Page 46 of Something Like Summer
“Like what?”
“My poem.”
“Well, I don’t know,” Timsaid soberly. “I haven’t heard the proper ending.”
Ben recited the censoredlines for him, his face flushing with embarrassment.
Tim grinned, knowing allalong who the poem had been written for.
“Come look into my eyes,my sweet pauper,” he said as he pulled Ben close for akiss.
* * * * *
The adrenaline rush thathad followed the afternoon’s destruction had worn off by night,leaving Ben tossing and turning in his bed. He was certain thatthey would be caught, that someone had seen him standing outsidethe journalism room while he had gathered his thoughts. By the timehe awoke from a meager three hours sleep, he had already acceptedthat he would be in the principal’s office, possibly even in policecustody before lunchtime.
He considered attendingP.E. for the first time in the year, worried that someone would bethere looking for him. In the end, he decided that trouble wastrouble. It was much too late to play the angel now. Ben arrived insecond period English, his nerves on edge the entire time as hewaited for some sign of his impending doom. He snapped at DanielWigmore for glancing over at his notes, which were pitifully sparseas he watched the door.
The bell rang. The nextclass was journalism. Ben found himself eager to revisit the sceneof the crime, to discover what had happened. Mrs. Jones wasstanding outside the door, surrounded by a half moon ofstudents.
“No one may enter,” sheannounced. “There has been an incident. We’ll be using room 2E6 inthe meantime.”
Ben waited nervously forher to acknowledge him. Her eyes met his momentarily as shementally counted to see if all of her students were present. Therewas no moment of recognition or even suspicion. She had no idea!The weight left his chest so suddenly that he almost laughed outloud. He had gotten away with it!
Once situated in thereplacement classroom, Mrs. Jones emotionally described what hadhappened. A few of the students seemed upset at the news that theirwork was ruined, while others snickered. Ben put on his bestconcerned look as Mrs. Jones repeated the same information over andover, which basically boiled down to her knowingnothing.
“When will we be able touse the darkroom again?” asked a girl who was particularly keen onphotography.
“Tomorrow maybe, or thenext day. The police don’t want anything disturbed until they candust for prints.”
The weight returned,knocking the smugness out of Ben like the oxygen from his lungs.Tim grabbing the desk drawers and yanking them out replayed itselfin his mind. There would be prints on those stainless steelhandles, he was sure. His own would be on the fire extinguisher.But did it really matter? It’s not like either of them had acriminal history. The police wouldn’t have his prints on record,would they?
A vague childhood memorycame rushing back. His mom had taken him to the public library,where his prints and a mug shot had been taken. He rememberedplaying cops and robbers with Karen afterwards. This had been for amissing child database, a surefire way a child could be identifiedunder dire circumstances. His fingerprints had been much smallerthen, but Ben knew their pattern never changed.
Tim’s prints might be onfile for a similar reason. They hadn’t gotten away with it at all.They just hadn’t been caught yet! In the next half hour Ben thoughtlong and hard about what to do. Short of burning the school downand destroying all the evidence, he felt there was only one optionleft to him.
“I did it,” he croaked,interrupting Mrs. Jones as she tried to dole out anassignment.
“What did you say?”prompted a guy next to him, not believing what he hadheard.
“I did it,” Ben saidlouder, attracting the attention of the entire class. “There’s nosense in wasting the time of the police because it was me whotrashed your room.”
He looked up to see acondescending look on Mrs. Jones’s face, one that scolded him formaking a tasteless joke. She didn’t believe him!
“I’m not fucking kidding!”he swore.
Now he had her attention.He was out in the hall in seconds, an explanation being demanded ofhim.
“You shouldn’t havechanged my poem,” he said extra loud in the hopes that the otherstudents would hear. He wanted the whole school to know why he haddone it.
A crow’s talons fastenedaround his arm as Mrs. Jones escorted him to the principal’soffice, yammering the whole way, her disbelief sliding into anger.He tuned her out, focusing instead on his plan. It was veryimportant that he never slip up, never make any mention of Tim oranother person. He was only turning himself in to protect Tim anddidn’t want to make any mistakes.
His parents were called.Ben was interrogated by both the principal and Mrs. Jones untilthey arrived. By the time they did, his story was flawless in hismind. He parroted the details to them, not expressing any remorse.The police were sent for and he gave a statement, repeating thestory for a third time, making sure this time to emphasize that hefelt discriminated against. The principle looked only slightlyconcerned at this new twist. Had it been a matter of race orreligion, it might have been taken more seriously.
Ben was suspended for threedays, which made him laugh. How was taking three days off apunishment? There were the damages to be paid for, too. Ben vowedon the car ride home that he would handle it and not a dime wouldcome out of his parents’ pockets. This did little to calm them.They lectured him repeatedly, telling him what he already knew: Heshould have fought with words, used his mind instead ofviolence.
Ben knew it was true, andhe might have felt ashamed had he done it alone. Instead hecherished the Bonnie and Clyde moment that he and Tim had sharedtogether. He enjoyed playing the martyr, too. He had made asacrifice, taken a bullet for his lover. In his mind it was theperfect expression of how he felt about Tim.
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