The frog clicker made a record number of appearances before the dismissal for recess. Ms. Blakeman said nothing about what had happened; she merely nodded and said, “Take your seat” when first Matt and then Quinn returned to class. But the whisper level made it clear that every one of her fifth graders had a theory about what had happened by the bicycle racks.
Matt was the first student out the door when Ms. Blakeman excused the class for morning recess. Quinn was one of the last to leave. He thought of asking Neally to come with him, but she stayed at her desk, intently examining whatever was in the bag her dad had brought her.
Sam was waiting for Quinn at the bottom of the ramp. “I can’t do recess,” Quinn said.
“Why?”
“I have to go back to the office. We have to stay there ’til ... I don’t know. Shirkner wants to talk with both of us before he calls our parents.”
“Ah, yes, to give you a chance to get your stories straight.” Sam tapped his finger against his temple. “It’s a classic interrogation technique.”
The two boys walked toward the main building. “What did you tell him?” Sam asked.
“The truth. Matt’s story was probably way longer.”
“I know you didn’t hit Matt.”
“I know I didn’t hit him. But if I didn’t, who did? That’s what Shirkner will be thinking.”
“Maybe Matt accidentally bumped into something, and he’s trying to get you in trouble because you told on him about the Noble Woods. Does Shirnker know about that? I would be happy to present my hypothesis.” Sam bowed deeply. “Samuel Jefferson Washington, Elementary School Attorney, at your service.”
“This isn’t funny.” Quinn stomped his foot. “Matt said I did it, I said I didn’t. Who’s Shirkner gonna believe?”
“Excellent point. You need the services of a Master Crime Scene Investigator.”
Quinn and Sam stopped outside the office and peered through the window. Matt was sprawled on the orange chair.
“Brave Master Barker doesn’t want to brave the playground with a black eye,” Sam said.
“We’re both supposed to be here. I’m staying outside ’til Shirkner calls us. I don’t want to be around Matt until I have to.”
“So, until you have to, what did you do yesterday?”
Quinn grinned at Sam, grateful for the distraction. He told Sam about how he had gone with Neally’s family to Gales Creek Park, how they had picked up trash, how Neally’s dad had even scooped up dog poop.
“You went to a park and picked up dog poop?” Sam cleared his throat. “The Universal Park Users Manual clearly states that people should go to parks to play, or have a picnic. Some kind of enjoyment must be involved.”
“We did have a picnic. But we worked first. Neally, her mom, and I picked up trash. Her dad was the only one picking up dog poop. And he used two pairs of really thick gloves.”
“A dog-poop, trash-pickup picnic.” Sam shook his head. “That’s my idea of a fun time.”
“Me too.” Quinn pretended to take Sam seriously. His day at Gales Creek Park did sound funny. Funnier still was figuring out a way to describe what a good time he’d had. Yes, he picked up trash at another park, but this time was different. They did it by themselves, just because it needed doing. Nobody was there to clap for them, and there was no prize involved ...
“They do this every other week. A family of Canada Geese was in the creek, and a beaver paddled right past the goslings. The goose parents didn’t chase the beaver. They must be friends or something. Next week I’m going with Neally’s family to make lunches for a food bank. I bet you could come along. We could ...” Quinn had almost forgotten where he was, until the principal tapped on the office window. Quinn felt as if an icicle had slid down his spine.
“Quinn?” Mr. Shirkner tugged at the sleeves of his shirt. “Step inside, please.”
“No, wait!” Neally ran down the hallway, clutching a large book to her chest with both hands. She skidded to a stop, bracing herself against the office doorframe. “Quinn couldn’t have caused Matt’s black eye,” she panted, “and I can prove it.”
“Ha!” Matt jabbed his finger at Sam and Neally. “They’re his friends,” he snarled.
“Friends with evidence,” Sam said brightly.
Quinn looked eagerly at Sam, who turned expectantly toward Neally.
The corners of Mr. Shirkner’s mouth twitched upward. “Come on in.”
“I’ll hear the so-called ‘evidence.’” Mr. Shirkner shushed Matt with a sharp look. “Then Matt, if you’ve anything to add, you may do so.”
The principal led the four students into his office and shut the door. He directed Neally and Sam to the sofa by the side of his desk, and Quinn and Matt to the two chairs in front of his desk. Mr. Shirkner sat in a leather chair behind the desk. “All right. Ms. ... Ms. Standwell, is it?”
“Please, I hope you’ll call me Neally.” Neally smiled sweetly. “This is my colleague, Samuel Jefferson Washington. And you’ve met Quinn.”
“Yes, I have.” Mr. Shirkner’s mouth began to twitch again. “Now, what’s this evidence?”
“There’s no way Matt’s eye could be that color if Quinn hit him, or if anyone hit him, just this morning. I looked it up.” Neally stood up and set her book on Mr. Shirkner’s desk. “This is a medical book on skin injuries, and here’s the chapter on bruises.” She opened the hefty volume to a bookmarked page. “These pictures show the stages a bruise goes through when it heals. See how it starts out red and puffy, then goes to black and bluish-purple, and then fades to a yellowish-green? Here’s an example of the stages on a person’s leg, and here,” she turned the page, “are the stages of a bruise on a face.”
“Where did you get this?” Mr. Shirkner asked.
“My mother’s a professor at a nursing school. What did Nurse Parker say about Matt’s eye?”
“Nurse Parker hasn’t seen him yet.” Mr. Shirkner stroked his fingers across his chin and looked across his desk at Matt. Shirkner did not protest when Sam and Quinn came over to the side of his desk and leaned over his shoulder to look at the book. Matt remained rooted to his chair, his arms folded across his chest, his heels kicking the chair’s front legs.
Neally pointed at Matt’s face. “His bruise is dark purple. See around the edges, how it’s turning greenish? That means ...”
“It’s more than a day old.” Quinn traced his finger around a picture in the book. “More like two or three days old.”
“Righty-o!” Sam snapped his fingers. “He had to have gotten it over the weekend.”
“We saw him Thursday, after school—me and Neally and Tay,” Quinn told Mr. Shirkner.
“Tay is Matt’s friend.” Neally stared earnestly at the principal. “You can ask Tay, and he’ll tell you that Matt did not have a black eye on Thursday.”
“And he didn’t have it at the Scout meeting Thursday night, and he wasn’t in school on Friday,” Sam added. “He was gone all weekend. His father brought a note to class on ...”
“Yes, I know.” Mr. Shirkner drummed his fingers on the book. “All advance excused absence requests go across my desk.”
The room was silent. Matt sat ramrod straight, his eyes full and glistening, his face the color of a bleak, wintery sky.
“Who hit you, Matt?” Neally’s voice was quiet, but firm.
Matt’s eyes dried up and spit cold blue fire at Neally. White bones shone through the skin of his knuckles as his hands gripped his chair’s armrests.
“Matt and I need to speak in private. Neally, Sam, Quinn, this way, please.” Mr. Shirkner walked the three out of his office and shut the door behind him. “Carol,” he said to his secretary, “I need you to find Nurse Parker right now.”
The secretary scurried out the door. Quinn looked up at Mr. Shirkner, realizing for the first time how tall the principal seemed when he was standing right next to you.
“Quinn, there’s no need for me to call your parents. I’m sorry for any distress this caused you. You three go on with your day. You may return to class when recess is over, and I’ll trust each one of you not to say anything to anyone about this.”
Quinn, Sam, and Neally nodded solemnly.
Mr. Shirkner laid his massive hand on Quinn’s shoulder. His touch was surprisingly gentle. “You didn’t hit him, did you?”
“It was like I said, I only pushed him back after he kept pushing me. But he wanted me to hit him. I could tell. It was so weird. He acted mad, but it was more like he was ...” Quinn’s voice trailed off and he shook his head.
“It was his father, wasn’t it?”
Mr. Shirkner furrowed his brow at Neally. “What makes you think that?”
“Who else could it have been?” Neally glanced behind Mr. Shirkner, at his closed office door. “Matt wasn’t with anyone else. He bragged about how his family does a retreat every year, and it’s just them in a motel and they don’t even leave the room.”
Quinn’s stomach started churning with a feeling even worse than being falsely accused. “It’s sort of my fault.”
“No way!” Neally gasped.
“What’s your fault?” Sam asked.
“That Matt’s dad hit him.”
“Hold on now, we don’t know who hit Matt,” Mr. Shirkner cautioned.
“Tay said Matt’s father was really, really mad when Ms. Blakeman called him after our field trip,” Quinn said. “I got Matt in trouble. I’m the one who saw him and Josh graffiti the ...”
“It’s not your fault.” Neally placed her hand on Quinn’s arm and looked up at the principal. Her voice was confident, but her eyes lacked their usual spark.
“Matt’s been hurt before. I saw the marks, a few weeks ago. He had a huge bruise, here.” Neally pointed at her upper arm.
“I promise, I will find out who hit Matt. In the meantime, do not speculate about this with your classmates.” Mr. Shirkner placed his hands on his knees and bent down to eye level with the three friends. “And I want to tell you how proud I am of how you’ve handled yourselves.”