When

10-30-2014

   A WEEK AND A HALF LATER, I was in sixth period American Lit when someone knocked on the classroom door. We all looked up just as our principal came in.

   Principal Harris (4-21-2042) is a short man who walks around like he owns the place. He also has a penchant for using big words so nobody can ever figure out what he’s trying to say. “Sarah?” he said when my teacher Mrs. Wilson (6-30-2056) looked up.

   “Yes, Principal Harris?”

   “I will need to see Madelyn Fynn in my office posthaste.” His voice sounded grave.

   Twenty-three pairs of eyes swiveled around to look at me, and my heartbeat ticked up. Stubby looked as alarmed as I felt.

   From the seat in front of me, Eric Anderson (7-25-2017) said, “Yo, Murdering Maddie, what’d you do ?”

   I felt my mouth go dry. What had I done?

   “ Mr . Anderson. Another word from you, and you’ll join us,” warned Harris. Eric turned away and snickered along with his best friend, Mario Rossi (7-25-2017).

   Feeling my face flush, I gathered up my books and my backpack as fast as I could and followed the principal out of the room.

   Harris led me through the empty hallways, his shoes making loud clacks against the terrazzo floors. I practically walked on tiptoe.

   We reached his offices and passed through the doors into a large open space. All the school secretaries working there looked up in unison as we arrived. Knowing I’d never be called to the principal’s office if I wasn’t in trouble, I felt my cheeks sear with heat. “This way, Madelyn,” said Principal Harris, waving me forward through the maze of desks to his inner office at the back. The door was closed and all the blinds on the glass windows facing out were drawn. He opened the door and again waved me along inside.

   Seated in the chairs in front of his large metal desk were two men about the same age as my mom: one short and heavy with a face like a bulldog; the other tall and broad-shouldered with a handsome face you could’ve seen in Hollywood. They were both dressed formally in suits and ties, and they each turned to look at me, their gazes steely and suspicious. I tugged at the zipper on my hoodie, jumping as the door closed behind me.

   Principal Harris moved to his desk and took his seat, then pointed to a chair to his left. “Sit,” he said. It wasn’t a request.

   I tried to swallow, but my mouth had gone dry. I moved to the chair and shrugged out of my backpack, holding it in front of me like a shield before I sat down. As I took the chair I noticed a large Word of the Day calendar on Principal Harris’s desk next to me. Today’s word was DONNYBROOK—A PUBLIC ARGUMENT.

   “Madelyn,” Harris said, and I jerked, my attention back to him. “This is Special Agent Faraday of the FBI and his partner, Agent Wallace.” At the mention of their names, the two men reached into their blazer pockets and pulled out their respective badges, which they held aloft. The shiny shields reminded me of my dad’s badge. Ma still kept it in her dresser drawer.

   “They’re here to discuss a most grievous and pressing situation, Madelyn,” Principal Harris said. “Please give them your full attention while they recount the details.”

   The tall, broad-shouldered guy, Agent Faraday (10-2-2052), subtly rolled his eyes when Principal Harris wasn’t looking. Apparently, kids weren’t the only ones who found it hard to like our principal.

   “Madelyn,” Agent Faraday started.

   I hugged my backpack, feeling my heart pound against my rib cage. This was about Ma. Something had happened to her or she was in trouble.