When the announcements are over, our incredibly old homeroom teacher passes out papers. It’s some kind of flyer for volunteer work, another one advertising school spirit shirts for sale. Just crap that means nothing to me. I shove it in my backpack and watch the girl in front of me.
She seems off today. Yesterday she was all straight-backed and paying attention, being a perfect student. Today her shoulders slump, and I don’t think she lifts her cheek off her hand at all. She just sits there staring at her desk.
I don’t know why I care, but I want to know what’s up with her. Why she’s being all blah today.
I lean forward and tap her on the shoulder. She turns around slowly, leveling an evil glare at me. “What?” she mouths.
I shrug. “You okay?”
I actually said the words instead of mouthing them, but she stares at me like she didn’t hear me at first. Then she turns back around.
I tap her shoulder again, realizing how not used to this I am. Most girls talk to me even when I don’t want them to. “Leave me alone,” she mutters.
I lean forward, breathing in the scent of her strawberry shampoo. “You just seem pissed, so I was curious.”
She turns slightly toward me, so that I can see the curve of her lips and smell the coffee she drank earlier. “We aren’t friends,” she says softly before turning back to face the front.
“No talking!” the teacher barks.
“Dude,” TJ says a moment later. He points to his phone, where someone just texted him. “There’s two cop cars out back.”
I glance over and see the picture on his phone. Sure enough, there are two police cars parked in the teacher’s lot. The lot next to the edge of the property. Right where that greenhouse used to be.
I stiffen. TJ’s got this smirk on his face like he’s impressed that he caused something worthy of police attention. But I’m not so cocky. There’s no way they can trace that back to us, right? And who even cares about the damage, because it was just a stupid greenhouse that’s been there forever. They can’t possibly care about that. They’re probably here for something else.
I look over at TJ and he shrugs, like it’s no big deal. So I decide he’s right. No big deal. This won’t come back to us.
And then the door opens and our principal walks into the classroom. My stomach tightens, and I suddenly feel like I’m going to puke.
He talks quietly to the teacher and then they both turn and look directly at me.
“Clarissa?” the principal says, waving his hand for her to join him.
The girl in front of me stands up, slinging her backpack on her shoulder. She must be Clarissa, I realize, as relief rolls over me. The principal wasn’t looking at me, he was looking at her. This has nothing to do with the cops. Nothing to do with the greenhouse.
Everything is fine.
