John Grisham - The Accused

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.

While Woody was getting grilled by Mrs. Gladwell, Theo and Griff and Baxter sat on a wooden bench under the watch of Mr. Mount, who felt sorry for the boys. They were all good kids and nothing would be gained by suspensions. Still, rules were rules.

Of the four, Woody would be the last to crack under pressure, and he refused to answer any question from Mrs. Gladwell. When she asked him if he hit Baxter, he responded, “Name, rank, and serial number only.”

“Very funny, Woody. You think this is a game?”

“No.”

“Did you throw the first punch?”

“I refuse to incriminate myself,” he replied.

“Get out of here.”

The weakest link was Griff, and when he survived his little question-and-answer period with Mrs. Gladwell by refusing to rat, she reassembled the four boys in the room. She said, “Very well. I’m going to suspend each of you one day for fighting, and another day for your refusal to cooperate. Today is Thursday and the suspension will run today and tomorrow. You will return to classes on Monday, at which time you will begin a thirty-day probation. Any violation during the next thirty days, and you will be suspended for a week.”

The prospect of missing classes for two days did not really trouble Theo, but the reality of facing his parents was painful. He thought about calling Ike first because Ike would understand and probably praise Theo for taking a stand. Perhaps Ike could then break the news to Theo’s parents and soften the impact. Theo was contemplating this when Mrs. Gladwell said, “I’ll call your parents.”

It took an hour to work out the details of the suspensions and do the paperwork. The boys stayed in the room, at the table, facing each other while Mr. Mount sat, bored, at the end of the table. He stepped out once to get coffee, and while he was gone Baxter said, “Sorry, Theo.”

“No problem,” Theo said.

Woody did not apologize.

Woody’s parents and Baxter’s parents had jobs; thus, no one was home during the day. Mrs. Gladwell explained they would be receiving “in-school suspensions” and would be required to sit in separate study rooms at school from 8:40 a.m. until classes ended at 3:30. They would be alone with nothing to do but extra homework. No cell phones, laptops, nothing but textbooks. They would eat lunch at their desks, alone. This seemed far worse than the old-fashioned suspensions where they kicked you off campus. Griff’s mother was a housewife so he could stay at home, and probably sleep late, watch television, play with the dog, and do whatever he wanted, unless, of course, his parents were ticked off enough to impose penalties. Theo, too, had a place to go-the offices of Boone amp; Boone.

His mother was in court. His father picked him up from school. As they were driving away, Theo said, “What about my bike?”

“We’ll get it later,” his father replied. So far, he had been remarkably cool and undisturbed, at least on the surface.

A block or two later, his father said, “What happened?”

“It’s just between me and you, right?”

“What happened, Theo!” his father snapped.

“You’re not telling Mrs. Gladwell, are you? I can’t rat on the other guys.”

“No. Just tell me what happened.”

Theo told him everything. The details poured forth in a rush, and Theo, who had been unable to tell his side of the story, unloaded. When he finished they were sitting in the small parking lot behind the office. “Are you upset with me, Dad?” Theo asked.

“You know the rules, and you broke the rules,” Mr. Boone said sternly.

“I did, but at the time, I had no choice.”

Mr. Boone turned off the ignition and said, “That’s the way I see it, too.”

Theo sat in his dark office, lights off, shades pulled, just him and Judge brooding in the shadows and thinking about what could possibly happen next. In a couple of hours, his mother would return from court. She and his father would huddle behind a locked door and have one of those deadly serious conversations that only troubled parents can have. Then he would be hauled in like a felon to face the music. He would be lectured. His mother would cry. Suspended from school! How could he do such a thing? And on and on. He was already tired of thinking about it.

His father’s initial response was somewhat comforting. There had been no drama, though his father generally was not one for theatrics. No yelling, but then Woods Boone was too laid back to yell. No threats or additional punishment, though Theo knew his parents always chatted first before throwing the book at him.