I hold my breath, waiting for Birdie to panic and crack with the news. But she doesn’t.
“I was hiding in the bathroom,” she says. Shoulders squared, maintaining her innocence.
Pen-cap flicks leery gray eyes over us, starting with Birdie and ending with me. The way you might study a pack of stray dogs you aren’t sure can be trusted. Trying to decide which one is the ring leader. The alpha.
“I still think we should go speak to Principal Weaver. You too, Honey, since I overheard other students say you weren’t in your classroom, either.”
“Yes, I was,” I flat-out lie.
I search for the classmates who were staring at me in horror less than an hour ago and spot my chemistry teacher watching us. I give him a barely there grin meant as an apology, and he nods once in return. Looking less upset than he should. He starts strolling over, inconspicuously slow, like he’s trying to gauge the situation.
“What about me?” Blue asks, returning my thoughts to the fact that we might have to convince Principal Weaver we’re not degenerates, despite our reputation as weirds. “I mean if you’re going to single out all the Junipers as dangerous renegades, shouldn’t I come along, too?”
“I’m not singling anyone out, yet. The facts merely are as stated. Two out of three Junipers were not where you were expected to be at the time of the incident.”
She’s wrong. Three out of three Junipers weren’t where we were expected, but Blue is the least likely to stand out.
“She has to come regardless,” I tell Ms. Pennick. “We’re not comfortable being separated in situations like this. It’s part of our family creed.”
“And what creed it that?” Pen-cap digs the edge of her clipboard into her hip, all official business like she’s in charge, which is apparently all she’s ever wanted.
“We’d tell you,” Birdie chimes in, “but then we’d have to kill you.”
“I hardly think this is a time to make jokes,” Ms. Pennick says. “Especially ones of that nature, given the circumstances. If you girls didn’t dress so—”
“Whoa!” I cut her off. “How we dress has nothing to do with this.”
Pen-cap shrugs one shoulder, looking only slightly shamed.
Her criticism backs up everything I already know people say. I am slightly disheveled by the ordeal. I know that, but it doesn’t change the fact that we have to follow her toward the administration building like criminals. I untangle my thick brown hair from its mangled bun instead. I reknot it as neatly as possible on top of my head, smoothing down all the flyaway hairs that came loose in the steamy air shaft. I don’t know if that will help, since I’m sweaty and covered in dust, but it can’t hurt. Maybe the principal won’t notice my blood-soaked knee. Pen-cap hasn’t. Yet. Neither has Birdie, which is not a shock considering how the whole day has gone.
Dread settles into my gut as I anticipate the questions that might sail my way during interrogation.
Where were you going when you escaped class through the ventilation shaft?
Why was your sister also missing during the incident?
Do you know who this schoolbag belongs to?
I’m thinking of answers less incriminating than the truth when Mr. Whitlock intercepts us with a block at the pass between buildings. For someone whose car was hit by the flash-bang grenades, he doesn’t appear fazed.
“Paula, so glad I saw you,” he says. “I can take the Juniper sisters to Principal Weaver’s office from here. He asked me to bring Honey to his office if I could find her, and the general consensus is to keep the parties involved to a minimum.”
Pen-cap pulls her triangular chin back, regarding Mr. Whitlock’s interception like she’s put out. “I suppose that makes sense. Daniel targeted your car, after all.”
I suck in a breath, loud enough to catch Mr. Whitlock’s attention.
“We probably shouldn’t name names,” he whispers, leaning closer to his colleague. “The powers that be like to keep the identity of those involved under wraps when dealing with minors. But I’m sure we can agree to keep that indiscretion to ourselves. It’s not like you gave his last name.”
“Of course. I would never. Yes,” Pen-cap says, tugging nervously on her lanyard. “Will you let me know how it goes?”
“I will if I can. Again, minors.”
Pen-cap zips her Elkwood High windbreaker, and it suddenly seems a size too small to contain her disappointment. I’m not exactly thrilled with my teacher’s interception of us, either, considering I went against everything he asked of me in his classroom.
Mr. Whitlock steals multiple glances at my sisters and me as we walk back toward the school. I want to pinch Birdie’s arm and ask if they purposely threw the flash-bang grenades at Whitlock’s car or if it was an accident, but I can’t. Knowing this extra piece of information makes it impossible for me to look at him.
I have to say something, though. I should.
It isn’t until we’re inside the school again, heading to Principal Weaver’s office, that I find the will to speak. “Mr. Whitlock, I wasn’t involved with whatever happened. You have to know that. I honestly just had to go find my sisters.”
He stops in the dimly lit hallway. “What’s your family creed?”
“What?” That’s a strange thing to ask, given the circumstances.
“Your creed. I heard you mention it to Ms. Pennick.”
Mr. Whitlock hasn’t accused us of anything without proof, unlike Pen-cap, so I have no reason to keep it a secret. It’s not like it’s anything incriminating or shocking. In fact, I bet it’s the creed of lots of families. Especially when they go on trips and stuff where anything can happen, which is the main point.
I shrug one shoulder. “We stick together no matter what.”
He doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, just rakes his hand across the top of his head, smoothing down his straight golden hair where he has a cowlick. Against the sky-blue lockers, he reminds me of that highly sensing character in Fight Club and all I can think is, What would Tyler Durden do?
“I didn’t think you were involved,” he says. “Not directly. But I think you have an idea who was.”
He shifts a suspicious gaze to Birdie and my protective defenses go up.
Don’t react. Don’t react. Don’t react.
Thankfully, my sister keeps her mouth shut.
All three of us need to stay on the same page if we’re going to survive this meeting with Principal Weaver.
“Okay then,” Mr. Whitlock says. “If you’re not involved, and you don’t know who is, why am I taking you to Principal Weaver?”
I arch a brow at the trick question, the R in Ready kicking into high gear. “Because he told you to?”
Trick questions require trick answers.
“Did he?” Whitlock says. “I was so distraught over my car, I guess that request got lost in the confusion of the situation.”
He shifts his eyes to the exit. When we don’t respond, he tips his head toward the door.
“Are you saying we can leave?”
He moves his head in a suggested yes, but I don’t trust it. This feels like baiting a trap. Thread something shiny on a hook to tempt the fish before yanking it out of the water by its hungry mouth.