Theo paused, took another sip. Judge was staring at him with only one thought—where’s breakfast?
“Did you get away?” his mom asked. She seemed to be amused by the story.
“I’m not sure. I don’t think I finished the dream. We were running through some alleys, and every time we turned a corner there were more policemen, all of them blasting away. It was like a small army was after us. There was a SWAT team, and even a helicopter overhead. Pete Duffy kept saying, ‘They’re not going to catch us, Theo. Just keep running.’ We ran through the courthouse, which was full of people, in the middle of the night, and we ran toward the river. For some reason we decided to cross the bridge. About halfway over, we saw a SWAT team on the other side, coming right at us. We stopped, looked behind, saw cops and dogs everywhere. Pete Duffy said, ‘We gotta jump, Theo.’ And I said, ‘I’m not jumping.’ So he crawled over the railing and was about to jump when he got hit with bullets from all sides. He screamed and fell over, and I watched him fall until he hit the water. There were people on the river in boats, and they cheered when he made a splash. Then they started yelling, ‘Jump, Theo, Jump!’ The police were closing in from both sides. The dogs were growling, sirens blaring away, gunfire. I held up my hands like I was going to surrender, then in a split second I jumped over the railing—which was about eight feet high—but this was a dream, okay? I looked like an Olympic diver flying through the air. On the way down I started doing flips and twists and turns, don’t know where I learned all those moves. The river was far below and getting closer and closer.”
He took another sip.
“What happened?” she asked.
“Don’t know. That dive lasted for a long time, and I woke up before I hit the water. I tried to go back to sleep to finish the dive but couldn’t get it to work.”
“That’s a pretty cool dream, Theo. Lots of action and excitement.”
“It wasn’t very cool at the time. I was scared to death. You ever been shot at by the police?”
“No, I have not. You were going to think about some possible enemies who might be carrying a grudge of some sort.”
Theo took another sip and thought for a moment. “Come on, Mom. Kids don’t have enemies, do they? Look, we all have people we don’t like, and don’t like us, right? But I can’t think of a single person I’d call an enemy.”
“Fair enough. Who is the kid who dislikes you the most?”
“Betty Ann Hockner.”
“And what’s the history?”
“We had a debate several months ago, boys versus girls. The issue was gun control. Things got pretty heated, but it was all fair. We won the debate and she was really upset. I heard later that she called me a ‘jerk’ and a ‘cheap-shot artist.’ I’ve seen her almost every day since then, and she gives me these looks like she would love to slit my throat.”
“You should reach out to her, Theo.”
“No way.”
“And why not?”
“I’m afraid she’ll slit my throat.”
“Could she slash your tires and throw a rock through a window?”
Theo shook his head and thought for a second. “Not really. She’s a nice girl, but she’s not very popular. I kinda feel sorry for her. She’s not our suspect.”
“So who is?”
“I don’t know. I’m still thinking about it.”
“You’d better get ready for school.”
“I feel pretty lousy, Mom, nausea and a headache. I think I’d better stay in bed today.”
She smiled, tussled his hair again, didn’t believe a word of it, and said, “What a surprise. You know, Theo, if you didn’t fake so many illnesses in order to skip school, I might believe you every now and then.”
“School’s boring.”
“Well, it’s not optional. If you want to go to law school, there is a rule somewhere that you must complete the eighth grade.”
“Show me that rule.”
“I just made it up. Look, Theo, today might be a bit rough. Lots of gossip and such, and probably some jokes. I know you’d rather skip it, but you can’t. Bite your lip, grit your teeth, and hold your head up because you’ve done nothing wrong. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”
“I know.”
“And keep smiling. The world is a brighter place when you’re smiling.”
“It might be hard to smile today.”
Theo parked his bike at a different rack, one by the cafeteria, and after he chained it he couldn’t help but look around to see if anyone was watching. This looking over his shoulder was already a habit, and he was tired of it.
It was 8:20. He met April Finnemore in the cafeteria where students who arrive early on buses were allowed to meet and socialize, or have an apple juice, or to sometimes study. April was a friend, a close one, but not a girlfriend. Theo trusted her above all others, and she confided in him as well. Her home life was a constant mess, with a father who came and went, a mother who was at least half crazy if not more, and older siblings who had already fled town. April, too, wanted to leave home but was much too young. Her dream was to be an artist and live in Paris.
“How are you doing?” she asked as they sat at the end of a long table, as far away from the other students as possible.
Theo gritted his teeth, held up his head, and said, “I’m fine. Nothing wrong with me.”
“This stuff
is all over the Internet. It seems to be growing.”
“Look, April, I can’t control that. I’m innocent. What am I supposed to do about it? You want an apple juice?”
“Sure.”
Theo walked across the cafeteria to a counter where cups of free apple juice were waiting. He picked up two, and was walking back to April when a group of seventh-grade boys began chanting, “Guilty! Guilty! Guilty!”
Theo looked at them and flashed his braces, offered a fake smile, as if he found it humorous. The biggest loudmouth was a kid named Phil Jacoby, a tough kid from a bad part of town. Theo knew him but they did not hang out. A few other kids joined in, “Guilty! Guilty! Guilty!” But by the time Theo sat down the chants were dying; the fun was over.
“Creeps,” April hissed as she glared at the boys.
“Just ignore them,” Theo said. “If you fight back, it just gets worse.”
More kids arrived and backpacks hit the tables.
“What will the police do next?” April asked, almost in a whisper.
“Finish their investigation,” Theo said softly, glancing around. “There are no fingerprints on the tablets found in my locker, so they figure the thief is pretty smart. They were going to dust my locker, but now they figure that’s a waste of time. You gotta keep in mind, April, this is a minor crime. The cops have much more important matters to worry about.”
“Like finding Pete Duffy.”
“Exactly. Plus they have drug cases and more serious crimes to investigate. They won’t spend a lot of time on this burglary. It’s not that serious.”
“Unless you’re the accused. Don’t tell me you’re not worried about getting framed for this.”
“Sure, I’m worried, but I trust the police and the courts. You gotta trust the system, April. I’m innocent and I know it. The police will find the real thieves and I’ll be off the hook.”
“Just that simple?”
“Yes. I think.”
The gang of seventh graders walked behind him. Phil Jacoby said loudly, “Hey, you guys, watch your backpacks. Theo the Thief is in the room.” His buddies howled with laughter but kept walking. The other students glared at Theo. A couple moved their backpacks closer.
“Oh boy,” Theo said, defeated. “I guess I have a new nickname.”
“Creeps.”
Theo found it difficult to bite his lip, grit his teeth, and hold up his head. This would indeed be a long day.
The fight broke out a few minutes later as Theo was closing his locker. The troublemaker was another loudmouth, a kid named Baxter who was in Madame Monique’s eighth-grade homeroom and had a locker not far from Theo’s. Baxter walked behind Theo, and in a loud voice, said, “Hey, what’s up, jailbird?” This got a few laughs but not nearly as many as Baxter was looking for. He stopped and grinned at Theo.
Baxter’s mistake was opening his big mouth when Woody happened to be closing his own locker. He whirled around and angrily said, “Shut up!”
Nobody messed with Woody. He had two older brothers who played football and loved karate and were known to fight for any reason. Woody’s home was in a constant state of physical conflict, with broken windows, furniture, and sometimes bones. As the youngest, Woody had been the tackling dummy and the punching bag, and he actually enjoyed a good fight with someone his own size. He was never a bully, but often he was too quick to throw a punch, or to threaten a classmate.
But Baxter had his own tough-guy reputation, and he could not back down with people watching. “Don’t tell me to shut up,” he shot back. “If I want to call Theo a jailbird, then I’ll call him a jailbird.”
Woody was already walking toward Baxter, and at that point serious trouble was inevitable. Excitement gripped the hallway as the other students realized that, like a couple of gunslingers, neither of these two would back down.
Theo glanced up and down the hall in hopes of seeing Mr. Mount or another teacher, but there was no adult in sight at that crucial moment. He said, “It’s okay, Woody, it’s okay.”
But it wasn’t okay with Woody. He glared at Baxter and said, “Take it back.”
Baxter said, “No, thanks. When you steal and get arrested, then in my book you’re a jailbird.” He was still talking tough, but his eyes were also getting bigger. His left eye, though, was about to get closed.
Woody lunged with a right hook that landed perfectly on Baxter’s face. Baxter, to his credit, managed to land a solid punch before both boys locked each other up in death grips and tumbled to the floor. Fights were rare at the middle school and a good one was not to be missed. A crowd gathered around instantly. Down the hall someone yelled, “A fight! A fight!” Woody and Baxter were sliding