I sat in the office.

Mom was in with the principal and a social worker and I hadn’t seen Berk.

“Where is she?” I asked the secretary.

“Who?”

“My sister?”

“I don’t know,” she said.

“You don’t know? How can you not know?”

She looked at me. And then she looked at the other secretary who looked at the student secretary and why were there so many secretaries? And why didn’t any of them know anything?

“I’m sure she’s fine,” one of them said, the second one.

They didn’t know what they were talking about. No one knew what they were talking about.

I stood up.

I sat back down.

I stood up again.

The student secretary who I knew was named Rudy, which was a stupid name, she said, “Are you okay?”

They were all watching me and I said, “Did you know a monkey can rip your face off?”

The girl’s eyes got all big and I was like, “Oh yeah. Yours too.” I said to the other secretary.

And then to the other one, “And yours for sure.”

Then I said, “And you know what? I am done with all of this. I am done with all of this.”

I climbed up on the front desk and the main lady was like, “Uh, you can’t do that.” And I said, “Oh I can’t? I can’t? I can’t do this?”

And I kicked the stapler off.

Then I kicked the papers.

Then I kicked a pile of yellow papers. Ahhhahhahahahhahahahaha!!!!!!!!!

I suddenly knew what Grant felt when he’d gotten in a rage. I was kicking everything. I was jumping from table to desk to table and the student secretary was crying and the main secretary was calling Peaches and another kid who had clearly been sent to the principal’s office came in and went right back out and then soon, the hall was filled with people.

There was Carlene and Bonnie and stupid Jared who called me a retard. There was Grant and Mrs. Sydney Gunnerson and Melody. There was Lala and Delilah and Paul with his UFC friends. And then there was my dumb-bum dad, holding hands with Bart.

I CAN DO WHATEVER I WANT. I CAN DO WHAT- EVER I WANT AND I’LL KEEP DOING IT UNTIL YOU TELL ME WHERE MY SISTER IS!

“Olivia.

“Olivia?”

The principal was looking at me.

I was sitting in the same chair.

The main secretary was typing something. Rudy, the stupid student secretary, was stapling and listening to her headphones, and the third one was watching me.

I closed my eyes. Please let me hold it together. Please let me hold it together.

“Olivia,” she said, “I’ve been talking to your mother.”

My mother.

“And it seems that there are some problems at the home right now.”

The home.

“We are going to take some measures.”

Measures.

I looked over. Mom was standing now, the social worker talking in her ear. My mom bent over.

Then I had a thought.

Had Bart told on us?

Would he tell on us?

Maybe he did work for the FBI.

Or maybe Carlene.

Did Carlene tell on us?

Did she know? Did she see us walk into the building?

Did she have enough time? Would they act that fast?

Did one of my friends tell on us?

Was Mom going to jail?

Was I going to jail?

I’d once seen a reality TV show that followed around juvenile delinquents who all lived in a youth detention center together and they sat around in circles and talked about their problems and then went around with vests on picking up trash and one girl named Nina said she was going to be a doctor some day and all the other juvenile delinquents were like ha-ha. No way, you dumb-bum. You can’t be a doctor. They look at your record when you apply for college and if you’ve been in juvie you can’t do crap and she starts bawling and they have to take her away on a cart and I’m sure they do electric shock on her, though they don’t show that, and when I asked Mom she said, “No, Olivia. No one does electric shock anymore,” which I know is not true because I saw it in real life on another show.

But anyway, I might be going to jail. And getting electric shock therapy.

“Do you understand?” the principal was saying.

I looked at her.

“No.”

“No?”

“No.”

Mom came out.

The social worker came out.

Mom didn’t look at me at first and the social worker said, “You’re going to come with me, sweetheart.”

I looked at her. “What? With you?”

“Just for a bit,” she said. “We’re going to go to a place that’s really fun. Just for a bit.”

“What about Berkeley?”

“Your sister’s already there,” she said.

That was good. That was good.

“Mom?” I said.

Mom said, “It’s okay.”

“What’s okay?”

“Just go with her.”

“Where are you going?”

“It’ll be okay,” Mom said. “I made a mistake.”

The principal and the social worker nodded.

The secretary who was watching us but acting like she wasn’t, actually all three secretaries were watching, they nodded.

My mom made a mistake.

I hated this place.

“It was my idea,” I said. “This was my idea,” I said to the lady. And then to the principal. “This was my idea. My mom said no. We can’t do this, take a little girl to middle school and I lied to her. I told her everyone brought their sisters to school. I was in charge of Berkeley. This was my idea.”

The social worker and the principal gave each other looks. Looks that made me crazy.

I hated it when adults thought they were smarter than me. When they thought they were deep and I wasn’t deep. When they thought they had a gut and I didn’t have a gut.

When they thought they knew better when you know what? You know what? I know a whole lot fifty times better than all of you. I wanted to scream that. I wanted to scream at everyone.

~

I looked at Mom.

If she was not herself before, she was really not herself now.

The lady who just two days before had settled a neighborhood brawl and who Bart said was tough and Carlene said was cool, that lady was now standing there but not standing there. She was curled up on herself, her eyes glazed. Her hands shaking.

I was mad at her.

But I was also sad for her.

I wanted to do something.

To steal her and put her in my backpack.

Or hold her in my arms and sing “Rock-a-Bye Baby,” and she would laugh and cry and I would say leave her alone.

Or tell her I was sorry. I was so sorry I let her down.

Then the lady, the social worker said to me, “We called your father. He’s on his way.”