Middle School: Get Me Out of Here! (16 page)

T
hey kept me in the office that afternoon, all the way through sixth and seventh periods, until Mom could get there for my execution.

I mean, for a meeting with Mr. Crawley.

Actually, I guess I mean both.

There were also a lot of heavy stares, and shaking heads, and me being told to wait outside. By the time it was all over, my punishment was kind of like Zeke’s sculpture. It came in a whole lot of parts.

First of all, I wasn’t allowed to take Mrs. Ling’s class for the rest of the year. I could still take drawing, painting, and everything else, but I’d
have to make up half a year of sculpture in eighth grade—if they even let me get that far.

Second, I actually had to apologize right to Zeke McDonald’s face. They even pulled him out of eighth period so I could do it in the office while Mom and Mr. Crawley watched. I just tried to get it over with as fast as possible and not throw up.

Just for the record, I know that what I did was messed up. If someone demolished my sculpture, even by accident, I’d want more than a little “I’m sorry” from them.

But at the same time, none of that took away everything Zeke had done to me, and we both knew it. Maybe he deserved an apology for the sculpture, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t also deserve to be
dropped into the lion cage at the zoo with a couple of pork chops stapled to his butt.

Meanwhile, all I could do was sit there and take it while Mom and Mr. Crawley kept handing out the consequences.

The third part of my punishment was a three-day in-school suspension—one day for stealing the sculpture and two days for destroying it. I don’t know whether that was more or less than I deserved, but it didn’t matter, anyway. In sixth grade, I had a
one
-day suspension and practically died of boredom. The chances of surviving all the way to day three seemed kind of small.

And just in case you’re wondering, Matty did the smart thing. He waited inside the girls’ bathroom until the coast was clear. Then he snuck down to Mrs. Ling’s room and put Kenny’s palm tree away before anyone even knew it was gone. So, obviously, I didn’t say anything about him, or even Kenny, because what was the point?

I just wish I’d been smart enough to get out of this myself. Or lucky enough. Or
whatever
enough.

But this is me we’re talking about. Mr. None-of-the-Above himself.

And it wasn’t over yet. In a way, the worst part was still to come.

A
ll the way home, from Cathedral until we were driving up Killarney Avenue, Mom didn’t say one word to me.

Not one word.

I guess I was supposed to talk first, but I couldn’t think of anything good to say. “I’m sorry” just doesn’t cut it when you’re in trouble for the third, fourth, fifth… or hundred and twenty-seventh time, like me. So I just sat there and tried not to freeze to death.

Finally, after Mom found a parking spot near the house and turned off the car, I couldn’t stand it anymore.

“Mom, I’m really sorry,” I said. “I really, really am.” (See? Totally lame, but I had to say
something
.)

“Sorry for getting caught?” Mom said. “Or for taking that sculpture in the first place?”

“Both,” I said, before I realized that the right answer was “Sorry for taking that sculpture in the first place.”

Oops.

“I mean—”

“It’s not just that I’m angry, Rafe,” she said. “I’m also really disappointed. After everything that happened last year, I was hoping Cathedral could be a fresh start for you. I guess it hasn’t worked out that way, has it?”

I shook my head. I was feeling worse about this by the second.

“Maybe I don’t belong at Cathedral,” I said. “That’s what everyone else thinks.”

“Everyone?” Mom said.

“All the best artists, anyway. Like Zeke McDonald and his friends.”

Mom took a deep breath. “Rafe, look at me,” she said, so I did. “Has it ever occurred to you that those other students might feel threatened by you?”

Now I wanted to laugh. “Threatened?”

“Trust me—you’re not the only kid walking around Cathedral wondering if you’re good enough. Art is a competitive world, even in middle school. But if this is the way you’re going to deal with your fellow artists, then maybe you’re right. Maybe you shouldn’t be there.”

“No!” I said right away. “I want to be in art school.”

She smiled, just a tiny bit. “I thought so,” she said, and for about a tenth of a second, it seemed like she was done being mad.

Wrong.

“So here’s the deal,” she told me. “You’re grounded until further notice. You’ll go to school, you’ll come home, you’ll do your homework. That’s it. When Christmas break starts next week, you’ll be staying home as well. You won’t be going anywhere unless it’s with me.”

“Until further notice?” I said.

“That’s right,” Mom said.

In other words, she hadn’t even decided how mad she was yet. This could go on anywhere from a couple of days… to infinity.

See, it wasn’t just Zeke’s sculpture that got broken that day. I’d also broken Mom’s trust, and maybe for the last time. Because after this, I didn’t think she’d ever trust me again.

I mean, would you?