He stared hard at me and then glanced at the referral. "He asked you the same question a number of times, and you ignored him."
"Not because I wanted to. I was... thinking about something else.
"What?"
"Something personal," I replied.
He sat back, and the phone rang. Practically lunging for it, he lifted the receiver.
"What? Why am I being interrupted?" He listened a moment. "I'll be right there. Don't let anyone out of the bathroom."
He hung up the receiver and stood up. I thought he would rise into the ceiling.
"You can spend today in after-school detention thinking about whatever it was you were thinking about that was personal, and writing an apology to Ms. Leshman. I want to see it on my desk before you leave the building. The detention teacher will bring it in to me. You come back here again, and I'll lose my temper," he said. "Now, go sit out there until the bell rings for your next class, and be sure you don't think of personal stuff in that class."
He went to the door, ripped it open, and charged out.
I rose and followed slowly. David was still sitting there waiting for his father to pick him up. He looked up at me as I took the seat next to him.
"What did you do?" he asked.
"Nothing. I just didn't hear a question, and the teacher thought I was being disrespectful
."
He grimaced in confusion. "That's it?"
"Sorry," I said, seeing how disappointed he was with my crime. "That's it."
"Dean Mannville told you to sit quietly without any talking," the secretary reminded David.
He stared hard at her a moment and then turned away from both of us.
Not ten minutes later, a short man with heavylensed glasses and light brown hair appeared in the doorway. He was in a dark brawn suit and tie and, because of the folds in his forehead and the way he squinted, looked as if he had a terrible headache. David gazed at him but didn't stand up.
"You know. I had to leave work to come here," the man said. "I didn't call you," David told him.
"Oh, you're so smart. Let's go, buddy boy, and you can forget the car for the rest of this year." the man who was apparently his father said.
David stood up and smiled down at me. "What's your father going to do, take away your scooter?"
I watched him leave, glanced at the secretary, and then closed my eyes. What was my father going to do? Perhaps he wouldn't find out. The school didn't always send letters home, and I'd only be an hour later than usual. Brenda would find out, of course, I thought.
She did before the day had ended and I walked toward the detention room. She was on her way to volleyball practice and caught up with me, pulling my arm to turn me around.
"I heard you were sent to the dean's office. What did you do?" she asked.
I told her everything. I thought she would be very angry at me, but her face softened, and she looked as if she would cry herself for a moment. Then she sighed. "Don't tell Mama," she said. "If she asks why you're home later than usual, tell her you were in the library doing research for something. She doesn't need this," she added. and I nodded, even though I could count on the fingers of one hand how many times I had lied to or kept something, from Mama, and that was always for silly stuff.
"Won't the school call to tell her?" I asked.
"Probably not. If anything, they'll mail a copy of the referral and the action taken, but it will be days from now, and maybe we can get to it before Mama sees it," she said.
Brenda saw the reluctance and despair in my face over so much deception.
"Sometimes, it's better to hide things and keep someone you love from knowing things that will hurt her more," she said. She said it with such assurance I had the distinct feeling she had done exactly that many times and might even be doing it at this moment herself.
I raised my eyebrows, and she saw my questions in my face.