From the Desk of Zoe Washington

by Janae Marks

  We took off running again, past students reading on the quad, weaving around a tour group and in between buildings, until we got to the Plaza. By then, I was sweating and panting. My phone said we still had fifteen minutes to talk to her. That had to be enough time.

  The science building wasn’t as majestic as the ones in the quads. It was a regular stone building with a bunch of windows. Above the entrance in big letters were the words “Science Center.” We ran up to the doors and went inside.

  We found the stairs and ran up to the third floor, bumping into students and professors who gave us strange looks as we passed. We stopped short at the door to the right of the stairway. There on a sign on the door were the words “Professor Susan Thomas, Mathematics.”

  “We made it,” I said between breaths. “Hopefully she’s in there. Here goes . . .” I took a deep breath and knocked on the door. Then I stopped breathing as I waited to hear a sound from inside.

  Seconds passed, which felt like years. Finally, a voice called from the other side of the door.

  “Come in,” it said. A woman’s voice.

  I beamed at Trevor and he beamed back. We did it, I thought. We found her.

  I opened the door carefully, like if I did it too fast, the person on the other side would disappear.

  A woman sat behind a desk, which had a computer and several piles of paper. I studied her face, and it was her. She looked just like her picture. My throat went dry.

  She gave us a smile that looked nice but confused at the same time. I was getting used to people looking at Trevor and me, wondering what we were doing in places where kids usually didn’t go.

  “Can I help you?” she asked.

  I didn’t say anything. My mind went completely blank. Then Trevor nudged me, which jolted me back into action. I slipped my backpack off my back and it made a thud when it hit the floor.

  “Yes. You’re Professor Thomas, right?” I unzipped the main pocket of my backpack, not wasting any time.

  She nodded and smiled again. “Yes, that’s me. Can I help you with something?”

  I almost burst into tears when she said she was the person we were looking for. But I stopped myself and focused on what I was there to do.

  “I’m Zoe Washington,” I said as I fumbled through my backpack and yanked my journal out of it. I quickly flipped through the pages and pulled out the picture of Marcus. “I emailed you about this but I don’t know if you got it. I also left a voice mail.” I walked to Professor Thomas’s desk with the picture held out in front of me. “Do you recognize this person?” I put the picture down right in front of her, on top of some papers with numbers and equations on it.

  Recognition flashed in Professor Thomas’s eyes. “I’m behind on emails, but yes—I did get your voice mail. I’m sorry I didn’t reply right away. It’s been a hectic start of the school year.” She then peered down at the photo and frowned at it. “Remind me how I should know this man?” She looked up at me.

  “His name is Marcus Johnson,” I said. “You met him over twelve years ago when he came to your house to buy a futon. You were moving out of your house and you talked on the phone the day before. Do you remember him?”

  Professor Thomas looked at me with a confused expression, but then she glanced at the picture on her desk and picked it up to get a closer look. Her mouth pinched as she stared at it.

  C’mon. You have to recognize him. There was a clock on the wall above the window behind her. We had to be back in Davis Square in forty minutes. My mind raced. C’mon, c’mon, remember.

  Finally, Professor Thomas sighed and put the picture down. “I’m sorry. Maybe he looks a little familiar, but I’m really not sure. You say I met him at my house? What’s his name again?”

  “Marcus Johnson. He’s my dad. My . . . biological dad. And he’s . . .” I swallowed hard. “He’s in prison right now. For something he didn’t do. At least, he says he didn’t do it. I don’t know if he’s telling the truth.” Now I was crying a little. I couldn’t help it. It seemed so hopeless, the idea that he could be innocent. I was probably naive to think he didn’t deserve to be in prison. “He says he was at your house looking at the futon you were selling when the crime happened. I’m here to find out if he’s telling the truth. If he really is innocent.”

  Professor Thomas’s eyes widened and she pushed a box of tissues from the corner of her desk closer to me. I took one and blew my nose with it.

  “I’ve had a few tag sales over the years,” Professor Thomas said. “But I don’t specifically remember meeting your father. His name doesn’t ring any bells. I’m really sorry.”

  “Maybe you talked about music? He likes Stevie Wonder and Boyz II Men and Jill Scott. Also, he was going to college at the time—UMass Boston. He played basketball, too, and liked to cook.” I tried to remember what else I knew about Marcus, so I could describe him to Professor Thomas better. But I hadn’t even met him in person. I still knew so little about him.

  Professor Thomas frowned. “I don’t know . . .”

  It was a lost cause. “Okay,” I said, wiping more tears from my face. “Sorry for bothering you.”

  The way Professor Thomas looked at me, I could tell she felt sorry for me. “That’s all right. I’m sorry I can’t help you.”

  I turned toward the door and took a couple of steps toward it.

  But Trevor didn’t follow behind me. “Excuse me,” he said to Professor Thomas. “I’m Trevor, Zoe’s friend. Can we give you Zoe’s email address again? In case you remember Marcus?”

  I turned to see Professor Thomas’s reaction. She appeared surprised by Trevor’s question, but then she reached for a notepad and pen on her desk and handed it to Trevor. “Sure, write down your email address or phone number and I’ll let you know if I remember anything. Can I see the picture again, before you go?”

  I walked to the desk and showed the picture to her again. While she stared at it, I wrote down my email address and cell number on the notepad, which Trevor handed to me. When I looked up at Professor Thomas again, she was shaking her head. “Gosh, I really wish I could help you more.” She handed the photo back, and I gave her the notepad. She glanced down at my contact information. “I’ll be in touch if I happen to remember something.”

  I nodded and said thank you.

  “Good luck,” she said as Trevor and I left her office.

  We walked down the stairs and out of the building, both of us at a loss for words.

  Chapter Thirty

  My shoulders slumped as I stood outside the science building and stared at the students walking around, going to and from class. While they went about their day like everything was normal, all I wanted to do was cry and scream and throw something.

  Marcus had told me not to look for Professor Thomas because he didn’t want me to get my hopes up. Probably because he knew I wouldn’t find anything, because his alibi was all a lie. Grandma had warned me about the same thing, because maybe deep down, she knew the truth, too. Why didn’t I listen to them?

  “I’m so stupid,” I mumbled.

  “You’re not stupid,” Trevor said. “You’re one of the smartest people I know.”

  “I never should’ve trusted Marcus. He’s guilty, that’s the end of it. He’s a big fat liar, and I never should’ve wasted my time. I’m done with him and his letters.” Tears stung behind my eyelids, but I blinked them away.

  “Um,” Trevor said, his voice tentative. “I know you’re sad and angry, and I get it, but we should probably run for the T. My mom is going to pick us up from Davis in fifteen minutes.”

  “Okay,” I said, even though the last thing I wanted to do was run anywhere. But I knew that day would get a million times worse if we didn’t get back to Davis Square in time, and our parents figured out that we weren’t where we said we’d be.

  I followed Trevor as he jogged out of Harvard’s campus and back down the street toward the T station. Harvard Square was still crowded, even though it was after the lunch rush. B
y the time we got to the street, we couldn’t jog anymore without going into the road, so we did our best to quickly dodge around people left and right.

  Half a block from the station, a cab pulled over on our side of the street and let out a passenger—a woman wearing a patterned sundress. I gripped Trevor’s arm and pointed to it.

  “Do you think a cab would be faster than waiting for the next train?” I asked.

  “Maybe. We have to decide right now, because it’s about to leave.”

  Without a word, I ran to the cab and knocked on the window before the driver could pull off. Trevor was right behind me. The cab driver rolled down the window.

  “Can you take us to Davis Square? I have cash,” I said, hoping he wouldn’t ignore me because I was a kid.

  “Hop in,” he said, and Trevor and I got into the back of the cab.

  I buckled my seat belt and relaxed into the seat, happy we’d at least get back to Davis in time.

  But a couple of minutes into the drive, I realized we might’ve made a big mistake.

  “Should it be taking us this long just to get out of Harvard Square?” I asked Trevor as the cab crawled through traffic.

  “I don’t know,” Trevor said. “Maybe the train would’ve been better after all.”

  “We’re going to be late,” I said. “And then our parents will find out we weren’t at the movies, and I’ll be grounded for life.” Now, more than anything, I wanted to be home. I wanted this day to be over.

  “We might still make it,” Trevor said. “Maybe my mom will be running late. She runs late sometimes.”

  When Trevor mentioned his mother, I remembered something. I sat up straight and looked at him with wide eyes. “Weren’t you supposed to text her when we got out of the movie?” I made air quotes when I said the word “movie.”

  Trevor’s mouth formed an O. “I totally forgot.”

  “We’re so dead.” I buried my face in my hands.

  Trevor took out his phone. “I don’t see any texts from her. She would’ve texted me if she was really mad,” Trevor said. “Maybe she forgot about it.”

  “I hope so.” I stared out the window.

  It took another fifteen minutes for the cab to get us to Davis Square, which meant we were ten minutes late to meet Trevor’s mom. We had the cab driver drop us off down the street from J.P. Licks. We paid him as fast as we could, jumped out of the cab, and started walking toward the ice cream shop.

  “Do you see her?” I asked Trevor.

  He searched up and down the street for his mom’s blue car. The street was full of cars, which all blurred together. “I don’t see her. I told you she’s late sometimes.”

  I exhaled in relief. I couldn’t believe we were getting away with this. It was the one consolation for what had turned out to be a pretty disappointing day.

  “Let’s go stand in front of J.P. Licks,” Trevor said.

  I nodded in agreement, and we started walking toward the corner so we could cross over to it.

  But before we could do that, a car pulled into the parking spot beside us. The same blue car that we’d just looked for—Patricia’s car. The passenger side window was rolled down and Patricia glared at us from the driver’s seat. From the angry expression on her face, I knew what she was about to say wasn’t good.

  “Get in the car.” She didn’t yell it, but her tone told us we’d better listen to her. My heart started beating fast.

  Without a word, Trevor and I jumped into the car.

  I expected Trevor’s mom to start driving us home right away, but she didn’t. Instead, she twisted in her seat so that she faced both of us, giving each of us a hard look. “We’re going to go home,” she said calmly, “and then you are going to tell me exactly what you were up to this afternoon, when you were not watching a movie or getting ice cream. Don’t even try to lie to me, because I just saw you get out of a taxi. Also, I know you weren’t out with Lincoln and Sean like you told me, Trevor, because as I was leaving to come pick you up, they came by the house looking for you. I thought maybe I’d misremembered who you were going to the movie with, but now I know it was all a lie.”

  I was going to throw up. We were so busted. I tried to think of a way to explain what we were doing in a cab, but I couldn’t think of a single good lie. Trevor didn’t have one either, or else he knew not to argue with his mother, because he didn’t say anything.

  I could see my mom’s face already. She was going to be so angry. And disappointed in me, which would feel even worse. I had no idea what my punishment would be, but it would be bad.

  I totally deserved it, too. Today was a fail. It turned out there was no good reason for me to lie to my family.

  Trevor’s mom started driving toward home, and then I heard a familiar chirping sound—my email alert. I took my cell phone out of my backpack pocket and opened my inbox.

  I gasped. There was a new email from Professor Thomas. I couldn’t get it open fast enough.

  Date: September 1

  From: Susan Thomas

  To: Zoe Washington

  Subject: I have your letter

  Dear Zoe,

  I found your letter on the floor of my office sometime after you left. I didn’t notice it right away, but once I did, I tried looking for you, but you were already gone. The letter must have fallen out of your bag. I apologize for reading the first few lines. I didn’t know what it was at first. As soon as I realized it was yours, I stopped reading and emailed you. I would like to return it to you.

  Also, I want to let you know that after seeing “Little Tomato” written on the top of the letter, I remembered something. I think I remember Marcus now. Please email me, or if you’d like, you can call my office line. The number is below, and I’ll be here for the rest of the afternoon.

  Sincerely,

  Susan

  Susan Thomas

  Professor of Mathematics

  Harvard University

  617-555-1485

  Chapter Thirty-One

  I had to call Professor Thomas back. Fast.

  The last time I got in trouble—for lying about what grade I got on a test—my parents took my phone away for a week. I was in way bigger trouble now, so I might never get my phone back.

  But right as I tried to sneak the phone call from the back seat, Patricia pulled into our shared driveway. I looked up at the porch, and Grandma was standing there smiling at us, with Butternut happily wagging his tail at her feet. She couldn’t know that Trevor and I had done something wrong. If she did, she wouldn’t be smiling.

  “Stay here. I’m going to talk to Zoe’s grandmother,” Patricia said before jumping out of the car.

  “We’re dead. Done. Burnt toast,” Trevor said after his mom shut the car door behind her. His voice was full of dread, which made me feel terrible. It was my fault we were in this mess. Trevor sat very still in his seat and kept his eyes on his mother as she walked up the porch steps and began telling Grandma that she caught us getting out of a cab.

  “Trevor, look at this.” I shoved my phone toward him so he could see the email from Professor Thomas. But he wouldn’t take the phone, or even turn around in his seat to face me.

  “No. I don’t want to get in more trouble.” His voice was filled with worry.

  “I’m really sorry we got caught. But look, Professor Thomas—”

  I didn’t get to finish my sentence because Patricia and Grandma were suddenly at the car. Patricia opened Trevor’s door. “Let’s go,” she told him.

  I glanced at Grandma, who stood by the passenger door with disbelief all over her face. She motioned for me to come with her, so I gripped my cell phone in one hand and got out of the car. Butternut jumped up my leg, so I reached down to pat his head. He licked my hand. Then I looked over at Trevor, who followed Patricia up the porch steps with his head down.

  “I called your mom,” Grandma said. “She’s coming home early to talk to you. I thought she should be the one to decide what happens next.”


  My body stiffened. This wasn’t good. Mom never left work early unless I was sick and needed to be picked up from school, and even that didn’t happen very much.

  I followed Grandma into our house, and she motioned for me to take a seat on the living room couch. As I sat, I wedged my cell phone in the cushion behind me. If they couldn’t find my phone, they couldn’t take it away. Maybe I could tell them I lost it on the T . . . But, no. That was a lie, and honestly, I was tired of all the lying.

  Butternut ran to the kitchen, probably for some water, and Grandma sat on the armchair across from me. “All right, Zoe, talk to me. Why did you lie about going to the movies? Where were you going in a cab?”

  Before I could answer, though, Grandma kept talking. “What were you thinking? If you wanted to go somewhere, you could’ve asked me to take you. Instead you lied and got into a cab by yourself. You’re smarter than that. You know how dangerous that was, getting into a car with a stranger. What if something had happened?”

  I thought of the email from Professor Thomas, and how Grandma also thought Marcus was innocent. If I told her about it, she’d have to understand, and then she could help me explain it to my parents.

  “I went to go see Susan Thomas,” I said, but hearing the name only made Grandma wrinkle her eyebrows in confusion. “Marcus’s alibi witness. She’s a professor at Harvard.”

  Grandma’s eyes widened. “Marcus’s . . . We talked about this. You said you wouldn’t go looking for this person. You went all the way to Harvard?”

  “I know I said I wouldn’t, but—”

  “No, Zoe,” Grandma said sternly. “I can’t believe you lied to me. I’m very disappointed.”

  I frowned. “But I had to go . . .”

  “You know what, save it for your mother. She’ll be here in a few minutes.” Grandma looked exhausted as she stared out of the front window. “I have to tell her about helping you write to Marcus.” She shook her head. “I shouldn’t even be surprised about your lying when I’ve been doing the same thing and setting a poor example. I never should’ve gone behind your parents’ backs. This is my fault, too.”