On Tuesday afternoon, during math class, there was a gentle knock on the door. Mr. Granger put his chalk down and went to open it. There stood Ms. Lollyheart, with an apologetic look on her face.
“I’m sorry, but we need to see Frances Sharp in the office.” She scanned the classroom till she spotted me and made a little “come along” gesture. My heart sank. Trembling, I gathered up my books and papers and put them into my backpack. Mr. Granger stood there waiting, a bored expression on his face, while the whole class stared. I heard a giggle from the back of the room.
All I could think was that the police had made their visit. Best scenario was that they were about to arrest Dr. Bodempfedder, and they wanted to question me as a witness. Worst scenario, the police had come and gone and I was up to my eyeballs in trouble. When I asked Ms. Lollyheart why I had been called to the office, and she said she wasn’t allowed to discuss it, I knew it was going to be really, really bad.
Brooklyn and Cal were already in Dr. B’s office, flanked by two security guards. I joined them and we stood there for another five or six minutes in complete, utter, horrible, painful, sickening silence, while Dr. B sat at her desk flipping through some paperwork, ignoring us completely. Ms. Lollyheart had left again, to fetch Prescott.
When he arrived, Dr. B looked up and gave the four of us an ice-cold stare.
“Cheating is not tolerated here at Allbright,” she said.
“Cheating!” Prescott practically shouted. “I don’t cheat! I don’t need to cheat! I…”
“Please shut up, Mr. Bottomy,” Dr. B said, “and don’t interrupt me again. As I said, cheating is not tolerated here. There are no second chances, and you would have been expelled anyway for that alone. But breaking into my office to steal the test answers is absolutely criminal. Then going to the police to play practical jokes—I am utterly astonished. We liked you, we trusted you, and you have betrayed this school and utterly disgraced yourselves. You are expelled from Allbright as of today. I have already called your parents. They’re on their way to bring you home.”
“But!” we all gasped at the same time. Dr. Bodempfedder kept right on going.
“Miss Fiorello, I am aware that your father is not available to pick you up—”
“He’s in Goristovia!” Cal croaked.
“Exactly. I have contacted him by e-mail, but in the meantime, it was my intention to contact Child Protective Services—”
“What!” Prescott said.
“Mr. Bottomy, I told you to be quiet. I am in no mood to listen to anything whatsoever you might have to say. Now, Miss Fiorello, Ms. Lollyheart has agreed to look after you till your father arrives. Apparently he is an old friend of hers, and she wishes to do this as a kindness to him. I have agreed. But you are not to leave her apartment, attend classes, converse with other students, or eat in the dining hall. Is that understood? If necessary, we will post a security guard outside the door.”
Cal turned to look at Ms. Lollyheart, who stood in the doorway, her hands folded, staring at the floor. Then she turned back to Dr. B. “Thank you,” she said. “But I didn’t cheat.”
“You will be escorted to your rooms by these guards. You will pack your things and stay there till your parents arrive. And I don’t ever want to see any of you on this campus again. Is that clear?”
She wasn’t expecting an answer. She looked back down at her papers, and the guards hustled us out.
Ms. Lollyheart took charge of Cal, and they headed off for Larkspur. One of the guards followed Prescott to Sunflower, and the other went with Brooklyn and me to Cyclamen.
Then I was in my room, shoving clothes into my laundry bag, tears running down my face. I would explain everything to my parents once we got in the car, but I couldn’t bear the thought of their getting that phone call: “Your daughter is being expelled for cheating. Come pick her up right away.” I was so sick with shame and embarrassment that I really thought I might throw up. I had never cheated in my life, but just to be accused of it, for my parents and classmates to believe I had done such a thing—was beyond horrible. I sat on the floor for a good ten minutes and cried.
After I calmed down enough to speak, I got my cell phone out of the drawer, went into my closet, and shut the door. First I called Zoë and left a message, telling her what had happened. “Please call Mom or Dad, whoever you can reach, and tell them it isn’t true! You don’t have to give them the whole story, but just say…whatever.” I started crying again. When I finally pulled myself together, I left the same message on J. D.’s phone. Then I went back to packing.