The Case of Missing Plarn

A pair of giant rusty bolt cutters clamp around the cam lock. Mr. Alan, a stern, starched man, like a shorter version of Mr. Smith from The Matrix, squeezes his forearms together. The bolt cutters bite down, breaching my security system. Clink.

I would have given the code if he'd asked. Spools of colorful plarn overflow a wooden case sitting at the bottom of my locker.

"Mr. Alan. I swear I didn't. They--" I point at Monique, Danna, and Gina, "they told me to grab take it. They told me to stuff it in--"

"That's enough." His scowl is cold and steady. "Why would they? They're the ones who reported what you did today."

Those grins. Their smirks. How could they? Like cackling hyenas, they giggle and swipe secret handshakes behind Mr. Alan's back. Can't he see what they're doing?

"Even if true, don't you see what you've done? You took the case of plarn from Mr. Hampshire's closet," he said, pointing from the art class to my locker and back at me, "you placed it in your locker, and all of your actions are evidence against you, Miss Barens."

"They set me up, Sir! I swear--"

"Even so, do you do every stupid thing you're told? Are you that gullible?" He asked, wagging his long finger in my face. "I'll choose to believe you've got some sense and aren't a complete fool."

His words punch. A painful lump balloons in my throat, choking words back. He's right. I'm a total idiot. Those jerks told me to do it, and I did. I wanted them to like me. Instead, they used me. They betrayed me.

Mr. Alan's scowl, hurtful words, and authority--they were eating it up and growing stronger with every bite.

"Let's go to my office and call your mother," he says, turning to the girls. "You three. Get to class now, and don't linger."

"Yes, Mr. Alan," the girls say in unison.

I follow him to the front office and into a small, stuffy, dark room. Mahogany furniture matches wood-paneled walls. Dust floats in the sunlight between slotted shadows.

"Take a seat," he says, pointing to two chairs against a wall, "I don't have all day."

I sit in a stiff, cold chair with less than a foot of legroom between my knees and the desk.

"Call Mrs. Barens and ask her to come down to the school."

"Yes, Mr. Alan," Mrs. Vance says. Mrs. Vance is his secretary. She is a plump, pleasant lady who smiles at every student crossing her path. Her typical pink cheeks and cheerful smile are missing. She's somber and quiet today. Shrinking behind a large desk, she slowly dials a phone number.

Do her cheeks hurt at the end of each day? Must be exhausting, smiling all the time.

"Today, Mrs. Vance," Mr. Alan says, tapping his right black leather shoe.

"Yes, Sir. Right away, Sir," she says as he closes his door. "Hello. This is Mrs. Vance from Horsemen Middle School. Is this Mrs. Barens?" The door shuts out Mrs. Vance's voice.

"Now. Let's get the paperwork started." He pulls a desk drawer open, fumbles through paperwork, and pulls a stapled pack out. "Here we go. Miss Barens, You'll be suspended for three days for theft of school property. Do you understand?"

"Aren't you going to do anything to the girls who told me to take it?" I ask, gripping the armrests so hard my knuckles turn white as my aunt Louise's were in her casket. "How's it stealing if it's still on school grounds--and, what the hell do I need all that plastic yarn for anyway? They're the ones who wanted it."

Watch your tone and tongue, or I'll make it four days." He slaps both palms on his desk and leans forward in his chair. "Test me. You'll fail."

"Why not make it a solid five? A week off sounds nice. Ahh, the fun I could have in a week. Laid out in bed, eating snacks, watching my favorite shows--"

"Let's make it two, then."

"Even better," I say, leaning in. My eyes pierce back at his. Can he hear my heartbeat? My heart pounds on my eardrums like war drums on the battlefield.

Curling his hands into fists, he springs to his feet and shouts to Mrs. Vance, "Vance! Get her the hell out of my office until her mother arrives."

"I can get myself the hell out of your office--Sir."

Mrs. Vance walks over. "C'mon, dear." She wraps one arm around my shoulders and guides me toward her desk. "Come sit next to me."

The school's security officer stands at the office's front entrance, waiting to escort my mother. "Looks like you got a future behind bars, Barens."

"Looks like one too many donuts stopped you from being a real cop, Collins. So--," I smirk, staring him dead in the eyes, "guess we both got failure in common."

"Why you little, shi--"

Buzz. The intercom buzzes. "Um. Hello. This is Mrs. Barens. I'm here to meet with Mr. Alan."

"Officer Collins, would you please let Mrs. Barens inside?"

"Yes, Ma'am. It would be my pleasure." Officer Collins smirks, mumbling under his breath as he turns to open the door.

"Eew, Collins," I laugh, taunting him, "Mrs. Vance doesn't want to know your pleasures."

Mrs. Vance pats the top of my hand, resting on her desk. "It's gonna be okay, dear. Don't you worry yourself over it--this, too, shall pass."

My mom enters the office. The hairs on my arms stand. Her brows slope downward above tired eyes. Her hair is slicked back into a bun at the base of her head. She's wearing a frumpy floral dress that droops to her ankles. Creases wrinkle the fabric over her hips. Dark scuffs mark her nude flats. "We'll discuss this after I speak with Mr. Alan," she says, shaking her head. She stops outside Mr. Alan's door, irons her hands over wrinkled flowers, and inhales deeply. Knock. Knock.

"C'mon in, Mrs. Barens."

Their conversation blurs, and I can't make out what's said. How long's this gonna take? Just sentence me already. Time thickens and slows. Reminds me of Dad's bland turkey gravy hanging off a fork. Swallowing that lumpy muck is agonizing, like passing time is now. Finally.

The doorknob turns, and Mom crosses its threshold. I stand and--smack! A swift slap to my left cheek spins my head sideways. Snickers sound across the room. Mr. Collins is grinning ear to ear.

Mom walks past me and out of the office. I want to run--hide--disappear into a dark abyss. I know to follow, and I do.