The Accused

  all over the tiled floor, clawing and scratching like two cats.

  Baxter’s sidekick was a runt named Griff, and evidently he knew what the other boys knew—it would only be a matter of seconds before Woody gained the upper hand and began working on Baxter’s face. So Griff, to protect his friend, made the dumb move of joining the fray. He growled some sort of impromptu battle cry and lunged himself onto Woody’s back. Theo and the rest of the crowd gawked in disbelief.

  Fighting carried an automatic suspension from classes. The student manual was clear and every teacher stressed the evils of fighting. The punishment, handed down by Mrs. Gladwell, was flexible and depended on the circumstances. A push-and-shove match on the playground might result in a one-day suspension with three extra hours in study hall. A full-blown fist fight with busted lips and bloody noses might result in a three-day suspension, no after-school activities, and one month of probation.

  Theo was not a fighter. His last scuffle had been in fourth grade when he and Walter Norris got in a heated wrestling match at the city swimming pool. But as he stood there, frozen, and watched the fight right in front of him, he suddenly had the urge to join it. After all, his friend Woody was slugging it out in defense of his honor. The least Theo could do was go to his rescue. And perhaps a suspension was not the end of the world. His parents would go berserk, but they would eventually settle down. What did his mother say last night? “The first thing you do is fight back. Attack. When you’re right, you never back down.”

  Ike would be proud.

  Sometimes, a guy has got to fight.

  Theo dropped his backpack, yelled something that not even he understood, and jumped into the pile.

  Chapter 12

  On one side of the table, Baxter sat with Griff, and on the other side Woody sat with Theo. The opposing sides faced each other as the tension slowly faded and reality set in. Baxter had an ice pack on the side of his face and his left eye was swollen and completely closed. It looked awful. Woody was proud, though he suppressed a smile. With suspension coming and angry parents to deal with, smiles were not possible. Griff’s face showed no damage, nor did Woody’s. Theo’s bottom lip was puffy and there was a spot of dried blood on it. He tapped it with a tissue. His more serious wound was a throbbing head, courtesy of a kick at the bottom of the pile by either Baxter or Griff, but he did not mention this.

  Mr. Mount sat at the end of the table and stared at the boys. He had angrily pulled them apart and marched them down to the library and into the small study room where they were now sitting and cooling off. As the seconds and minutes ticked by, the boys settled down. Their breathing slowed. Their heart rates were returning to normal. Nothing like a good fight to get the pulse racing and the blood pumping.

  “What happened?” Mr. Mount finally asked.

  All four boys stared at the table. Nothing. Not a word.

  “Could this have anything to do with the rumor that Theo was arrested yesterday?” Mr. Mount asked, looking squarely at Theo, who did not take his eyes off the surface of the table.

  Mr. Mount knew that Woody was a hothead and Baxter liked trouble. He also knew that Griff followed Baxter around like a new puppy. He would never believe, though, that Theo Boone would start a fight, or jump into the middle of one. But Mr. Mount had once been a boy, and he understood things. The way he figured it, Baxter and Griff were picking on Theo, and Woody defended his friend.

  There were voices outside the room. Mr. Mount said, “I think Mrs. Gladwell is here. I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes.” With that, he stood and left the room. As soon as the door closed behind him, Woody snarled, “Nobody rats, okay? I mean it, nobody rats. Not one word.”

  As soon as the words left his mouth, the door opened wide and Mrs. Gladwell stormed in. One look, and the boys knew they were dead.

  She stared at them as she slowly took a seat at the end of the table. Mr. Mount eased into the room, closed the door, and stood against the wall. He was there as her witness.

  “Are you okay, Baxter?” she asked, without a touch of sympathy.

  Baxter nodded slightly.

  “And Theo? Is that blood on your bottom lip?”

  Theo nodded slightly.

  She stiffened her spine, frowned even harder, and began, “Well, I want to know what happened.”

  Neither boy moved the tiniest muscle. All seven eyes (Baxter had only one workable eye at this point) were glued firmly at something fascinating, though invisible, on the table. Silence, as seconds passed. Her face became redder, her frown even harsher.

  “Fighting is a very serious offense,” she lectured. “We do not tolerate fighting at this school, and you’ve known this since you arrived here in the fifth grade. Fighting carries an automatic suspension. A suspension goes into your file and becomes part of your permanent record.”

  Not exactly, Theo said to himself. Sure, it might be a permanent record, but it would never leave the middle school. No college or law school or potential employer would ever know that a student got suspended for fighting in the eighth grade.

  “Theo,” she said sternly, “I want to know what happened. Look at me, Theo.”

  Theo slowly turned and looked at the rather frightening face of his principal. “Tell me what happened,” she demanded. Theo, unable to maintain eye contact, focused his attention at a spot on the wall and clenched his jaws.

  Of the four, Theo was a leader; Griff was a follower; Woody and Baxter generally moved with the pack. If Theo kept his mouth shut, then the other three would, too. This was Mrs. Gladwell’s first mistake.

  The way to crack a case with multiple defendants is to separate them. Theo, if in charge, would isolate Griff in a small room with several grim-faced adults—administrators, coaches, people with clout and authority. They would explain to Griff that the other three boys were talking and pointing the finger at him. “Griff, Baxter is saying that you were taunting Theo.” And, “Griff, they’re saying you threw the first punch.” And so on. Griff wouldn’t believe this at first, but after a few minutes of getting hammered at, he would eventually start talking. Once he gave his version, he would be told that it didn’t jive with the other three; so, obviously, Griff was lying. Lying would only compound his troubles. Lying, plus fighting, would lead to an even longer suspension and probation. Griff would then become desperate to make it known that his version was indeed truthful and accurate. Once this strategy was used on all four boys, they would be singing like birds and the truth about the fight would become clear.

  This, of course, would require deception on the part of the authorities, but such tactics are permissible under the law. On the other hand, Mrs. Gladwell’s strategy involved no deception, and she would learn nothing from the boys. Theo was happy that she did not understand basic police interrogation tactics.

  Theo said nothing and returned his gaze to the table in front of him. His refusal to speak, to rat, meant all four would go down together.

  She continued, “Baxter, who punched you in the eye?”

  Baxter lowered the ice pack and set it on the table. The ice was working and the swelling had gone down a little. He almost said, “I don’t know,” but caught himself. He, of course, did know. There was no benefit in lying at this point. Just clam up like Theo and suffer through this.

  There was a long pause as she waited. The air was thick with tension and looming trouble. None of the boys had ever been suspended, though Woody and Baxter had been on probation a couple of times.

  Mrs. Gladwell had been informed early that morning the Internet was buzzing with the rumors that Theo had been arrested for the theft and was going to court. She had been shown the photo posted on GashMail. She had planned to meet with Theo at some point during the day and offer her support. Now, she was faced with the unpleasant task of suspending him and the other three.

  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. S
ince 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 & 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.”

  Chapter 13

  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.

  Until a few hours earlier, Theo had never dreamed he would get suspended from school. He had never thought about it, and as h
e pondered the incident he asked himself if it was worth it. He didn’t believe in breaking rules. He didn’t enjoy disappointing Mrs. Gladwell and Mr. Mount. He suspected his parents would view it as an embarrassment, and this troubled him. And, to be honest, there had been no pleasure in the violence, the frantic melee in which all four warriors seemed to be kicking, punching, scratching, and cursing each other while some students in the crowd gawked in awe and others egged them on.

  On the other hand, there was some pride in the fact that he had gone to the aid of a friend who was being double-teamed. He had seen the admiration in the eyes of the spectators, his classmates and friends. He, Theo Boone, was being falsely accused, and had gone on the attack to defend his good name and also to protect a friend.

  What a friend! Theo could not help but smile as he replayed the encounter. He marveled at the speed and fearlessness with which Woody had stepped forward and shut up big-mouth Baxter. And, Theo had a hunch Woody was not finished. Most likely, he would wait until he caught Baxter off-campus and close his other eye. Theo hoped his fighting days were over, but if another bout popped up he wanted Woody nearby.

  There was a soft knock on the door. “Come in,” Theo said.

  It was Elsa, red-eyed and with tears on her cheeks. She flipped the light switch and reached down to hug him. “Theo, I’m so sorry,” she said.

  “It’s okay, it’s okay,” he said. This was the last thing he wanted—big-time drama from those who loved him. He endured the hug. “I’m fine. It’s nothing, okay?” he said, getting irritated. She stood and wiped her cheeks with a tissue. “I can’t believe it. You’re the nicest kid in the world.”

  “Probably not. Maybe top five. Look, Elsa, I’m okay.”

  “Who attacked you?”

  “No one. It was just a stupid fight, okay? No big deal.”

  She patted her cheeks with the tissue and began to realize that her sympathies were not being appreciated. “I still love you, Theo,” she said, as if he had killed someone.

  “I’m fine, Elsa, just fine.” Now would you please get out of here?

  She left and Theo turned off the light. He and Judge returned to their brooding, which was actually quite enjoyable. Five minutes passed and there was another knock at the door. “Yes,” he said. The door opened slowly and Dorothy, his father’s real estate secretary, took a step inside. She flipped on the light and said, “Theo, are you okay?”

  “Yes,” he said, shortly, and for a long second he was afraid she might lunge at him with an awkward hug, as if he needed her physical support.

  “I can’t believe it. Why would the school suspend you?”

  “Because I got in a fight, plain and simple. Fighting is against the rules.”

  “Yes, but, Theo, surely it wasn’t your fault.”

  Theo shook his head and looked out the window. How many times would he be forced to explain what happened? “Doesn’t matter who’s at fault. A fight is a fight.”

  After an awkward pause, she said, “Well, if you need a friend, I’m just down the hall.”

  “Thanks.” Oh sure. I’m going to unload my troubles to a fully grown adult who’s old enough to be my mother.

  She left and Theo turned off the light. His cell phone beeped with a text from April Finnemore.

  Just heard. U ok?

  Yep. At office. No classes. Luv it.

  Your parents?

  Mom n court. Dad’s not 2 sore.

  Who’d u punch?

  Not sure. Lot of contact.

  Wounds? Blood?

  Theo suddenly wished he had more to show for his efforts. Typically, he decided to exaggerate a little. He wrote:

  Busted lip. Blood.

  Awesome! When can I see?

  Later. U need to study now.

  He again returned to his brooding. Five minutes later, there was a knock at the door. Before Theo could respond, Vince stepped in and turned on the light. With his arrival, the entire firm of Boone & Boone had now come to pay its respects. Except, of course, Marcella Boone, who would arrive soon enough.

  Vince had been her paralegal for many years. He did the grunt work for Mrs. Boone’s divorce cases, and it was not always pleasant. He spent a lot of time out of the office, investigating clients, and spying on their husbands, and checking facts. Theo had known for many years that divorce clients often do not tell the truth to their lawyers, and Vince was called upon to verify their stories. He was about thirty-five, single, a nice guy with a tough job.