Freedom of Sketch

Sincerest Apologies

It's the end of June. I borrow Jenny's desk calendar and count that I've been locked up for 140 days. I want to run headfirst into a wall, but I have a feeling that such an action would give the staff a perfect reason to keep me here for the remainder of my life. Or at least drop me back down to Level One. Dr. Fox took pity on me after Lizzie arrived, and said I'd been promoted to Level Two. I play with the yellow band on my wrist.

End-of-spring pollen spores enter the building in swarms. Circle Valley Hospital doubles up on their order of tissue boxes. Hardly anyone is spared many hours of wheezing, drippy-nosed, red-eyed misery. The psychiatrists put in more orders for allergy medication than they do for antidepressants and mood stabilizers. During Group one morning, I sneeze nine times in a row, generating much applause and amusement. Needless to say, I am now extremely blessed.

Mother can't come to visitation because she's teetering on the edge of an important deadline at work. I don't complain. Instead, I doze off in the Lounge, my runny nostrils plugged up with tissue. There is no need for dignity at this time. I'm not the only one who has decided to do this.

Tori skips into the lounge, passing out various letters and care packages to eager girls waiting to hear from their forbidden romantic partners and, of course, loving family members. To my surprise, Tori tosses a thin white envelope into my lap.

Me: "Who's this from?"

"Not sure," she says. She stops at the door, turns around, and gives me a look.

"What?" I ask.

"Really, Shiloh?" she says when she sees the columns of tissue protruding from my nose. "I know your allergies are bad, but that's kinda gross, don't you think?"

"Euugghhnnn," I respond, then turn to my letter.

There's no return address, just "Matheson" scrawled in blue ink.

Principal Matheson? I wonder, tearing open the envelope. I extract a neatly typed letter that reads:

Dear Shiloh,

As principal of Caberwood High School, I believe that every student should be treated fairly and with the upmost respect, especially in the face of adversity. Unfortunately, when it came to the art studio's arson investigation, you were unfairly accused and presumed guilty until proven innocent. Said investigation determined that another student was responsible for the damages, for which they will be properly disciplined. The Caberwood administration extends its sincerest apologies and would like to warmly welcome you back to your classes this coming fall semester upon medical clearance from an approved treatment provider.

All the best,

Gary Matheson

Talia drags a beanbag over to mine and glances over my shoulder. "What's that?" she asks.

"An apology from my school," my lips say. I am stunned. I flip the paper over, looking for a "Just kidding!" scribbled somewhere on the page.

"For that fire they blamed on you?"

I can only nod. I hand the letter over to Talia, who reads it quickly with wide-eyed interest. She finishes reading and frowns before passing the paper back to me. "They're apologizing to you... I get that... but is it just me, or is this principal not even taking direct responsibility for his mistake? He just says, 'The Caberwood administration extends its apologies'. He doesn't say he is the one who's sorry."

I roll my eyes. "True. But what do you expect from a high school principal?"

"So does this mean you're getting out?" A hint of disappointment tinges the hope in Talia's voice.