A Certain Slant of Light (39 page)

  
"Enough," Dan snapped at her. "Let him handle the ques
tions."

  
Mr. Flint faced me again. "Even the school secretary said she's
noticed your feelings," he said.

  
I just stared at him.

  
"You confessed to Miss Lopez that you were in love, didn't
you?" He tapped a pen on the desk and swiveled back and forth in his boss's chair as if he were screwing it into the floor. "We're not
blaming you," he said. "But you need to tell us what happened
so we can take care of it. This is very serious. We need to know
the truth."

  
No, not the truth, I thought. I'm possessing your daughter's
body, but everything's all right.

  
"Who gave you that button?" Cathy asked me.

  
I flinched, wanting to cover it instinctively where I had it
pinned to my bag. Cathy jumped too, as if expecting Dan to strike
her.

  
"I told you," I said. "A friend gave it to me."

  
"Did you take this picture?" Mr. Flint handed me another
sheet protector, this one with a single black-and-white photo in
side. I stared at Mr. Brown's face in the small square—he was
looking back over his shoulder, the white wall of the administra
tion building behind him. It was the picture I had taken of him
with Jenny's camera. The picture Cathy must have stolen from
my school bag.

  
"Yes," I said. I was confused now. Were they going to trace
James through the button from Mr. Brown's class?

  
"Don't cover up for him," Cathy pleaded.

  
"Be quiet," Dan ordered. And she obeyed by pressing a finger
over her own lips.

  
I had an odd urge to laugh. "You think the boy is Mr. Brown?"

  
Finally Dan spoke up. "Tim Redman, a member of our
church, is a police officer," he told Mr. Flint. "He did us a favor."
Now Dan looked at me. "We found out this morning that you
called this teacher's home on Monday night."

  
A coldness started creeping into my heart and up my throat. I
had the peculiar feeling that Dan enjoyed telling me about the
phone call more than he disliked the idea of me making it. So a
policeman from Jenny's church had helped Dan and Cathy spy on
their daughter. Officer Redman. He must've been the man I'd
seen at the picnic with a baby sleeping on the shoulder of his uni
form.

  
"No," I said. "Well, yes, I called his house, but no, it's not Mr. Brown."

  
But then Mr. Brown walked in, as if summoned. Obviously he
hadn't been told why. He looked blankly at Dan and Cathy, then
his eyes rested on me. I was horrified that he would think I had
accused him of something. I met his eyes with panic. "Run!" I
urged him with my mind. "It's a trap!"

  
"You wanted to see me?" He glanced at Mr. Flint, then at the
counselor, growing visibly more anxious.

  
"Have a seat." The vice principal motioned him to the chair
in front of the desk, the chair in the center of the room, removed from all other furniture, like an electric chair. Mr. Brown sat. He
looked at me again and asked, "Are you all right?"

  
I nodded and noticing I still held the photograph of him,
turned it over on my lap to hide it. I felt as if the air were swal
lowing me, slowly digesting me with acid. I felt Mr. Brown want
ing to read my expression, but I couldn't bear to look him in the face. I knew that Cathy was watching me, reading my distress as
passion. And I knew that she was looking at Mr. Brown, imagin
ing how I might have become infatuated with his face and form
and how he might have realized this and cornered me in a dim
classroom. With sweating hands, I pressed the picture of him to
my legs as I heard Mr. Flint introducing him to Jenny's parents.

  
"Michael," said Mr. Flint. "You know this student, Jennifer
Thompson?"

  
"Yes."

  
"Have you ever met with her outside of class?"

  
"In my classroom during my free period," he said, not seeing
the ambush.

  
"Were you alone with her?" asked Mr. Flint.

  
"Well, yes." In the pause between those two words, I could
hear him realize what was happening.

  
"Was the door opened or closed?"

  
"Open," he said, going pale. "I think."

  
"Have you ever had physical contact with this student?" Mr.
Flint sounded as though he had watched too many courtroom
dramas.

  
"No," said Mr. Brown. "Yes." He sighed. "I touched her arm,
or her hand." He rubbed his palms on his knees. "Her head,
maybe. I can't remember. She was upset."

  
"Was she crying?"

  
"Yes."

  
"Why was she crying?"

  
"I don't know."

  
"Have you ever had sexual contact with this student?"

  
"No," said Mr. Brown. A weight settled in him, a horror that
pressed on his heart so heavily he had to take a deep breath to
continue. He turned to Cathy and Dan to reassure them. "I would
never do that."

  
"Has she ever called you at your home?" asked Mr. Flint.

  
"No." Mr. Brown turned to me now for support, but I couldn't
speak.

  
"Never?"

  
"No."

  
"She didn't call you Monday night?" Mr. Flint cocked his
head as if he had tricked him.

  
Mr. Brown looked Mr. Flint straight in the eye. "No." But now he didn't seem as sure.

  
"But she is special to you," said the vice principal, tapping the
desk again, swiveling his chair.

  
Mr. Brown looked at me and didn't seem to know how to an
swer. I saw in his eyes that he felt something powerful between
us. He sensed me, his lost companion, hiding inside Jenny. Once I
would have done anything to hear him say that he knew me and
loved me, but now I was terrified at the idea. Please don't try and
explain it, I prayed.

  
"Michael, didn't you ask for her file just this morning?"

  
He looked away from me at last and blinked at Mr. Flint. "I
was worried about her because she was upset on Tuesday, and this
morning she looked as if she'd been crying—"

  
I looked up at Dan and Cathy. She was staring at Mr. Brown as
if he were a monster she was afraid to confront. Dan held her
wrist hard like a manacle. His expression was icy, but there was something missing in his eyes.

  
"She gave you this." Mr. Flint was holding up a clear page
protector with a piece of notebook paper inside. Mr. Brown got up
to take it and sat back down, reading it over. I saw only the back
of the paper, but I recognized it at once. An itchy feeling of frus
tration started making my fists clench.

  
"You dropped it in the office yesterday," Mr. Flint explained.

  
"Oh," said Mr. Brown. He gave the page a shake to make it stand straight in its plastic sleeve. His jaw tensed the way it did
when he was trying to avoid tears.

  
"This is from Jennifer, isn't it?"

  
"Yes." He cleared his throat.

  
"But you're saying you're not involved with her," said Mr. Flint

  
"She didn't write it about me," Mr. Brown explained. "She
just read it to me."

  
The harder he tried to be calm, the more I felt the urge to
touch him, to rest my head on the back of his neck as I had so of
ten before.

  
"Where did she read this to you?" the vice principal wanted to
know.

  
My frustration jumped up my legs and made me stand.
"Stop it!"

  
Mr. Flint gaped at me.

  
"Jennifer?" I ignored Dan's voice.

  
"Mr. Brown has never treated me with anything less than re
spect and kindness. He did not take advantage of me."

  
Mr. Flint took a moment and then said, "But you do love
him."

  
My legs went weak and I sat down again, the plastic-wrapped
photo in my fists. I looked at Mr. Brown and couldn't find the
strength to lie. I knew the silence that came before my answer
was condemning.

  
"Not in the way you mean," I said.

  
The room was perfectly quiet for a long moment.

  
"Might I make a suggestion?" Mr. Olsen still held his cell
phone at the ready.

  
"Later," was all Mr. Flint said to him. He swiveled toward Mr.
Brown. "Thank you, Michael. We'll let you know if we have any
more questions."

  
Mr. Brown stood up slowly, and I know he was watching me as
he left the room, but I felt too wretched to raise my head. I sat,
rolling up the plastic sleeve that held my only picture of him,
though I'd known him since he was Billy's age.

  
"Jennifer, I can tell you're a very caring person." Mr. Flint's
voice was like a poison now, burning in my ears. "You would do
whatever you could to keep Mr. Brown out of trouble, wouldn't
you?"

  
"Yes," I said, hoping he would offer some escape.