There were voices outside the room. Mr. Mount said, “I think Mrs. Gladwell is here. I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes.” With that, he stood and left the room. As soon as the door closed behind him, Woody snarled, “Nobody rats, okay? I mean it, nobody rats. Not one word.”
As soon as the words left his mouth, the door opened wide and Mrs. Gladwell stormed in. One look, and the boys knew they were dead.
She stared at them as she slowly took a seat at the end of the table. Mr. Mount eased into the room, closed the door, and stood against the wall. He was there as her witness.
“Are you okay, Baxter?” she asked, without a touch of sympathy.
Baxter nodded slightly.
“And Theo? Is that blood on your bottom lip?”
Theo nodded slightly.
She stiffened her spine, frowned even harder, and began, “Well, I want to know what happened.”
Neither boy moved the tiniest muscle. All seven eyes (Baxter had only one workable eye at this point) were glued firmly at something fascinating, though invisible, on the table. Silence, as seconds passed. Her face became redder, her frown even harsher.
“Fighting is a very serious offense,” she lectured. “We do not tolerate fighting at this school, and you’ve known this since you arrived here in the fifth grade. Fighting carries an automatic suspension. A suspension goes into your file and becomes part of your permanent record.”
Not exactly, Theo said to himself. Sure, it might be a permanent record, but it would never leave the middle school. No college or law school or potential employer would ever know that a student got suspended for fighting in the eighth grade.
“Theo,” she said sternly, “I want to know what happened. Look at me, Theo.”
Theo slowly turned and looked at the rather frightening face of his principal. “Tell me what happened,” she demanded. Theo, unable to maintain eye contact, focused his attention at a spot on the wall and clenched his jaws.
Of the four, Theo was a leader; Griff was a follower; Woody and Baxter generally moved with the pack. If Theo kept his mouth shut, then the other three would, too. This was Mrs. Gladwell’s first mistake.
The way to crack a case with multiple defendants is to separate them. Theo, if in charge, would isolate Griff in a small room with several grim-faced adults-administrators, coaches, people with clout and authority. They would explain to Griff that the other three boys were talking and pointing the finger at him. “Griff, Baxter is saying that you were taunting Theo.” And, “Griff, they’re saying you threw the first punch.” And so on. Griff wouldn’t believe this at first, but after a few minutes of getting hammered at, he would eventually start talking. Once he gave his version, he would be told that it didn’t jive with the other three; so, obviously, Griff was lying. Lying would only compound his troubles. Lying, plus fighting, would lead to an even longer suspension and probation. Griff would then become desperate to make it known that his version was indeed truthful and accurate. Once this strategy was used on all four boys, they would be singing like birds and the truth about the fight would become clear.
This, of course, would require deception on the part of the authorities, but such tactics are permissible under the law. On the other hand, Mrs. Gladwell’s strategy involved no deception, and she would learn nothing from the boys. Theo was happy that she did not understand basic police interrogation tactics.
Theo said nothing and returned his gaze to the table in front of him. His refusal to speak, to rat, meant all four would go down together.
She continued, “Baxter, who punched you in the eye?”
Baxter lowered the ice pack and set it on the table. The ice was working and the swelling had gone down a little. He almost said, “I don’t know,” but caught himself. He, of course, did know. There was no benefit in lying at this point. Just clam up like Theo and suffer through this.
There was a long pause as she waited. The air was thick with tension and looming trouble. None of the boys had ever been suspended, though Woody and Baxter had been on probation a couple of times.
Mrs. Gladwell had been informed early that morning the Internet was buzzing with the rumors that Theo had been arrested for the theft and was going to court. She had been shown the photo posted on GashMail. She had planned to meet with Theo at some point during the day and offer her support. Now, she was faced with the unpleasant task of suspending him and the other three.
Finally, she said, “I suspect that either Baxter or Griff said something about Theo getting into trouble with the law, maybe getting arrested or something like that. Since Woody and Theo are classmates and good friends, I suspect that Woody intervened and this started the fight. Am I right about this, Griff?”
Griff jerked as though he’d been slapped, but he quickly composed himself so he could say nothing. Not a word. He narrowed his eyes and gritted his teeth and gave her nothing.
She waited and waited and her frown disappeared. The boys were playing games, so she would play along. “Baxter?”
Baxter tapped the table nervously but said nothing.
“Boys, we can sit here all morning,” she said.
Behind her, Mr. Mount tried not to smile. Secretly, he admired the boys for protecting each other and facing their punishment together.
“Mr. Mount, would you take Baxter, Griff, and Woody outside?” she said. “I want to talk to Theo alone.” Without a word, the three followed Mr. Mount out of the room. When the door closed, Theo felt totally isolated.
“Look at me, Theo,” she said softly. Theo turned and made eye contact.
“I know you’ve had a bad week,” she said. “You feel as though you’re the victim. The police are after you. Someone is trying to frame you for the burglary. Someone is stalking you. Someone is bullying you. Your face is all over the Internet in that photo of you and your parents leaving the police station. Lies are being told. Rumors are out of control. I understand all this, Theo. I’m on your side, and I hope you know this.”
Theo managed to nod slightly.
“And I’m certain that you did not start this fight. I want you to tell me exactly what happened, okay?”
“I got in a fight,” Theo said.
“But did you start the fight, Theo?”
“I got in a fight and fighting is against the rules.” He found the strong urge to look away, but somehow managed to stare at her. She was disappointed, even hurt, and Theo felt lousy. He considered her a friend, an ally, a person of authority who was trying to help him, and he was giving her nothing.
After a long, tense, nervous, silent pause, she said, “So, you’re not going to tell me what happened?”
Theo shook his head. It hurt more when he moved it.
Then a cruel question: “What will your parents think when I call them and tell them you’ve been suspended from school for fighting?”
“I don’t know,” Theo managed to say, horrified by the prospect. Facing his parents would be far worse than getting kicked in the head. A sharp pain stabbed him in the stomach as he saw the looks in their eyes.
“Okay, please step outside.”
Theo quickly jumped from his chair and left the room. When he stepped through the door, he saw the other three and ran his index finger across his mouth. Lips are zipped. I didn’t rat, and you don’t either.
Baxter was next. He returned to the room, to the table, as if he might be executed.
“Did you say something to Theo about getting into trouble?” she asked.
No response.
“Did you taunt him or harass him?”
No response.
“Did Woody hit you in the face?”
No response.
“Did Theo?”
Nothing.
“Would you please step outside and send in Woody,” she said.
When Baxter stepped through the door and saw the other three, he ran his index finger across his lips. Nobody rats.