“This is not a case, Reneé,” the Principal said testily. “This is a conference between a student, his parent, and his teacher, and I’m here to ensure that the school’s interests, as well as the student’s interests, are met.” He then addressed my mother. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Cummings. I have studied law, and passed the bar in Ohio, so I may be prone to use words such as ‘charges,’ in a matter such as this. Let me assure you that this is not a legal action, nor are the police involved at this point. That being said, if Ms. Taylor’s assertions prove to be true, you and your son are entitled to legal representation. I would rather keep this more informal—I’d like to establish the actual facts in this matter.”
My English teacher looked furious but held her temper; one of the first times I’ve seen her do so since I came back from vacation.
The Principal continued. “All right, Reneé. You make three accusations. The first is that James here is a disruptive student in your class. The second is that he asked another teacher to berate you in front of your class. And the third and most troublesome accusation is that he physically threatened another student. Are these accusations correct?”
The teacher looked a bit flustered. “The threat wasn’t physical, but it was a threat of violence.”
“I see,” Mr. Yank said steadily. “A threat of physical violence?”
“Of course. Sexual violence… rape!”
My mother and I gasped at that charge. Rape?
“Let me make sure that I understand you,” Mr. Yankovitz said. “You say that he threatened to rape another student?”
“Yes,” my teacher insisted. “And I have evidence! Ms. Tomago said…”
“Ms. Tomago cannot be here right now,” Mr. Yank reminded Ms. Taylor. “May I see your evidence, or does Ms. Tomago have that, also?”
“I have that!” the teacher said, finally feeling vindicated. She handed a couple of notebook pages to the Principal.
The Principal looked at the pages, and quickly skimmed over them all, reading whatever was on it at a very quick pace. “This is your threat of rape, Reneé?”
“Yes,” Ms. Taylor said. “The girl he writes about is a student here… she’s actually a senior! This isn’t just fantasy. He’s writing about himself and a real person!”
“I see where you’re going with this,” Mr. Yank said. He turned to me and said, “Do you recognize this?”
I looked at the pages that the Principal held up. From where I was sitting, I couldn’t tell without getting closer exactly what was written on them, but I could easily tell it was my handwriting style. It was probably the essay that I wrote on Friday.
“It looks like my handwriting, Mr. Yankovitz. May I see it closely?”
The Principal shook his head, slightly. “If this is indeed evidence of a real threat to one of our students, I cannot simply hand it over to the person accused, you understand. Would it help you if I told you that the date of this essay is January third—last Friday? It was apparently written in Ms. Taylor’s class…”
“Is this the essay I was asked to write in detention?” I asked.
The Principal deferred the question to Ms. Taylor. “You know very well when you wrote that vicious and vile…”
“Reneé,” Mr. Yank interrupted. “Please answer the question with a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no.’ Is this the essay you asked James to write during detention?”
“Yes,” Ms. Taylor answered curtly.
“You are stating that you requested him to write this, and you are now accusing him of physically threatening another student because he wrote it?”
“No,” Ms. Taylor said, flustered. “I told him to write a story about better times.”
“Excuse me,” I interrupted. “I was asked to write about a happy moment that I wanted to relive.”
The Principal’s eyes grew wide. “Reneé. Was that the subject you assigned?”
“Yes. It was meant to be factual.”
“So, your claim that this essay to be a threat to another student doesn’t hold up. You asked him to write about something that actually happened!”
My teacher looked confused. “He didn’t write it in the past tense! He wrote it in the present tense. One could also read it as being future tense. That would be a threat! It definitely isn’t a reminiscence… it couldn’t have happened!”
The Principal turned to me. “Son, you were asked to write about a ‘happy moment,’ as you put it. You instead wrote it, as Ms. Taylor claims, in future tense. Is that true?”
“Mr. Yank,” I explained. “I was asked to relive a happy moment. How else do you relive something without experiencing it happening to you as it happens? I was thinking about one or more of the happy times that I spent with Kris, and…”
“Kris… the girl in this story is named Kristen. Is that who you wrote about?”
My teacher interrupted. “He’s writing about Kristen Swift. You are familiar with her and her family. They are rich and very important in this town and state. If they were to find out that he threatened their daughter…”
“Please, Reneé. Let’s take this one step at a time.” Mr. Yank turned to me and asked, “Is Ms. Taylor correct that you are referring to Kristen Swift?”
“Yes. Kris and I…”
“And this is meant to be a reenactment of a moment you spent together, or a fantasy about you spending time with her?”
“You’re letting him get off with rape!” my teacher screamed.
“Please compose yourself. I’m not letting anybody off with anything. I want to know what the boy’s intentions were.” Mr. Yank turned back to me. “Please answer my question.”
“Mr. Yankovitz, I’m not sure I remember exactly what I wrote in that essay. To tell you the truth, I was actually thinking about a few of the happy times that Kristen and I shared, wondering which was my favorite. I honestly cannot remember exactly what I wrote, but I know that whatever I wrote was a memory of something that the two of us actually did.”
“Indeed?” Mr. Yank seemed surprised.
“Impossible!” Ms. Taylor spat.
My mother interrupted. “Excuse me, Mr. Yankovitz. My son has been in a relationship with Kristen Swift since September. I am sure that they are—what do you call them nowadays?—an ‘item’ around the school.”
There was a knock on the door, surprising everybody. Instead of answering the door, Mr. Yank looked angry as he picked up his phone. “Sylvia, you know I’m in conference…”
“Stan, there’s a teacher and a student here who claim to be involved with the situation in your office. Also, Ms. Tomago is upset about something…”
“Let’s leave Ms. Tomago out of this. Send the teacher and student in.”
The door opened immediately, and Mr. Proilet came into the room with Kristen.
“Kris!” I said, feeling much relieved that my beloved was here during this nightmare.
Kristen didn’t say anything, but came up to me and hugged me. “Mr. Proilet told me what was going on, and said that we should come in here and…”
“Excuse me, everybody!” Mr. Yank demanded order. Everybody quieted down. Once order was reestablished, Mr. Yank turned to Kristen and said, “May I assume that you are Kristen Swift?”
“I am,” she answered.
“It seems you came at a good time,” Mr. Yank said. “James and his mother here have stated that you and he are, as his mother put it, an ‘item?’”
“Jim Crittenhouse is the person I intend to marry,” Kristen said, causing me to blanch. “If that’s what you mean by being an ‘item,’ then yes, that’s correct.”
“I see,” Mr. Yank, trying to stifle a grin. “Ms. Swift, it has been alleged by somebody that this story can be construed to be a threat made to you. Another person alleges that this is actually a reminiscence of some event that happened in the past.”