Gentlemen by Michael Northrop Page A

was surprised when he asked Bones, Mixer, and me to come up to the front. But they didn’t know what it was about. At least I don’t think they did. Some of the others had been asking us what was upwith Tommy, but we were always like, Search me, so they all thought he was just suspended. They didn’t know he was missing. They would now, I figured, because Trever called out a few other names, including Max. Max gave me a look like, What’s up? But I gave him a look like I didn’t know, because Max and me were never that tight.
    Then Trever paused for a tick or two and added, real casual, “You too, Dantley.”
    Man, no one saw that one coming. Trever said, “I’ll watch the class till you get back,” but Dantley just stood there, a dumb look on his face and his eyes not looking at anything, and you could see that he was confused. His expression was like, I’m getting called to the principal’s office? Then he turned to Trever with a big question mark on his face, and Trever was just like, “They just want to clear some things up.”
    It was the same easy-breezy tone but now I could tell that Trever was working at it. I also realized right then that Dantley didn’t know who he was going to see, and wouldn’t he be surprised when he found out. Throckmorton was the county sheriff. Officially, it was County High Sheriff. Every four years since I could remember, red-white-and-blue signs went up in front lawns saying VOTE THROCKMORTON HIGH SHERIFF . It was like a thing to do to draw a big fat blunt on the sign because, you know, high sheriff.
    It didn’t matter much, I’d never once seen a sign for anyone else running for the job. Throckmorton lived in Soudley, but he got around. These towns around here were too smallto have their own police departments, so it was basically him and his deputies, plus the Staties prowling around to write the speeding tickets.
    And that was about as much as I knew about him until it was my turn and I was called into the principal’s office. I was surprised to see Throckmarten still in there because of that whole family feud thing. The sheriff had taken over the principal’s desk, and Throckmarten was sitting over on the windowsill. They were talking as I walked in. “…because he didn’t take anything with him this time, didn’t pack, not even a pair of socks,” Throckmorton was saying, but he stopped talking when the door closed behind me. Throckmarten looked over at me and said, “Micheal Benton,” but not to me.
    Throckmorton made a sound in the back of his throat, meaning that he’d heard him, and then flipped through some papers in his hands. I was thinking about Without a Trace, all the angry questions and accusations and hands slammed on tables.
    â€œTake a load off,” he said, putting the papers down on the desk and looking back up at me. And right then, I knew this wasn’t going to be like on TV. His voice sounded friendlier than I thought it would, and I had to remind myself again: I hadn’t done anything. I didn’t know where Tommy was, much less have anything to do with putting him there. There was no reason I should’ve been feeling the way I was—cornered is the best I can describe it, cornered and under suspicion—noreason except I was in a closed room with the principal and the sheriff.
    There were two chairs on the front side of the desk, and I took my usual one on the right side. I angled the chair to face Throckmorton and sat up straight so I wouldn’t be shorter than him. I could feel my shoulders were tensed up and pinching together, so I shook them out a little.
    â€œYou cold?” Throckmorton asked, because I guess that looked like a shudder or something. It didn’t sound like a real question, though.
    â€œNah, I’m OK,” I said, and then I thought, Am I supposed to call him sir or sheriff or something like that? I mean,