surfing the Web. “Maybe you could teach at my school. Excuse me, Mr. Butler?” I raised my hand as I jumped. “Excuse me, Mr. Butler, but may I go to the bathroom? And Mr. Butler, while I’m in the bathroom, can we have sex?”
Michael threw a pillow at me. “Stop it. That’s gross. I couldn’t be your teacher. That would make me some kind of pervert.”
“So what are you now?”
He turned in his chair and stared strangely at me. “I don’t know. Not a pervert. Maybe fucked up. Maybe irresponsible. But not a pervert.”
“Pervert. Pervert. Pervert …” I taunted, turning round and round on the bed, bouncing up and down.
Oomph.
My feet were pulled out from beneath me and I landed face first on the bed, just inches away from the wooden headboard. I was stunned, the air knocked out of me. Michael was on my back, pinning me down, knee digging into my spine. Despite the soft mattress, I felt like I was being crushed. I felt his hot breath at my ear. I held my own breath. I closed my eyes. I braced.
“It’s not a joke,” he said firmly, in a gruff, deep voice. An old voice. A voice that sounded twenty-eight.
Forty-Five
I’m fired.
Dr. Williams asks me to come into his office as soon as I arrive at work. He gets all serious and tells me someone has tampered with the filing cabinet in his office. He says he has a security camera and knows that it was me.
“Where’s the camera?” I ask, sensing that he’s lying. Adults who don’t have a lot of experience with teenagers are so transparent. They think we’re six-year-old gullible kids who will believe anything.
“It’s hidden,” he says. Then he swallows. A sure sign of lying.
“So what did you see?” I challenge him, because he’d have to mention Rachel being in the room if there was really a camera. “If you saw me, who else did you see? Was anything taken?”
“You know what happened, Melissa.”
“No, I don’t.” I start to get angry. “What happened? Tell me. Exactly. What did you see?”
“Melissa, I don’t think there’s any point arguing about it. I’ve met with the team and we’ve made our decision. We are such a small office and we need to trust our employees. There are valuable things in this clinic that we could be really liable for if they were to get into the wrong hands.”
I know what he’s saying. He’s talking about the painkillers. I shake my head at the injustice of it all, that I’m immediately typecast as a punk ’cause I’m the poor girl, not like Rachel. So what if I broke into the cabinet? Who am I hurting? “I only took a phone number. I didn’t take anything important,” I finally admit.
He shrugs his shoulders, all sorry-like, as if it’s too late for him to change his mind.
It gets all awkward and I don’t know what to say. And he just stands there, like he’s waiting for me to leave. But I’ve been here for almost two years. And I’m great at my job. And I love the animals. And I worked so hard. And I didn’t steal anything but a stupid number. And I can’t imagine my life without this place. And it’s my only connection to Michael … “But I love this job,” I plead. I feel like I’m about to cry.
“I’m sorry, Melissa. You really did well here. We just can’t … Our team already met … I tried … It’s a shame. I’m really upset it happened. I know it’s hard for you and your mom … I just wish …”
My mom? Where did that come from? What does he know about my mom? “It’s okay,” I say, quickly turning to walk out the door because I don’t want him to get all pitying over me. I rush down the hallway, wiping my face with my shirt. I feel like I should take something, do something, tidy up something … but there is nothing of mine here. Not even a leftbehind jacket or a notebook. Nothing.
I don’t want to see anyone, so I leave by the back door. And that’s where I see Rachel, wearing a matching red ski jacket and wool hat, walking a stupid beagle across the parking lot. Then it occurs to me: it was Rachel who ratted. It had to be. My sadness immediately turns to anger.
“Why did you tell them?” I demand, approaching her.
“I didn’t. Tell them what?”
“About the file cabinet.”
She walks