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I didn’t give two shits what he did with his weed, just so long as it wasn’t in my locker.
***
Ten minutes remained in class when the door was pulled open and the principal walked in.
“Excuse me for the interruption, Mr. Stanford. I need to borrow Porter Prescott for the remainder of your class.”
Shit.
It was never good when the principal pulled you from class.
I gathered up my book and papers, standing and holding them all in hand against my body, while wracking my brain, trying to figure out what I could have done wrong.
Shoot. Did someone overhear mine and Alex’s conversation?
Guilty by association was a true thing in this school.
“We have a test tomorrow, Mr. Prescott. Please prepare,” Mr. Stanford said as I passed him. Principal Jenkins held the door open for me and exited into the hall after I did, closing the door. I waited for him, following him down the hall, down a flight of stairs, and toward the office.
The front office had a wall made of glass and seeing the Sheriff and K-9 sitting on the other side…
“Fuck…”
He fucking didn’t.
There was no way on earth that Alex got back into my locker and left that shit in there.
“Language, Mr. Prescott,” Jenkins said, leading me into the main office and toward his own office. Sure enough, the Sheriff and his dog followed, closing the door behind him. I eyed the dog wearily, but he sat next to his handler, tongue out, eyeing me back, but otherwise looking relaxed.
“I assume by your word choice that you know what this meeting is about, Mr. Prescott.” Jenkins sat at his desk, leaning forward with his hands steepled in front of him.
“It’s not mine.”
Jenkins smirked, but covered it up by lowering his mouth to the tips of his fingers. “With your record, Mr. Prescott, I’m afraid that not only are you being pulled from the hockey team, but you are facing out-of-school suspension. That’s not even to begin speaking of the legal consequences.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I sat up, my face pulled tight. “It wasn’t my weed!”
Jenkins wasn’t hearing me. “We’ve already contacted your parents—”
Fuck me.
“—and they are aware and on their way.”
The cop finally spoke. “Under Wisconsin state law, we can charge you for possession. So long as it’s a first offense, you’d likely only be looking at counseling and probation.”
“I’ll take a fucking piss test!” I stood up, anxiety more than anger rolling off me in waves. I was not going down for this. “It’s not mine! It was Alexander Ponch’s.” Alex could fucking rot in hell for all I cared at the moment. The asshole probably heard the cops were coming and that was the reason he was so adamant on getting the weed in my locker. I may have a record with the school when it came to grades and my mouth, but Alex was known to be caught outside of school with drugs. “He tried to stuff it in my locker before class and I told him no. I shut it and left for class. He must have put it in there after I left.” I looked at Jenkins and pointed to his computer screen. “Pull up video. I swear I’m not lying.”
Jenkins looked momentarily taken aback, as if he hadn’t even thought there’d be another explanation.
Never was when it came to me.
He sat up, finally lowering that stupid-assed hand gesture he did all the damn time, and turned to his computer to pull up the hall monitors.
After a moment of fiddling with different keys, Jenkins glanced at me, then the cop, before looking back at me. “It appears that camera isn’t working.”
“Of course it’s not.” I plopped back down in my seat, thoroughly exasperated. Crossing my arms over my chest once again, I pleaded with the cop. “It’s not mine. I’ll pee in a cup; you can have someone draw my blood. I have never touched weed. It’s not mine.”
The cop looked to Jenkins. “If what he’s saying is true,” he paused and readjusted his utility belt, “we can bring him down and take samples once his parents get here.” He then looked to me again. “Just because you haven’t touched it, doesn’t mean you weren’t planning to.”
