Just Another Hero

“Or fire engines?”

  “Anybody smell smoke?”

  “It’s another false alarm.”

  “Maybe they’re keepin’ us outside to punish us for pullin’ the fire alarm.”

  “Did somebody have a test this period and just wanted to get out of it?”

  “Who knows?”

  “Where’s Jack?”

  “Didn’t he go to the bathroom?”

  “Jack only pulls the alarm when he has a test, man. Jack’s wack, but he’s got rules!”

  “Oughta be a rule that no fire drills can be called when it’s cold like this! I’m gonna sue if I die of pneumonia!” Cleveland complained.

  The all-clear bell finally sounded, and everyone hurried back into the warmth of the building. Jericho and Cleveland once again chair-lifted Eric with their arms and deposited him safely back into his own wheelchair upstairs.

  “I can’t believe I’m glad to be back in this thing,” Eric remarked. “It’s like my second skin.”

  But before Miss Pringle could get the class back in order, the imposing, powerful image of Mrs. Sherman, the principal, also new this year, appeared on the TV screen in the corner of the room. Each classroom had a closed-circuit television available so that morning announcements, special presentations, and video events could be seen by everyone.

  A thick woman with arms and legs that looked like clay, Mrs. Sherman boomed, “Good morning, students of Douglass High School. Thank you for your orderly evacuation of the building, and we apologize if any of you were chilled by the inclement weather.”

  “You think it’s a law or something that principals have to use big fat words like that?” Jericho whispered to Cleveland.

  “Too much alphabet soup!” Cleveland agreed.

  Kofi wiggled his toes to get them warm again as Mrs. Sherman continued.

  “The fire alarm was not triggered by anyone in the administration or the fire department. Nor have we been able to locate any smoke or fire. The alarm this morning was set off by a student—one of you.” She paused for effect.

  “Like we didn’t already know that!” Luis said with a smirk.

  The principal droned on. “One of your peers deliberately chose to interrupt your studies and endanger your health by forcing you to stand in the cold while we evaluated the situation. This is the fourth such false alarm this semester. We want them to stop. Setting off a fire alarm when there isn’t a fire is illegal, dangerous, and punishable by suspension.”

  Kofi hadn’t actually seen Crazy Jack pull the alarm, but he was pretty sure he was the one who had done it. Jack was just plain wack. He kept his band cymbals with him all day long and would crash them for no reason at all—in the halls, at lunch—wherever he felt like it. Teachers would frown and write him disciplinary reprimands, but the next week he’d be at it again.

  If anybody had the nerve to pull the alarm to get out of class, it would be Jack. He made no secret of how much he hated chemistry and history. So far they’d had three tests in Jack’s history class, and there had been a fire drill during every single one. Nobody in the administration had made the connection yet, but principals, Kofi had noticed, were sometimes slow to catch the obvious.

  Mrs. Sherman continued, “You know the identity of this person. He or she is endangering us all. You may send an anonymous e-mail or text message to my office with the name of the perpetrator. Or you may just write the name on a piece of paper and place it in my mailbox. I appreciate, and expect, your cooperation. Let us continue the school day with no further interruptions.” The television screen went blank.

  “Yeah, right,” Kofi whispered to Arielle in front of him. “Like who’s gonna tell?” She just shrugged and bent over her work. There were only about ten minutes left before the next bell.

  Kofi felt restless and had no desire to finish the chemistry lab. The left side of his forehead was throbbing. It had been almost a year since he had broken his arm in the same pledge stunt that had gotten Josh killed, and although his arm no longer ached like it used to, he found his headaches had increased. He also found that his doctor seemed to have no problem refilling his pain-med script for him.

  Kofi reached down into his book bag with both hands, felt around until he found the small plastic medicine bottle, uncapped it, and removed one small round pill from it. On the street his meds were called Killers or Kickers or the Ox. But this is a legal prescription for OxyContin, he thought. I’m not like those kids who are using. He glanced around to make sure no one was looking, then popped it into his mouth and swallowed it dry. He then took a deep breath. By the time the bell rang, he was feeling much better.

  ARIELLE

  CHAPTER 4

  FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 4

  IT WAS A DREARY FRIDAY AFTERNOON. Arielle picked at the polish of one of her fingernails nervously as she sat on a stool in the elaborate, custom-designed kitchen of her stepfather’s house and waited, shivering. Chadwick Kensington O’Neil kept the thermostat at fifty-five degrees in the winter, eighty-five in the summer. He seldom ran the heat or the air-conditioning.

  She gazed at the gleaming stainless-steel refrigerator and stove, the sleek, built-in dishwasher, the marble counters, and the shiny copper pots and pans hanging from hooks in the ceiling, but she felt no pride. Her stepfather made it clear that all of that, as well as the lush white carpets and the original oil paintings on the wall, and she and her mom—belonged to him.

  The lush white carpet was what had her worried at the moment. She’d spilled cola on it last night, and she’d spent more than an hour on her hands and knees, scrubbing and scrubbing, trying to erase the brown circle. Chad had not said anything—yet.

  She knew she shouldn’t have taken that Coke into the living room. White carpet? How stupid!

  Her mother, Michelle, was in Chad’s home office with him, completing one of Chad’s required rituals—going over the expenses of the day. She’d gone in there twenty minutes ago with receipts in hand, looking pale.

  Arielle wondered how long it would take this time. Chad sometimes spent two hours going over every item her mother bought. Even ice cream cones and cookies bought at a school bake sale had to have a receipt. Chad was very generous with what he gave them to spend, but every penny had to be accounted for at the end of each day.

  Arielle could hear them from where she sat. In fact, she was sure that Chad had left the door ajar to make sure she would overhear what was being said.

  “Now, what about your dry-cleaning bill?” Chad’s voice was deep and modulated, like a newscaster’s.

  “It came to seventy-six dollars and twenty cents, which included Arielle’s winter coat,” her mother explained.

  “Why is the stamp receipt higher than normal?”

  “They just increased postal rates by two cents,” her mother answered hurriedly.

  “I’m aware of that. What did you have done at the hairdressers?”

  “Well, I got a cut and a shampoo and a new style. Do you like it?” Arielle knew her mom was shaking her curly hair and pasting a smile on her face.

  “It looks very nice,” Arielle heard him say. “Where is the receipt?”

  “Here it is, and it even shows the tip I gave her,” Arielle’s mother added.

  “You tip too generously, Michelle,” Chad said. “Ten percent is more than enough.”

  “Well, she does such a good job….”

  “Ten percent is plenty,” he repeated.

  “Okay, if you say so.”

  “And your grocery receipt, please.”

  “I went to Kroger’s today,” her mother offered hopefully.

  “Did you use your discount card?”

  “Of course. That gave me a ten percent discount on all fresh produce this week. See, it’s recorded on the bottom here.”

  “Good. Okay, that came to one hundred thirty-two dollars and seventy-seven cents.” There was a slight pause, then Chad said in a tone one usually uses with a child, “I gave you exactly four hundred dollars this morning, and you’ve
spent three hundred ninety-seven dollars and seventy-seven cents. That means you should have two dollars and twenty-three cents in change.”

  “I, uh, let me see.” Arielle could hear her mother digging in her purse. She heard coins jingle onto Chad’s desktop—imported mahogany, polished and gleaming.

  “Here’s two dimes, and three pennies, and let’s see…Ah! Here are the two dollars!” Her mother sounded jubilant.

  “Very good,” said Chad. Arielle rolled her eyes. He sounded as if he were praising a dog.

  Chad sounded pleased. “You came out even today, Michelle,” he said. “As a reward, I’m giving you a thousand dollars for the weekend. I’ll check your receipts on Monday.”

  “Oh, thanks, Chad. I love you, sweetie!” Arielle rolled her eyes again, this time in disgust.

  “I love you, too, Michelle.”

  What an ass, Arielle thought. Hallmark cards had more emotion.

  Then she stiffened as she heard Chad order, “Send Arielle in here.”

  Her mother came into the kitchen, looking drained but triumphant. She ran her fingers through her golden bronze curls exactly the way Arielle did. “Chad’s ready for you, honey.”

  Arielle’s mother, who never left the house without makeup and the perfect outfit, was slim and fit. She looked almost young enough to be Arielle’s sister. She worked out every day, had a facial once a week, and had recently looked into cosmetic surgery.

  Arielle couldn’t understand why, however. The woman was gorgeous. She had skin the color of café latte, and silken, curly hair. She was often mistaken for a white woman, which Arielle knew she secretly liked. Only her lips and her nose made it clear she was African-American.

  “I hate this, Mom,” Arielle groaned, sliding off the stool.

  “I know it’s a pain, sweetie, but he takes such good care of us,” her mother said in a low voice.

  “It’s so…demeaning. Like he owns us or something.”

  “Oh, stop, now. We live in a lovely home, we have all the things we could ever ask for, and—well…Chad loves me—loves us,” Michelle whispered, glancing back at Chad’s door.

  “If you say so.” Arielle shrugged. “And what about you? Do you love him, Mom?”

  Her mother tucked a stack of hundred-dollar bills into her purse, then scrunched up her nose to think. “Yes, I suppose I do. It’s different when you’re an adult. You marry for lots of other reasons than romantic love. But…I’ll never love anyone like I loved your father, of course.”

  “Well, I guess Chad is the best stepfather so far,” Arielle conceded. Chadwick Kensington O’Neil—good Lord, what a mouthful. He was a real piece of work. Her mother had met him on an airline flight about three years ago, and they’d gotten married a few months after that. Chad was her third stepfather.

  “I’m waiting!” Chad bellowed from his office.

  “You’d better get in there, Arielle. And don’t give him the attitude this time. Just tally up and get your allowance, okay?”

  “Whatever!” Arielle wanted to flounce into the room and throw the receipts at him, but instead she placed them neatly onto Chad’s desk. Her only defiant act was to flop onto the sofa. She knew full well that Chad preferred she sit in the straight-back chair in front of him.

  “Are there any others?” he asked, glancing through the messy pile in front of him.

  She double-checked her purse. “I have a McDonald’s receipt from two days ago.” She handed that to him. “Oh, and here’s one for a bottle of Tylenol and a pack of cough drops, and one for some deodorant I bought at the drugstore.” She hated herself for trying to smooth out the wrinkles on the thin pieces of paper. He took each one and stacked it with the others.

  She felt like dirt under his fingernails.

  Then he picked up a small calculator, entered the amounts on the bottom of Arielle’s receipts, and proceeded to do his calculations. His upper lip always seemed to sweat when he figured the accounts for the day.

  “You and your mother are on the ball today,” he said, looking up at Arielle. “Proof of payment down to the penny. I like that.”

  “Just tryin’ to keep you happy, Chad,” Arielle told him, though she couldn’t resist adding, “But getting a receipt for a Coke and chips is a pain.”

  “Speaking of Coke…” Chad spoke slowly and evenly.

  Arielle felt herself break out into a sweat. She didn’t know what to say—which road she could travel without running into a landmine. She looked toward the door longingly.

  “I noticed the stain on my carpet, of course,” Chad said.

  “I, uh, I cleaned it up. I used carpet cleaner and everything,” Arielle told him.

  “Obviously not well enough,” Chad countered.

  “I’m sorry.” Arielle’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I’ll clean it again and make it right. I promise.”

  “Are you aware that that carpet is imported Persian wool and worth thousands of dollars?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And you’ve been told time and again, no drinks in my great room?”

  “I was on my way to my bedroom. I just tripped. It was an accident.”

  “Don’t you understand the rules of this house?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You know there are consequences when rules are broken.” His voice threatened like an oncoming storm.

  “I said I was sorry,” Arielle said, getting angry.

  “‘Sorry’ doesn’t clean the carpet, Arielle,” said Chad, restacking the receipts.

  “I don’t know what else to tell you,” Arielle said helplessly.

  “I’ve hired a professional cleaning crew to come in and remove the damage you caused through your carelessness.”

  Arielle relaxed a little. “Thank you.”

  “Oh, don’t thank me. You are going to pay for it!”

  “Me?”

  “The cleaning company has given me an estimate of six hundred and fifty dollars to have the stain removed and the carpet returned to its full beauty.”

  “Six hundred dollars to clean one little spot?” Arielle said incredulously.

  “Six hundred and fifty. They have to clean the whole carpet, of course,” Chad replied.

  “Of course,” Arielle replied sarcastically.

  “That amount will be taken from your allowance, starting today.”

  She looked up in alarm. “But I don’t have any money left from last week,” she said in protest.

  “That is not my problem,” said Chad.

  “What am I supposed to do for lunch money and lipstick?”

  “That is of no concern to me.”

  “You are so not fair!” Arielle cried out.

  “And you are quite irresponsible, Arielle.”

  Arielle didn’t know how to answer him. She slumped in the chair and focused on her toenails.

  Chad continued, “I, however, think I’m extremely generous to both you and your mother. I give you one hundred dollars every week—sometimes more—and I allow you to spend it as you wish.”

  Arielle looked at the polished hardwood floor. “I know,” she muttered. “Kids at school are totally jealous.”

  “The carpet-cleaning fee will be repaid in six and a half weeks, and you will have learned your lesson,” Chad said.

  “But that’s, like, forever!” she wailed.

  “One day you’ll thank me for this.”

  “I doubt that,” Arielle mumbled. She watched Chad make a notation in his ledger, then left his office.

  She went to take another look at the cola stain. It was just the faintest of shadows, but is seemed to scream out at Arielle.

  Her mother sat by the bay window, looking relaxed in the leather recliner. Ear buds hidden under her curls, eyes closed, she smiled as she listened to the music on her iPod. Arielle tapped her on the shoulder.

  “What’s wrong?” her mother asked, turning off the music. “Your receipts didn’t tally?”

  “No, everything balanced out.”

 
“So what took so long?” her mother asked.

  “He’s trippin’ over that spot on the rug.”

  “Oh, honey, he’s just particular. He appreciates what he has. Lots of men are slobs and toss their dirty socks all over the floor. So Chad is a really refreshing change,” her mother said soothingly.

  “You gotta be kidding, Mom! He’s crazy!” said Arielle frantically. “He’s making me pay to clean the carpet. Six hundred dollars!”

  “Look at it this way, dear. You’re really paying with his money. He gives us so much every week!”

  Arielle gave her mother a look of disgust and said, “Some of that money is yours, Mom. You ever think of getting your own checking account? You have a job! Don’t you even get to keep what you make?”

  “I don’t really need a separate account, Arielle. My little check is direct-deposited into our joint account. I only work because I enjoy it, not because I have to.”

  “You mean you give him all your money? I don’t believe it!” Arielle shouted. She didn’t care if Chad overheard or not.

  “We’re family, Arielle. Families share,” her mother said simply. “He gives me much, much more than I put into that account. You know that.”

  “If we’re so tight as a family, how come he comes off as king of all that, and I feel like I have to account for every breath I take?” Arielle asked angrily.

  “He deprives us of nothing, Arielle. Not to mention that he donates thousands to charity every year,” her mother reminded her.

  “He measures the toothpaste I use, Mom. He counts the sheets of notebook paper I take to school.”

  “He’s efficient.”

  “He’s a control freak!” Arielle fumed. “Slaves back in the day were no better than us, Mom! A master provided everything as long as the slave obeyed. And he was punished if he made the master mad. What’s the difference with us? Why do you let him do this to us?” But she already knew the answer.

  “It’s a minor inconvenience, Arielle. Look, I know you’re upset. Why don’t we go to that new boutique that just opened and I’ll buy you a new outfit? I saw a pale yellow cashmere sweater that will look gorgeous on you.”

  “I’ve got homework,” Arielle replied with a shrug. “You go on without me.”