Honest || h.s.

Appropriation

Harry.

The office is messy. Mr. Gelb asks us to take a seat in front of his desk, and I silently follow Duke to the two folding chairs. He looks smug. I sink down next to him with erratic nerves.

"Now, Mr. Styles," Mr. Gelb says as he shuts the door. I sit up a little straighter, running my palms across my jeans tensely. "Duke here has brought a concerning matter to my attention. May I see your bag?"

"Y-yes. Uh. Sir." Heat floods my face as I pass him the backpack.

Duke folds his arms, watching the exchange closely. I wonder if he knows, and how.

"Mr. Fischer," he glances at Duke, who looks at ease. "Do you understand the weight of the accusation you are making?"

"Yeah," Duke scowls. "I saw him guarding it this morning and it was pretty clear that--"

"That will be enough," Gelb silences him. He turns his gaze to mine. I don't think I've ever seen him serious about any headmaster duties, but the smile lines on his face don't even show when he holds my gaze. I swallow hard as he begins to speak. "I have some questions for you regarding the contents of your bag. Mr. Fischer believes there to be a form of illegal substance, weapon, or something of the like inside. Can you confirm or deny the existence of any of the above?"

"N-no. I mean. Yes." My hands begin to tremble. "There--there isn't--I have nev--nev--never br-brought anythi-ing ill-ill-illegal to school."

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Duce roll his eyes.

Mr. Gelb nods. "I believe you, Harry, but for safety reasons, I'll have to search your backpack. Mr. Fischer is under the impression that you may be a threat to students and the learning environment, and I'm going to have to ask you to wait here."

He stands. I look at the floor, nodding quietly.

"Duce, if you will come with me, I will escort you back to class. Harry, I will return shortly with Regina to examine your backpack."

They leave the room, my bag hung on Gelb's elbow. Even though I've done nothing wrong, I can't help but feel guilty.

But for what?

I think of my sketchbook, and my gut clenches. "Shit," I mutter, running both hands through my hair. "Shit."

I wonder if they'll show Skylar, or Mum, or Jackson... oh, God.

I slump with my head in my hands, my mind whirling. I should have just left the damn sketchbook at home.

After twelve minutes of anxious fidgeting, Mr. Gelb returns with the office lady at his side. Regina takes a seat beside me, and together they begin to sort through my bag, though neither of them look very concerned about it. No doubt, Mum will hear about this from Regina. I rub my wrists apprehensively. Will they leaf through the sketches?

Notebooks and textbooks and folders and rubber bands are pulled from the bag. I wait for them to discover my sketchbook. From smaller pockets they remove my earphones, a charging cord, a stack of note cards, my keys, a calculator. Nothing.

I watch closely as they refill the backpack, just to be sure...

"Looks good, Harry."

Mr. Gelb smiles pleasantly as he zips it shut and hands it back. "Sorry for all that trouble. Have to follow the basic protocol, heh."

I nod and return the smile feebly, trying to relax my tightened limbs. Where is my sketchbook?

"Honestly, to imagine that you'd do such a thing," Regina shakes her head and ruffles my hair on her way out.