Fall Guy

Content Warning/Trigger Warning: Contains mentions of drugs, alcohol, thoughts of suicide and self-harm, and there are scenes involving physical abuse.

It was just the middle of the play and I already wanted out. I usually enjoy watching our yearly Christmas school productions, but that day, I had a pounding headache and I couldn’t stand it. I had to get out of there. I got up from my seat and asked to be let through, apologizing to the people sitting next to me. I silently crept through the side aisle in that dark auditorium and as soon as I emerged into the bright sunlight, I squinted and put my hand up over my eyes on reflex. I was like a vampire being roasted to my untimely Final Death by the sun. Most schools held their Christmas pageants at night, but we held ours in the daytime. To this day, I have absolutely no idea why.

I went over to the school clinic to ask for a Tylenol, but it was closed. Great. Just great. I should’ve known. The nurse was also watching the Nativity play. With a sigh, I trudged through the halls to my homeroom, sat down at a desk in the back row, folded my arms, and laid my head down. I also may or may not have secretly taken some Tylenol. I know I’m supposed to ask the nurse with a consent slip signed by my parents, but I stashed a bottle of it in my backpack as a precautionary measure in case something like this ever happened where the nurse’s office was closed. After a few minutes, I heard the door creak open. My first thought was a ghost or something more dangerous, like a poltergeist. I swear Brookside High is haunted. As it turned out, however, it wasn’t ghosts. Just two of my classmates, Mario and Carlos, come to chat with me. Apparently, they’d seen me entering the classroom.

“Hey, Clark!” Mario greeted.

“Carlos, Mario,” I greeted groggily.

“Couldn’t stand that drivel, could you?” Carlos teased with a laugh. Despite coming from a deeply devout Catholic family, Carlos had declared himself an atheist the previous year and he felt that the Christmas pageant was being pushed down his throat. All his brothers—Sam, Marco, and Timothy—attended Brookside High and the whole school new them to be staunch Catholics. Marco even wore a silver cross around his neck at all times. Carlos was the only DeSantis who was an atheist.

“You do realize you have the option of not attending, right?” I said with a chuckle.

“That’s why I’m here,” Carlos said.

“Also, isn’t Christmas more of a commercial holiday these days?” Mario added. “Everyone celebrates it, I’m sure—even atheists and agnostics. Well, almost everyone. Muslims have their own holidays.”

“And Jews, too,” I said. 

“That’s true,” Mario said with a nod. “Besides, there are non-religious aspects to the tradition. Like spending time with your family. Shopping, getting the latest toy or gadget…”

“Also, the pageant has been a BHS tradition since the time of the dinosaurs,” I said.

“Huh,” Carlos said with a shrug. “Guess you have a point there. So what are you doing here, anyway?”

“I have a headache and wanted to rest for a bit,” I answered. “Lay my head down and close my eyes for a while.”

“My bad!” Carlos said. “We’ll get out of your hair then. Come on, Mario.”

“Thanks, guys,” I said, waving them off.

After Mario and Carlos left, I took a quick power nap and woke up refreshed. I was ready to go back in there and watch the last half of the play. Before heading out, I looked around one last time to make sure I hadn’t forgotten anything. That’s when I saw my classmate Rose’s phone charging on one of the desks by the wall. I thought nothing of it at the time, but it was the last anyone would ever see of her phone—at least for a long while.

I got to see the last half of the play and I filed out of the auditorium with the rest of the audience after it ended. As I was mingling with my classmates and some of their parents, I noticed there was a commotion in our homeroom. Rose was crying, panicking. Everyone flocked to her side in an instant, trying to console her.

“Who took my phone?” she screamed. “Somebody took my phone!”

“Call campus security!” Francis, Rose’s older brother who was a senior at that time, bellowed. “Go! Search every bag and every locker!”

“Who was the last person to leave this room?” Mr. Barnes, our Health Ed teacher, asked.

“That would be me,” I said hesitantly, raising my shaking hand halfway. I wasn’t shaking because I was guilty. I was shaking because Mr. Barnes had a way of making you sweat. He was one of the “Terror Teachers” at Brookside High. In fact, he’d earned the nickname Professor Snape. Marco DeSantis called him “Snivellus”.

“What were you doing in there?” Mrs. Burgess, our Science teacher, asked, waiting for an answer. “Did you not watch the Nativity play in the auditorium?”

“I had a headache so I had to sneak out and came here to rest for a bit,” I answered. “And then I went back inside the auditorium when I felt slightly more refreshed.”

“A headache,” Mr. Barnes said with a smirk. “Oh, yeah, that’s a likely story. How very convenient. As soon as you stole the phone, your ‘headache’ went away, I suppose?”

“Now, hold on just a min—” I protested, but Mrs. Burgess raised a gentle warning hand.

“Let the kid finish, Ernest,” Mrs. Burgess said. “Give him the benefit of the doubt. Now, was there anyone else with you in the room?”

I felt as though I was in an episode of a police procedural. I was a suspect and they were playing good cop, bad cop. Mrs. Burgess was the good cop, of course.

“Answer the question, dirt,” Mr. Barnes threatened, looking down at me over his nose, a scowl on his face.

“Ernest!” Mrs. Burgess scolded. “That’s quite enough! Take your time, Clark. Try to remember. Were you alone? Was there anyone else with you in the room?”

“Well, Mario Solis and Carlos DeSantis came in to chat with me for a bit,” I recalled. “And then they left to let me get some rest.”

“You better be telling the truth,” Mr. Barnes said, raising an eyebrow at me. “There will be consequences if I find out you’ve been lying through your teeth.”

“Honest, I swear!” I shouted, exasperated. “I don’t know where that blasted phone went or who took it! I’m telling you God’s honest truth!”

“It’s okay, Clark,” Mrs. Burgess said soothingly. “Just relax, calm down. We’ll talk to Carlos and Mario.”

But I couldn’t relax. The very moment Mr. Barnes and Mrs. Burgess concluded their interrogation of me, the main school doors burst open and in marched campus security. They went through every backpack, purse, pocket, and locker. Except for one, of course—mine. They sure saved the best for last.

“Check his bag and search his pockets!” the head of campus security said, and two guards pushed and pinned me against the wall while they searched my bag and patted me down, hoping to find Rose’s phone in my pockets.

“Whose phone is this?” the guard asked, slamming it down the ground. Thank God it was a Nokia and didn’t break easily. This was in the early 2000s, when we all had Nokia or Motorola, none of this new-fangled techy stuff that kids have these days.

“Hey, that’s mine!” I shouted.

“Is this yours, miss?” the second guard asked.

“No, that’s not mine,” Rose said. “He’s right, that’s his. Doesn’t mean he didn’t steal my phone though. For all you know, he could’ve smuggled it out of here by now and is already on the black market. Or on its way to it, at least.”

“What?” I said. “That’s ridiculous! Why the Hell would I do that? That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard!”

“Because you’re a no-good scumbag who needs to get a life!” Rose accused.

“You bi—” I said, marching towards her. The guards held me back. They unjustly dragged me away, handcuffed me, and detained and questioned me until Brookside PD could arrive. They then threw me into the back of the police car and drove me to the station, where I was subjected to hours and hours of grueling questioning. They never found the phone on me or anywhere I kept my things. They even obtained a warrant to search my room at home. Nothing. Because I didn’t steal it. I never did.

The police eventually let me go when they realized they had nothing to pin on me. But my reputation was ruined from that point on. Everyone thought I was a thief. Everyone left my side and not one single friend stood with me or stood up for me. Only two people believed me—my high school girlfriend Vickie and my favorite English teacher, Mrs. Rivers.

When I returned to school that Monday, the last week of school before winter break, people looked at me with hatred and disgust.

“Thief!” a freshman shouted.

“Look at the nerve of that guy, daring to show up here after what he did,” another student mumbled, rolling her eyes.

“Keep your personal belongings safe,” another whispered. “Who knows? He could strike at any time.”

It was a miserable last week of school. I earned the nicknames Bandit, Thief, Robin Hood, Arsène Lupin, Hermes, and Ocean—as in Danny Ocean. One of my classmates, Mia, a stuck-up, mean-spirited typical cheerleader, taunted me, opening her purse and leaving it on her desk.

“Is it okay if I leave my purse here? I’m just gonna go powder my nose,” she asked in a syrupy sweet mocking tone of voice. “Feel free to steal anything of value from my purse and give it to your mom, your dad, your sister, your brother, your dog, your cat, your mouse, your gerbil, your hamster, your Guinea pig, your snake, your frog, your tarantula, or the cleaning lady that comes over to clean your house, kay?”

I had never slapped a girl before. That was the first and the last time. Everyone was in shock, including Mia herself and Vickie. Later, she asked me if I would ever slap her. I assured her that I never would.

“How dare you?” I said, my blood boiling as hot as the River Phlegethon down in Hades. “My family is not a family of thieves!”

“I never would’ve guessed,” Mia said, spitting out a mixture of saliva and blood onto the classroom floor. “I thought they were, for sure, seeing as you yourself are a thief. Nature versus nurture, right?”

“Say that again and I’ll slap you a second time!” I threatened. “Maybe you didn’t feel the first one. Come on! Say it to my face again!”

“That is enough!” came a shrill voice behind me, making me jump. Mia’s mouth fell open and she turned as pale as Death. I turned and there in the open doorway of the classroom stood Ms. Salinger, vice principal of Brookside High School. “What is going on here?”

“She started it,” I said, pointing an accusatory finger at Mia. “I was just finishing it.”

“I don’t care who or what started it,” Ms. Salinger said. “You two are coming with me. NOW!”

Mia and I were sent to the principal’s office and were both given a lecture, then we were given after-school detention to allow us a very long time to think about what we had said and done. It also gave us enough time to glare at each other menacingly.

That drama with Mia was only the beginning, however. I’d been bullied before, especially by upperclassmen, but it got way worse after I was accused of that stupid theft. The accusations and the abuse resumed when we got back from winter break in January. Once, when I was on my way to Chemistry class, some guys gathered in front of their lockers all threw their legs out in order to trip me. Another upperclassman, a junior, spit at me and hit me squarely in the eye. When I got to class, Mrs. Burgess wasn’t there. She came in late that day. On the board was a message. It read, “You tried to hurt me and break me. I may be hurting, but I ain’t broken. You’ve failed. I know it was you, we all know it was you. Go back to the Hell you crawled out of, you demon. P.S. Give me back my phone and we’ll forget this whole thing ever happened. At least I will. My brother Francis probably won’t.”

She didn’t have to sign her name. I knew it was Rose. I was so done at that point. I had four options—kill myself, cut myself, go to the school counselor, or drop out. I didn’t always make the smartest decisions and I decided to drop out. Or flunk out. Let my grades drop until I got expelled. I started going to school in the mornings so my parents wouldn’t suspect a thing, and then I’d play hooky for the rest of the day until the final bell rang. Once, when I was on one of these little escapades of mine, trying to sneak out, I overheard some teachers talking in the teachers’ lounge. One of them was my History teacher, Mrs. King. Mrs. Rivers wasn’t there at the time.

“You know, I have my doubts about that Patterson kid,” Mrs. King said.

I froze when I heard her mention me.

“I’ve always had my suspicions about him,” Mr. Barnes said. “And now they’ve been confirmed.”

“No, no, you’re wrong,” Mrs. King said. “I don’t have doubts about his character. He’s a good kid. I’m having doubts about this whole thing. I don’t think it’s him.”

“What makes you say that?” Mrs. Burgess asked.

“Because I know,” Mrs. King confessed. “I know it wasn’t him. I saw the real thief.”

My blood ran cold and then boiled with indignation in turns. What was this woman playing at? What exactly was she saying? She knew the real thief all along and didn’t say a word? What the bloody Hell?

“I came out of the auditorium to use the restroom, and that’s when I saw him,” Mrs. King recalled. “It was Magic. He snuck in and crept down the corridor.”

“And you said nothing?” Mrs. Burgess said. “For Chrissakes! You just ruined a boy’s life, Gina!”

“I’m sorry!” Mrs. King said. “I know I should have said something, but I couldn’t. I didn’t know how to. You know how much Magic scares me.”

Magic was a drug-addled, drug-addicted, alcoholic homeless man who had a very long rap sheet going for him. His brain was so fried with drugs and alcohol that he’d gone completely mad. Magic isn’t even his real name. Nobody knows his real name except the cops. He always insisted on being called Magic. In his drug-laced fantasy world, he was a dog—a Westie to be exact—that developed feelings for his human. He then went to a wizard to seek his help so that he could become human and win her heart. He claims the wizard granted his wish and turned him into a human being and he’s been that way ever since.

Thanks to Mrs. King’s confession, my name was finally cleared, but it would take long. A few months later, Magic struck again. This time, his victim was Vickie. Everyone thought I was the thief again, but Vickie defended my honor. And so did Mrs. Rivers and Mrs. Burgess. Only after Mrs. King gave her testimony was my name cleared of both thefts and the real thief was arrested.

As for Rose’s cell phone, here’s an interesting twist. After stealing the phone, Magic sold it to a dealer who sold secondhand phones and phone cases at the swap meet. And who would buy Rose’s phone? My favorite teacher, Mrs. Rivers. She was in need of a new phone and went to the swap meet, where the dealer sold it to her for cheap. But the dealer had forgotten to replace the case, so Rose recognized her old phone. Another clue that it was indeed Rose’s phone was the address book. Rose never saved her contact’s numbers on her SIM card. She always saved them to the phone’s very own memory. The dealer removed the SIM card, thinking all her old contacts would be wiped with it. He did not take into account the possibility of a precautionary measure such as that. Vickie’s phone, however, was lost forever.

By junior year, the following year, my reputation as the good guy was slowly starting to recover, and by senior year, it had fully recovered. Everyone forgot about that hellish nightmare. Except for me. I never did forget.