RINA'S POV
TEN YEARS PRIOR
The following day, I didn't tell anyone about Easton's threat. Mostly because I didn't take it seriously. What else could he possibly do to me? He'd already called me every name in the book, attempted to ruin my reputation both at school and with my foster mother, and tried to intimidate me by trapping me in that classroom. I guess he could have hit me, but that wasn't his MO. He never got physical with me—other than the kiss in the closet, but I chalked that up to him being too drunk to function.
So, instead of telling Harrison I wasn't going to the dance like Easton wanted, I just ignored Easton completely. Or at least I would have if I'd run into him. He'd been absent from AP literature this morning and wasn't in his usual spot at lunch. I assumed he was either sick or suspended again. Either option was fine with me, if it kept him out of my hair. The last thing I wanted was for him to cause a scene at Homecoming tonight.
I found myself more and more excited to attend the dance as the day went on. I always liked hanging out with Jen, and I was surprised to find I liked Harrison, too. He was quiet and a little awkward, but warm once he opened up. He and Samuel were becoming regulars at my lunch table, and though Jen carried most of the conversation, I was glad to have their company. It made me feel like I was finally fitting in at Wellsprings in spite of Easton's efforts.
That afternoon, I took my seat in my anatomy class—my last class of the day. Harrison sat beside me now, smiling at me like we were old friends as I pulled my textbook from my backpack. I could tell he didn't want to be just friends—it was apparent from the way he lit up when I talked to him, and the way his arm rested on the back of my chair everyday at lunch. But he wasn't pressing the subject and for now, I was content to have someone else to talk to besides Jen.
My teacher was halfway through attendance when the intercom system sounded from overhead.
"Mr. Shrader, please send Rina Burnett to the front office, thank you."
My face instantly got hot. I hadn't been called to the front office since the day my grandfather died. A whole slew of worst-case scenarios ran through my mind. Everything from Monica and Chet getting into a horrible accident to my mother finally getting released from prison.
Harrison looked at me curiously and I shrugged my shoulders as if I wasn't on the verge of a panic attack. Mr. Shrader nodded at me briefly before returning to his attendance sheet.
I could feel most of the class's eyes on my back as I left the room, backpack slung over one arm, and my shoulders squared. I walked through the halls in silence, trying to calm my racing heart. I was unsuccessful. By the time I made it to the front of the school, I could feel it like the bass of a drum pulsing in my neck.
Monica was in the front office when I arrived. I smiled at her in greeting, slightly relieved that she was here alive and well. But she just grimaced in return, holding her purse tight to her chest like a security blanket. Principal Harris was standing beside her, his face in a scowl as he looked at me. I'd never even spoken to him before, let alone done anything to warrant that sort of expression. My stomach started to knot.
"Ms. Burnett, please join me in my office," he said coldly, turning towards the hallway beside the front desk without another word. I tried to search Monica's face for some indication of what was going on, but she turned away and walked swiftly after Principal Harris.
I followed them, my heart in my stomach. At least when my grandfather passed, I knew it was coming. I didn't know when, but it was the inevitable result of stage four colon cancer. When the front office called my name that day, I knew what it was about. Right now? My only guess was the water bottle I dumped on Easton's head, but that was nearly two weeks ago. They couldn't possibly drag me in here now for that, could they?
My anxiety only ratcheted up a notch when I walked into the principal's office and saw Margaret sitting in the corner. We locked eyes when I walked in, and her usually stern expression sunk into a deep frown.
"Have a seat, Ms. Burnett," Harris said, gesturing towards an armchair facing his desk. I did as I was told. It wasn't until I was sitting with both arms resting on the chair that I realized my hands were shaking like dead leaves.
"We received an anonymous tip yesterday afternoon," he started, staring directly into my eyes, his expression cold. "The source alleged that a student—and they didn't say who—was attempting to sell marijuana out of their locker. Wellspring has a zero-tolerance policy for drug usage on school grounds, so we have to take these claims seriously. The local sheriff's office K-9 unit searched the school last night. When one of the dogs alerted to your locker, an officer found this hidden within the pages of a book." He paused, staring at me again. My eyes were wide, too stunned to comment.
He slid something across the desk towards me, and I glanced at it, a bead of sweat rolling down my spine as I did. It was a small dime bag containing a very small amount of weed. Not even enough to roll a joint, and definitely not enough to sell.
"Yours was the only locker in the school the K-9 unit alerted to," he explained, sitting back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest, looking mighty pleased with himself. A part of me wanted to laugh because I knew that if somebody else in this school had been caught with a few crumbs of marijuana—somebody from a wealthy, well-connected family, for instance—Harris would not be looking at them like that. It would probably just get swept under the rug.
Suddenly I wasn't even nervous anymore. I was just angry.
"Don't you think if I was selling marijuana out of my locker, I'd need more than residue to turn a profit?" I asked, my tone biting.
"Yes, I would think that you would. But you're the only student in the school who had any drug paraphernalia in their locker. I would reason then that if you weren't the one selling it, you at least know someone who is."
"Sorry, can't help you there. That baggy isn't mine," I defended, trying to control the volume of my voice. "I've never smoked a day in my life."
"Then how did it end up in your locker?" Harris's tone was biting. I could tell he didn't believe me.
"How should I know?" I snarled, my temper flaring, before Margaret came to stand directly behind me.
"Could you tell us which book the baggy was found in?" She asked calmly, placing a firm hand on my shoulder.
"That I can do," Harris said, reaching into his desk and pulling out the copy of The Awakening that I'd checked out of the school library.
"That one?" I huffed out a laugh. "Let me get this straight. You find an old, nearly empty baggy of weed inside a book that is clearly marked as belonging to the Wellspring High School Library and your first conclusion is that I'm dealing drugs?"
"I didn't say you were dealing drugs, Ms. Burnett. I am simply asking if you could explain why it was in your possession."
"But you had to call my caseworker in all the way from Richmond to ask me that question?" I asked. "I don't know exactly why it was in my possession, Mr. Harris. But with all due respect, I the book came from the library. Multiple other students have checked it out. Any single one of them could have left the baggy in the book prior to it ending up in my locker."
"Yes, well, be that as it may," Harris started, glancing over my shoulder at Margaret and then to the corner towards where Monica was standing silently. "When we explained the situation to your foster mother over the phone, she indicated to us that you had already read the book through multiple times for a project. One would think then that you would have found the baggy and reported, or at least removed, it if it wasn't yours."
I looked back at Monica, stung, but she wasn't looking at me. She was staring directly ahead at Mr. Harris, her face in a grim line. It felt a bit like betrayal, that she would give away that piece of information without asking me first. I know she wasn't my actual mom, and that she'd only known me for a couple months, but she said she wanted to help me just a few weeks ago. This wasn't helping me.
"While Mrs. Snyder is correct that I have completed a project on the book," I said, making sure to use her full name rather than foster mom, since at that point, it seemed as though she wouldn't be my guardian for much longer, "She's mistaken in her assertion that I read the book cover to cover multiple times. My AP Literature class is not the first course to assign me The Awakening as required reading. I've read it multiple times prior. What Mrs. Snyder witnessed was me searching the book for quotes to use in my project. But it's entirely possible I could have missed the baggy hidden between the pages as I did not actually read the novel front to back."
"Well, Ms. Burnett, I want to believe you, but the fact of the matter is—" Harris started, but Margaret cut him off.
"Mr. Harris, with all due respect, have you taken a look at Rina's academic and personal record?" Margaret asked, her fingers digging into my shoulder in a way I suspected might have been an attempt at comfort.
"Not in its entirety but I checked her current grades and attendance," he admitted.
"Rina has never made anything below an A- in her entire academic career, including the time she spend in the care of her biological mother, if you could call that care," Margaret said. "Further, she's never needed to be disciplined at any of the schools she's attended. Now, I've known Rina since she was small. It's completely out of character for her to be involved in something like this."
"I understand that Mrs. Goad, but I still have to investigate who this baggy belongs to, and as it stands, it was found in her possession."
"Well, she's telling you it's not hers and she's provided you with an alternative explanation for how it could have ended up where it did," Margaret said firmly. "Unless you have another reason to suspect Rina's involvement, I think you should let her get back to class."
"Drug test her," Monica suddenly blurted out from the corner, like she'd finally woken up from a trance.
"Excuse me?" Margaret asked.
"If you drug test her, and it comes back positive for marijuana, we can assume the baggy is hers," Monica said, still not looking at me.
"Mrs. Snyder, while I know you've been through a lot with your own child but this situation is completely—" Margaret started, but Monica interrupted.
"You're right. I went through hell. And I wish I'd drug tested my daughter when I had the chance," Monica said, her voice cracking. She looked at the floor, looking like she was trying desperately to hold back tears. "If the baggy was hers, it will show up in her urine. It's as simple as that."
"I'm fine with that," I said flatly, staring directly at Monica. "Like I told you, I've never smoked before."
Thirty minutes later, I was waiting in complete silence between Monica and Margaret at a local clinic. The drug test would take 24 to 48 hours to come back if it was negative. Longer if it was positive, but I wasn't worried about that. I knew that nothing would come up.
I was suspended from school until the results came back. Which meant I was not allowed at Homecoming. And even if I was, I could tell Monica wouldn't let me out of her sight anyways.
I texted Jen a brief, I can't go, but didn't see a response prior to Monica taking my phone away from me. I guess I couldn't blame her. She had a chance at fixing the mistakes she made with her own daughter and she wasn't going to waste it. Even still, it hurt that it was only Margaret that believed me. True, Margaret had known me longer, but I'd never lived with her. She never made me hot cocoa when I was upset or called me sweet pea when she woke me up in the morning.
I swallowed hard, because I realized I'd gotten too used to Monica mothering me. And now, it felt like it was all over. Because even when that test came back negative, the trust between us was broken. I could tell. And that made my heart hurt.