with their backs to the wall while Principal Eikmeier sat across from them on a wheeled office chair. He started to get up, but I motioned for him to stay seated. I counted three boys and seven girls. Two of the boys were in front of the line talking to each other, but the third was in back and looked lost in thought. I ignored him and motioned the first two toward me.
“Which of you is left–handed?”
They both smirked. I tilted my head to the side and raised my eyebrows, but that just caused them to snicker. I was about to turn around and get the list from Olivia when a brunette girl next to the two boys stepped forward.
“Don is left–handed,” she said. “The one with black hair.”
Don shot her a withering, malevolent stare. He was tall with spiked black hair. He didn’t look like he could handle himself well against a grown adult, but he could probably hurt a teenage girl. I stepped in front of him and smiled. He stepped back.
“Is she right?” I asked.
He shrugged.
“So what?” he asked.
“That means you and I need to talk in private.”
Before Principal Eikmeier could stop me, I put my hand between his shoulder blades and gently led him down the hall. The kid came willingly, but the smirk never left his mouth. We rounded a corner, and I led him into a boy’s restroom so we could talk without interruption. It smelled like cigarettes and urine. The walls were covered in an institutional green tile, and the floors were some sort of gray stone. The ceiling was black in spots, probably from years of clandestine smokers, and none of the toilet stalls had doors. At least I knew we were alone.
“You are so totally screwed, taco vendor,” Don said. “You can’t drag me away like that. My Dad’s lawyers are going to be all over this.”
I turned and twisted the deadbolt on the bathroom’s door. The bolt hit home with a clang.
“I’m an Arab, dip shit,” I said. “And your Dad’s lawyers aren’t in here.”
Don’s smirk slowly disappeared. He backed up to the far side of the room, pressing himself flat against the wall.
“What are you doing? Is this like a terrorist thing?”
“No,” I said, walking to one of the porcelain sinks.
I unbuttoned my shirt cuffs and pushed up the sleeves of my jacket an inch or two. I threw water on my face as if I were preparing myself for prayers. I glanced at the kid again. His breathing looked shallow, and his skin was white.
“This isn’t funny,” he said, pressing his back to the tiled wall. “You can’t lock me up here. I know my rights.”
I shrugged and shook water off my hands before drying them with paper towels.
“You’re right. I can’t keep you here, but I didn’t lock the door for you. I locked the door to keep Principal Eikmeier out. You can go anytime you want.”
Don took a step forward but stopped before reaching the door.
“You’re going to hit me or something, aren’t you?”
I leaned my hip against the sink and crossed my arms.
“You’ve got my word. I won’t touch you,” I said, shrugging my shoulders. “But you ought to stay.”
He bunched his eyebrows up and took a hesitant step back.
“Why?”
“Because if you stay and talk to me, Detective Rhodes won’t arrest you for providing false information to the police, Heywood.”
“Are you serious?” he asked. I raised my eyebrows but didn’t say anything. He threw his hands up. “Come on. That thing with the sign–in sheet was a joke. I hardly even knew Rachel. I sat beside her in homeroom and American History. That’s it.”
I took my notebook out of my pocket. Olivia asked me to talk some sense into the kid, but I couldn’t help if he was talkative.
“If you sat beside her, you must have talked to her some. She ever have problems with anybody?”
“We didn’t talk about those sorts of things. We made fun of the teacher. We talked about TV. Stuff like that.”
“Who would she have talked with?”
He gave me a list of five names. He called
“Which of you is left–handed?”
They both smirked. I tilted my head to the side and raised my eyebrows, but that just caused them to snicker. I was about to turn around and get the list from Olivia when a brunette girl next to the two boys stepped forward.
“Don is left–handed,” she said. “The one with black hair.”
Don shot her a withering, malevolent stare. He was tall with spiked black hair. He didn’t look like he could handle himself well against a grown adult, but he could probably hurt a teenage girl. I stepped in front of him and smiled. He stepped back.
“Is she right?” I asked.
He shrugged.
“So what?” he asked.
“That means you and I need to talk in private.”
Before Principal Eikmeier could stop me, I put my hand between his shoulder blades and gently led him down the hall. The kid came willingly, but the smirk never left his mouth. We rounded a corner, and I led him into a boy’s restroom so we could talk without interruption. It smelled like cigarettes and urine. The walls were covered in an institutional green tile, and the floors were some sort of gray stone. The ceiling was black in spots, probably from years of clandestine smokers, and none of the toilet stalls had doors. At least I knew we were alone.
“You are so totally screwed, taco vendor,” Don said. “You can’t drag me away like that. My Dad’s lawyers are going to be all over this.”
I turned and twisted the deadbolt on the bathroom’s door. The bolt hit home with a clang.
“I’m an Arab, dip shit,” I said. “And your Dad’s lawyers aren’t in here.”
Don’s smirk slowly disappeared. He backed up to the far side of the room, pressing himself flat against the wall.
“What are you doing? Is this like a terrorist thing?”
“No,” I said, walking to one of the porcelain sinks.
I unbuttoned my shirt cuffs and pushed up the sleeves of my jacket an inch or two. I threw water on my face as if I were preparing myself for prayers. I glanced at the kid again. His breathing looked shallow, and his skin was white.
“This isn’t funny,” he said, pressing his back to the tiled wall. “You can’t lock me up here. I know my rights.”
I shrugged and shook water off my hands before drying them with paper towels.
“You’re right. I can’t keep you here, but I didn’t lock the door for you. I locked the door to keep Principal Eikmeier out. You can go anytime you want.”
Don took a step forward but stopped before reaching the door.
“You’re going to hit me or something, aren’t you?”
I leaned my hip against the sink and crossed my arms.
“You’ve got my word. I won’t touch you,” I said, shrugging my shoulders. “But you ought to stay.”
He bunched his eyebrows up and took a hesitant step back.
“Why?”
“Because if you stay and talk to me, Detective Rhodes won’t arrest you for providing false information to the police, Heywood.”
“Are you serious?” he asked. I raised my eyebrows but didn’t say anything. He threw his hands up. “Come on. That thing with the sign–in sheet was a joke. I hardly even knew Rachel. I sat beside her in homeroom and American History. That’s it.”
I took my notebook out of my pocket. Olivia asked me to talk some sense into the kid, but I couldn’t help if he was talkative.
“If you sat beside her, you must have talked to her some. She ever have problems with anybody?”
“We didn’t talk about those sorts of things. We made fun of the teacher. We talked about TV. Stuff like that.”
“Who would she have talked with?”
He gave me a list of five names. He called
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