster explained. “I simply asked if you had ever used
before, not if this happened to belong to you. There’s a difference. You see
the bag was situated just beneath the leg of your desk to imply that you had
dropped it, when really, it was placed there on purpose.”
“Who
put it there?”
“Why
don’t you sit
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