Lucy and Linh by Alice Pung Page A

seemed like a small eternity, even though it was less than a minute; I wondered why we sat there glued to our seats instead of dispersing because there was no longer a teacher in the room. But deep down, we knew that there was nowhere for us to go, and that if we did that we’d get into even more trouble.
    In some self-denying parts of their brains, the Cabinet probably thought that things could continue as normal, that if they did what we were trained to do at this school—be Young Ladies, innocuous, innocent and well behaved—the repercussions would not be so bad, that the incident would be put down to Ms. Vanderwerp’s fragility, and how she could not control a class.
    But I knew that every teacher would see through this lie.
    After a time, we heard heavy, determined footsteps outside. The Growler stormed into the room, looking around, making sure we felt her gaze. “Who is responsible for this?” she hollered.
    No one said a word.
    She slammed the door shut. “Despicable, vile act of bullying!” We would all get detention and stay in at lunchtime unless someone spoke, she announced. “Come on, own up—all of you are witnesses.”
    Then it dawned on us. As if we thought we could lie about it! As if we could pretend it had never happened! All that time wasted hiding evidence, when the Cabinet could have spent the remaining moments of the class devising one good collective story.
    Mrs. Grey looked around. Her eyes were like a sniper’s, and when they stopped on a student, her words became ammunition. “Siobhan?”
    Siobhan looked down at her desk.
    “Meredith? Isabelle? Stella?”
    They all remained silent. Then she turned her gaze on me. Thin red trees of veins had etched themselves into her cheeks. “Lucy?”
    I kept my jaw clamped and lowered my head.
    “Oh, for heaven’s sake! None of you are going out to lunch until somebody owns up. You’ll have a whole hour to think about what you have done. I expected better than this from Year Tens.”
    An hour. I could see Amber’s back relaxing, curving down into the chair. During that hour, she would be able to rally the troops and concoct a convincing story. She looked at Chelsea—but that was a mistake, because Chelsea could not stop a smirk from insinuating itself on her sharp little face.
    “Chelsea!” hammered the Growler. “What do you have to smile about?”
    Chelsea looked down at her desk again.
    It was peculiar: the Growler had not asked Chelsea whether she knew who was responsible for this vile act. In fact, she’d not asked any of the Cabinet; she hadn’t even glanced their way. Surely the next person to be asked to report on school transgressions would be Brodie, the prefect? But no.
    “When I leave, the teacher on yard duty will stay with you through lunchtime,” the Growler said.
    Amber’s shoulders slumped. All plans of insurrection were thwarted.
    —
    The teacher on duty was Mr. Sinclair. He came into the classroom and didn’t say a word as he closed the door behind him.
    From his seat behind his desk, he looked at us for a long while. It was not a good look. Even Gina, who would have given anything to have Mr. Sinclair look at her for longer than three seconds, suddenly did not want his eyes on her.
    Finally he spoke. “You girls are in serious trouble, I hear.”
    At first, they tried to get Mr. Sinclair on their side. “But, sir, it was only a joke.” Amber was thick—she hadn’t noticed that Mr. Sinclair had begun not with a question but with a statement. Still, they tried to buddy up to him.
    “We didn’t mean to,” whined Gina.
    I’d never seen such a look on Mr. Sinclair’s face, and I never wanted to again. I doubted that even his wife or mother had seen it. It was a look of incredulity, but not a “do you take me for some kind of fool” look. No, it was a look that reflected the lie back to the liar.
    “How dare you?” bellowed Mr. Sinclair—Mr. Sinclair the Hot One, Mr. Sinclair who had awkwardly ignored his