When (19 page)

When we got to the principal’s office, I noticed that all but one of the secretaries had gone home. The woman who remained was Miss Langley (7-22-2076), and when she saw me, she offered me
a nervous smile. She’d been the witness to Mr. Harris’s last, dismissive conversation with me.

“You can go right in,” she told us, and Donny led the way into Principal Harris’s office.

I was surprised to find a petite Asian woman with shiny black hair and knobby jewelry sitting there. “Mr. Fynn,” she said warmly, getting to her feet to come around and shake his
hand. “Thank you for coming on such short notice.”

She then introduced herself to me. “You must be Madelyn.” I shook her hand and nodded. “I’m Mrs. Matsuda, the superintendent of schools”

Mrs. Matsuda (1-15-2056) then pointed to the two chairs in front of the desk, and we all took our seats. For the next hour, I was asked to tell her exactly what’d been happening at the
school since word got out that my best friend had been arrested for the murder of Payton Wyly and my house had been searched by the FBI. After that, Donny showed her the picture of my bike, my
locker, and the stairwell where Mario and Eric had jumped me. She remained silent as I told her what’d been going on, and her face betrayed nothing of what she might be thinking—not
even when she saw the image of the garbage heap that’d once been my bike.

At last I was done, and she started to ask me questions. She’d been taking notes all along, and I realized some of what she’d been jotting down were questions that she wanted to ask
me. They weren’t all about the bullying in the hallways or the hard time Mr. Harris and a few of the teachers were giving me, but things like how long had Stubby and I been friends? Did I
like going to school at Poplar Hollow High? And, most interesting of all, she said that she’d heard about my special ability and found it very intriguing. “Can you see everyone’s
deathdate, Maddie?” she asked me.

I nodded.

“Really?” She didn’t seem doubtful so much as surprised.

“Yes, ma’am. I can see them on anyone as long as I’m within about four or five feet of them. I can also see them on a person in a photograph as long as it’s not taken
from too far away.”

“What if the person is already dead?”

I shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. Their deathdate still shows up even if it’s in the past.”

Donny sat forward, but he didn’t comment. I could tell that he was prepared to stop me from answering any question she might ask that could be used against me later.

Mrs. Matsuda stood up and moved over to a row of books. I saw that they were all the textbooks we used here at the high school. Taking one down she thumbed through it. “This is the senior
history book,” she said. And then she paused about the middle of the book and turned it toward me. On the page was a black and white photo of a bearded man in period attire. “Do you
know who this is?” she said, careful to hold her hand over the caption underneath the photo.

I leaned forward to really look at the picture, then shook my head. “No, ma’am.”

“Can you see his deathdate?”

“December tenth, eighteen ninety-six, ma’am.”

Mrs. Matsuda’s brow shot up. “You’re correct, Maddie,” she told me, turning the book back toward her. “That is Alfred Nobel. He invented dynamite.”

I looked at Donny, but he seemed focused on Mrs. Matsuda. The superintendent then thumbed a few more pages and swiveled the book toward me again. “How about this woman. Do you know
her?”

That photo was far more contemporary, but I still didn’t recognize the woman. “No, ma’am. I don’t know her.”

“What about her deathdate?”

“March twenty-sixth, twenty eleven.”

Mrs. Matsuda sat down and stared at me with a mixture of wonder and disbelief. “You really don’t know who she was?” she pressed.

I shook my head. “No, ma’am. I’m sorry.”

Mrs. Matsuda chuckled. “There’s no need to be sorry. That’s a photo of Geraldine Ferraro. She was the first female candidate for vice president of the United States. She was a
personal hero of mine, and she died of cancer a few years ago. I don’t know the exact date, but I’ll bet if I look it up you’ll be right.”

And then Mrs. Matsuda reached down to her pocketbook and pulled out her iPhone. Thumbing through it she finally turned it toward me. Pictured there was the superintendent with her arm around an
older woman who bore a slight resemblance to her. “Can you tell me the deathdate for the woman sitting next to me?” she asked.

I squinted and bit my lip when I saw the numbers. “She died last month, ma’am. The twentieth of October. I’m really sorry.”

Mrs. Matsuda’s eyes misted, and she put the phone to her chest. “It’s okay, Maddie. My mom was sick for a long time.”

After tucking her phone back into her purse, Mrs. Matsuda moved a manila file from the right of the desk over to the center and opened it. She then ran her fingers down the side of the top page,
and I wondered what was in the folder, and then she began to read from it. “Madelyn Fynn; junior; cumulative GPA of three-point-eight-five. Fourth in your class with an excellent attendance
record.” I realized then that she was reading from my student file. “Last summer, you contributed one hundred and sixty hours of community service to Habitat for Humanity; you are a
member of the Concerned Students for Animal Welfare; and your PSAT scores from last year put you in the ninety-seventh percentile overall.”

Donny reached out and squeezed my hand. I knew he was proud of me, but I was still focused on Mrs. Matsuda. She closed the folder and gave me a thoughtful look. “You say that Mrs. Wilson
gave your paper on
Catcher in the Rye
a D minus?”

I nodded as my face flushed with heat. I felt like I was ratting out Mrs. Wilson.

“May I see that paper?”

I dug through my backpack and fished it out. Mrs. Matsuda took it and began to read. It took her a few minutes because it was about five pages, but at the end she folded it up and set it on top
of the manila folder. “Maddie, I must apologize to you. It seems that you have not been afforded the standard that all people in this country have as their right, which is the assumption of
innocence until proven otherwise in a court of law, not the court of public opinion. I don’t know if you had anything to do with the death of those two young people, but I’m inclined to
believe that you didn’t. It’s clear to me that you have a special and incredible talent, and that talent has brought you a world of hurt and misjudgment. Bullying at this high
school—or at any school within my jurisdiction—is intolerable. And anyone who actively ignores—or through inaction promotes—such behavior will be swiftly dealt with.

“It’s clear to me that you’ve been bullied. What isn’t clear is who’s responsible. I’ve heard your claims that Principal Harris knew of the extent of this
behavior and did nothing about it, and I’ve already discussed the matter with Miss Langley, but I would like to take tomorrow to interview a few of your other teachers, including Mrs. Wilson.
While I’m conducting my investigation, I’d like for you to take the day off from school. I’ll make sure your assignments are delivered to your home tomorrow evening with specific
instructions from all your teachers, and I will be reviewing your work along with your teachers to ensure that you are fairly graded.”

I felt as if a heavy weight had been lifted off my shoulders. Mrs. Matsuda was going to help me. Donny squeezed my hand again and offered me an encouraging smile. He was pleased, too.

Shifting her gaze to Donny, Mrs. Matsuda added, “And I will be suspending Mr. Anderson and Mr. Rossi, and I’ll also give Mr. Guttman a stern warning and two weeks’ detention so
that the next time he sees something like that going on, he’ll think twice about not reporting it.

“Additionally, Mr. Fynn, at this time I am not going to grant your request to bring suit against the school, but I will make sure that Maddie is reimbursed for her bicycle. And when she
returns to school, her safety and well-being will be given the highest importance.”

Donny nodded and stood up to shake her hand. “Thank you, Mrs. Matsuda. I appreciate your time, and I think your solution is a good one. Please let us know what your investigation turns
up.”

And then we were leaving. It took me several minutes to process what Mrs. Matsuda had said. “She’s going to give me money for my bike?”

Donny nodded. “Yeah. I’ll take you to the bike shop tomorrow to pick out a new one, and we’ll keep the receipt to make sure they reimburse you.”

When we got to the car I said, “What’d she mean, you couldn’t sue the school?”

“In this country you have to get permission to sue the government,” Donny explained. “I had to submit a motion to sue through the superintendent.”

“That’s crazy,” I said. “Why would they ever give you permission to sue them?”

Donny grinned. “They almost never do, but they also realize that we could take all this to the press and things could get ugly for them, so they pay attention to stuff like
this.”

“The bike store should still be open,” I mentioned, excited by my sudden change of fortune.

“We can’t. We have another appointment with a colleague of mine.”

“Who?”

“You’ll see,” Donny said, and I could tell he wasn’t going to elaborate.

I sat back in my seat, still thinking about my change of luck, which is why I didn’t press him on it. As Donny was backing up the car I happened to catch a glimpse of Mr. Chavez walking
through the parking lot. I saw him stop at a pickup and pull out his keys. I blinked. The truck was one of those big, older models, the kind that makes a lot of noise when it’s moving.

A tickle of fear snaked its way through my stomach as I watched Chavez unlock the door and prepare to get in. And then, as if sensing he was being watched, he paused, turned toward Donny’s
car, and stared hard at me. I saw his shoulders stiffen along with his expression, and I knew he could see me driving away in my uncle’s BMW. The tickle of fear grew tentacles that inched up
my chest and spine, and I pulled my face away from the window, slumping down to hide in my seat.

Donny was too busy trying to dial his phone and drive at the same time to notice me. And I didn’t know what to say to him even if he had been paying attention. I’d already mentioned
how mean Mr. Chavez had been toward me to both Donny and Mrs. Matsudo, and I hadn’t actually seen Mr. Chavez in that truck sitting idle outside my house—the same one that I was
convinced had tried to follow me around the park. But Chavez scared me. There was something dark about him. Something mean. It wasn’t anything I could point out directly other than what
I’d already said to Donny and the superintendent, but I did wonder if he was capable of chasing me into the park after dark. And yet he was a respected teacher. Was I was wrong to suspect
him?

Still, I was happy that, for the next few days, I didn’t have to see him.

“Okay, we’ll be there in ten,” Donny said, nudging me in the arm and pulling my attention back to him. “This could be good news.”

“What?”

“Remember I told you I was having someone check something out for me?”

I thought back. “Vaguely.”

“Well, that was my private investigator. He found something that he thinks might help us.”

“What’d he find?”

Donny smiled sideways at me. “Dunno, kiddo, that’s why we’re going to meet him.”

We met with the PI at McDonald’s. He was a grungy-looking guy named Greg DeWitt (8-17-2041). He wore a coffee-stained sweatshirt, dirty jeans, and a beard that looked like it still had
some of his breakfast in it. Also, his breath could’ve peeled paint. He was so repugnant that I offered to stand in the long line to get us all dinner simply to get some space from him. By
the time I returned with the tray of food, DeWitt was gone and Donny was peering into a large manila envelope.

“Where’d he go?” I asked, setting the tray carefully on the table.

Donny looked up at me. “Huh? Oh, he had another assignment.”

“What’s in the envelope?”

Donny tucked it down at his side protectively. “Nothing I want you looking at.”

I scowled. “That’s nice.”

From the tray Donny picked up the burger I’d gotten for him. “It’s not like that. I just don’t want to upset you.”

“Yeah, because I haven’t been upset by any of this so far.”

Donny rolled his eyes but grinned. “DeWitt found a case that might help us. I want to take it over to the feds tomorrow, and I’d like you to come with me.”

“What’s the case?” I asked.

But Donny shook his head. “You’ll hear about it tomorrow. Tonight, I want you to relax. You’ve been through enough the past couple of days.”

I frowned hard at him, but he wasn’t budging.

We ate together in silence. His evasiveness put me right out of the mood for casual conversation. As soon as we finished up, Donny drove me home. “I’ll try to get a morning
appointment with Faraday and Wallace, and I’ll call you when I’m on my way. After we talk with them, we’ll see about getting your bike replaced.” I nodded and climbed out of
the car, but Donny called me back. “Maddie,” he said, and I could feel a lecture coming on. “Do me a favor, okay? Try and dress up a little tomorrow. No hoodie and jeans
combo,” he said, motioning at my outfit. “Try a sweater and a skirt. And do something with your hair. Every time I see you, you’ve got your hair in a ponytail.”

I clenched my jaw, my cheeks burning. All of a sudden I was acutely aware of my appearance.

Donny’s features softened. “You’re a pretty girl, Madelyn Fynn,” he said gently. “You’ve got your mom’s cheekbones, your grandma’s nose, and your
dad’s eyes—and that’s a killer combo. Your dad always used to kid around that he was gonna have to invest in a bat-making factory to beat off the guys.”

I opened my mouth, but Donny wasn’t finished. “And today you proved to the superintendent of all Grand Haven schools that you’re also smart as a whip. Meanwhile, you walk
around trying not to get noticed…and I get it, I really do. I can’t imagine what it’s like to see what you see, or have people know you can tell them the exact date they’re
going to die—but, kiddo, if your dad were alive today, he’d never put up with this shrinking violet act. You’ve been trying to turn invisible for too long. Guess what:
you’re not invisible anymore. And like I said back at the school, looking like the gorgeous girl next door can only help us when the feds try to make you out as a villain. So, it’s time
to stand up to all these people who want to label you as weird or a psycho or weak or dumb or a witch or whatever, and show them what you’re made of. You’re a Fynn, Maddie. And Fynns
don’t hide. We stand up and we stand out. Period.”