Point of No Return

by Paul McCusker

  “I guess I’ll find out when she calls me in.”

  “What if she doesn’t?”

  “Then I’ll have to decide what Jesus would do next.”

  Mr. Art Laker was the school administrator, which meant he was in charge of the school’s money. It was his responsibility to make sure the textbooks were ordered and teachers had enough whiteboard pens and erasers and the secretary had all the paper clips she needed. He was a tall, heavyset man with a shiny, bald head, small eyes, and a face that went beet red whenever he got agitated. Karen always felt uncomfortable around him for no other reason than the feeling that he didn’t really like his job. She had heard the other day that he was going to retire at the end of the school year. He probably can’t wait, Karen thought as she walked into the school office.

  Mrs. Stewart smiled as Karen stepped up to the office counter. “Hi, Karen.”

  “Hi. I’m here to see Mr. Laker,” Karen said.

  Mrs. Stewart looked puzzled. “Oh? Well, I’m sorry, but he had an unexpected meeting at the district office. What were you meeting him about? Maybe I can help.”

  “I have to pick out the stationery design for the student council,” Karen explained.

  Mrs. Stewart chuckled. “Ah, the president is making big executive decisions, huh?”

  “Yeah,” Karen grinned. “Our lives will never be the same once we have this stationery.”

  Gesturing to the small door leading behind the counter, Mrs. Stewart said, “Come on back to his office. He was looking at designs this morning, probably to get ready for your meeting together.”

  They walked back to Mr. Laker’s closet-sized office down the corridor from the other, more important offices. Karen suspected that Mr. Laker probably resented being stuck down the hall in a tiny office when Principal Felegy and Vice Principal Santini had offices that were so much bigger and nicer looking. Even the school nurse had a larger work area.

  “There it is,” Mrs. Stewart said, pointing to the stationery book spread across Mr. Laker’s plain metal desk. “Have a seat and pick out what you want.”

  Karen sat down at the desk to look through the various designs. The catalog had all types and sizes. Some of the lettering was boxy-looking, some had curly-cues, some looked too boyish, and others were too girlie. Choosing one wasn’t going to be easy. Ten minutes later, after her eyes started to hurt, Karen found one that she liked best: an austere “Times New Roman” type set at 14 points. She scribbled down what she thought the letterhead should say. “From Your Student Council.” She figured that phrase would encompass everything they needed to communicate with both the faculty and students.

  “It looks like it has strength and authority,” Mrs. Stewart said when she saw Karen’s choice.

  “Yeah, I guess,” Karen said with a shrug. It was hard for her to take the job very seriously. “Now we have to get bids.”

  “Bids?”

  “You know—I have to ask some printing companies how much it’ll cost to make the stationery, then go with the cheapest.”

  “I know what bids are,” Mrs. Stewart replied, “but you don’t have to go to all that trouble. We have a company who’ll do all the printing for you.”

  Karen frowned. “But Mr. Felegy told me at the beginning of the year that we always had to get bids on everything we do. He said it was county education policy or something like that.”

  “Mr. Laker has one company that he always works with,” Mrs. Stewart explained patiently.

  Karen felt confused about the contradiction between what Mr. Felegy had said and what Mr. Laker did, but she honestly didn’t care enough to argue. “What’s their phone number?” she asked.

  Mrs. Stewart pulled open a drawer on a tall, gray filing cabinet. She thumbed through some of the manila-colored folders. “It should be here,” she said. She looked around the office, then spied something in an open briefcase. After a quick look she grabbed it. “Here it is. Ballistic Printing.”

  “Funny name.”

  Laura Szypulski, a student-assistant in the office, appeared in the doorway and breathlessly said, “Mrs. Stewart! Mr. Felegy wants you in the gym right away! Somebody fell off the balance beam and got knocked out!”

  “Oh!” Mrs. Stewart cried out. She tossed the file in Karen’s lap. “Take it,” she said, then waved wildly for her to get out. “Students aren’t allowed in here unsupervised. I have to lock everything up.”

  “But the file—”

  “Just bring it back later.”

  Karen obeyed, clutching the file while Mrs. Stewart and Laura ushered her out, locked the main door to the office, and scurried down the hall toward the gym.

  “What’s this all about, Lucy?” Mrs. Stegner asked. They were sitting in the Owl’s so-called office. Lucy had been asked to stop in before going on to her last class of the day. “Mike makes it sound like you’ve joined some kind of cult. I half-expected you to walk in with your head shaved.”

  Lucy giggled. “No, ma’am.”

  “Then what’s going on? Why did you refuse to print Mike’s review and interview?”

  Lucy took a deep breath, then tried to explain her reasons without mentioning her pledge to do what Jesus would do. Mrs. Stegner nodded quietly as Lucy spoke.

  “I understand,” she said when Lucy finished her list of reasons.

  Lucy was relieved. “Do you?”

  “Yes, your reasons are sound,” Mrs. Stegner said. “But what confuses me is why you’re taking this position now. We’ve printed reviews of movies that were far more questionable than this one by Sylvester whoever-he-is. Why are you making an issue of it now?”

  Lucy looked Mrs. Stegner in the eyes. “Because I made a pledge to do what Jesus would do, and I don’t think He’d support that movie.”

  “Ah, I see,” Mrs. Stegner said as she leaned back in her chair. “You’re trying to act as Jesus would act. That certainly explains the rumors.”

  “I don’t know why everyone has to make a fuss about it,” Lucy said.

  Mrs. Stegner smiled. “They’re making a fuss because it’s a rather…different idea. By deciding not to print Mike’s material, you’re taking a moral stand that you haven’t taken before. That’s going to stir some people up. Not everyone thinks that it’s the editor’s job to bring his or her personal morality into the newsroom. Some might say that you’re shoving your beliefs down other people’s throats.”

  “Am I?” Lucy asked sincerely. She didn’t want to argue, but felt it was worth defending her position. “I mean, if I went ahead and printed Mike’s stuff, then I’d be making a moral decision, right? I’d be saying that Sylvester Kostenwhatsit’s movies are okay and that kids should go see them. Why does it only seem ‘moral’ when you hold something back?”

  “Good question,” Mrs. Stegner said.

  Lucy felt flushed now, but continued: “And since when does a person have to split up what they believe personally from what they do at school, or an office, or at a newspaper? Didn’t you just teach last week that most of our newspapers were started by people who always brought their personal perspectives to what they printed? They still do, except they never admit it now. Didn’t you say so?”

  “As a matter of fact, I did say that, but—”

  “Then why can’t I do that with the Owl?”

  Mrs. Stegner laughed. “You’re a sharp girl, Lucy. I respect what you think—you’re sensible and show good judgment—that’s why I asked you to be this year’s editor. I’m not saying I disapprove of what you’re trying to do. In fact, I’m very curious about it, as a sort of experiment.”

  “Really?”

  Mrs. Stegner sat up in her chair and leaned forward on the table. “I assume you have other ideas for the newspaper. Surely we’re doing a lot of things that Jesus wouldn’t approve of.”

  “We sure are!” Lucy said excitedly. “I was thinking that we should get rid of that sarcastic tone we always seem to write in. Why can’t we be more positive about our news?”

  “G
ive me an example.”

  “Bruce Goff ’s column is one. He’s always writing about how bad it is here at school and what a pain in the neck homework is and how bad the cafeteria food is.”

  Mrs. Stegner picked up a pen and tapped it against her notepad. “Bruce probably speaks for most of the students.”

  “He doesn’t speak for anybody I know,” Lucy said. “If things were as bad as Bruce says, we’d all be homeschooled.”

  “That’s just his particular perspective.”

  “Not just his perspective, but everybody who writes for the Owl. I know because I write that way myself. We’re always talking about what’s wrong. Why do we have to be so negative?” Lucy shook her head. “I’m not afraid to report things that are really important, but I think it should be balanced by articles that show what’s going right around here, too. I’d like to try it.”

  “It won’t sell newspapers. It never does,” Mrs. Stegner said.

  “But if I’m going to keep my pledge, I have to try.” Lucy paused for a moment, weighing carefully what she had to say next. “Mrs. Stegner, if this pledge doesn’t work…I mean, if my decisions wreck the paper for some reason, I’ll resign. I won’t be editor anymore. Is that a deal?”

  Mrs. Stegner gazed at Lucy soberly, then said, “Deal.”

  Lucy stood up to leave. “Thanks for being so understanding.”

  “Like I said, this is an interesting experiment,” Mrs. Stegner said. “I sincerely hope that it works.”

  Mr. Laker walked into the school office with his coat draped over his arm. Though it was overcast and crisply cool outside, he perspired. He waved at Mrs. Stewart as he walked past her desk.

  “How was your meeting?” she asked.

  He grunted. “The usual nonsense. Did I miss anything here?”

  “Kevin Cassidy fell off of the balance beam and hit his head. Three stitches.”

  “That’s too bad,” Mr. Laker said. He walked into his office. Mrs. Stewart followed. “We weren’t at fault, were we?” he suddenly asked.

  “Not that I know of. He was playing around.”

  “Oh.” He stood behind his desk and looked down at the stationery catalog.

  “Karen Crosby came in for her meeting with you.”

  “Meeting?”

  She gestured to the catalog. “To choose the student council stationery. Remember?”

  “Oh, that’s right.” He tossed his coat over the top of the filing cabinet.

  “She picked a nice design, I think,” Mrs. Stewart said.

  “Good.”

  “She wanted to get bids for the job, but I told her we have a company we regularly work with.” She put a finger to her chin as she remembered something. “Oh, I have to get that file back from her.”

  “File?” Mr. Laker asked as he sat down.

  “For Ballistic Printing. In the panic that Kevin Cassidy caused, I gave her your file so she could call them.”

  Mr. Laker ran a hand over his bald scalp. “Why would she call them? That’s for our office to do.”

  “Because she’s the president of the student council and she’s supposed to take responsibility for it. Practical experience, you see.”

  “I get it.” He sat down as if to start working, then suddenly looked up at Mrs. Stewart. “Did you say you gave her my file? Which file? I took it with me to my meeting.”

  “No, you didn’t. It was right there in your briefcase.”

  His face turned a slight pink. “You should never give my files to the students. Particularly files from my briefcase!”

  “I’m sorry, I was—”

  “What if she loses it? What if there’s something confidential in it?” His face went to a darker shade of red.

  Mrs. Stewart was surprised by his reaction. “In a printer’s file? What kind of confidential material would—”

  “It doesn’t matter,” he snapped. “Just get that file back immediately!”

  Mrs. Stewart wasn’t used to being spoken to so sharply and glared at her boss.

  “Never mind. I’ll do it!” Mr. Laker said and stormed out to find Karen.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  THE BELL HAD JUST RUNG for the end of the school day. In no time at all, the kids poured out of the classroom leaving Karen alone with Mrs. Biedermann.

  “Is everything all right, Karen?” Mrs. Biedermann asked as she erased the whiteboard. “Karen?”

  Karen, who was staring at the open file from Mr. Laker’s office, jumped. “What?”

  “I know my classes are incredibly interesting, but school’s out. You can go home now.”

  Fumbling to close the file and gather her books, Karen mumbled an apology and made her way out of the classroom. Once she was in the hallway, she stopped and opened the file again. Something is wrong, she thought.

  “Hi, Karen,” Lucy said.

  Again, Karen jumped. “Don’t do that!” she whispered.

  “Didn’t you see me come up? I was right in front of you.”

  “No, I didn’t,” Karen replied, her gaze falling back to the file.

  Lucy peered over her shoulder. “Ballistic Printing? What’s this?”

  “A file from Mr. Laker’s office. It’s for the printer they use for all the school’s forms and stuff,” Karen explained. “Mrs. Stewart gave it to me so I could call them about our stationery. I’m supposed to take it back to her.”

  “Oh. Well, hurry up so we can go home,” Lucy said.

  Karen didn’t move. She continued to flip through the pages in the file. “I nearly forgot I had it,” Karen said as if Lucy had asked her another question. “Then I opened it up to get the phone number and I saw all these invoices and bids and receipts.”

  “So?”

  Karen looked at Lucy with panic in her eyes. “I wasn’t trying to snoop. I just couldn’t find the phone number.”

  “What are you talking about?” Lucy asked. “Who said you were snooping?”

  “Nobody—yet. But they will if I don’t get this file back.” Karen started to walk away, but Lucy caught her arm.

  “What’s wrong, Karen? Why are you acting so weird?” Lucy asked.

  “It’s probably nothing,” Karen said in a tone that meant it was probably something. “It just doesn’t make sense, that’s all.”

  Lucy said impatiently, “What doesn’t make sense?”

  Karen looked around to make sure no one was watching, then held up a small stack of forms. “These are bids from last year to print new report-card forms for the school.”

  “Bids?”

  “Yeah. Like when you bid at an auction. Except, in this case, printers bid for business.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  Karen explained, “It’s like my stationery. Normally, I would ask two or three companies to give me their best prices on what they’d charge to print everything. When they give me the prices, it’s called a bid.”

  Lucy nodded. “Okay, I get it. Then you’d go with whoever cost less, right?”

  “Right. But that’s what’s weird about this file. There are three bids for the report-card forms but Mr. Laker obviously went with Ballistic Printing, even though they’re the most expensive.”

  “Maybe he has high-class tastes,” Lucy suggested.

  “But Mr. Felegy made it absolutely clear to me that it was the school district’s policy to always go with the lowest price.” Again, Karen checked the hallway to make sure they were alone.

  Lucy shrugged. “I’m sure Mr. Laker had his reasons.”

  “I’m sure he did, too,” Karen said suspiciously. “Look at this note.”

  Lucy leaned over and read the typed letter on Ballistic Printing’s letterhead. It thanked Mr. Laker for his business, then detailed a lot of form numbers and charges. “What am I supposed to see here?” Lucy asked.

  Karen pointed to the P.S. at the bottom of the letter. “See this?”

  Lucy adjusted her glasses and read a handwritten scrawl: “P.S.— Art, your ‘gift’ is enclosed as usual for serv
ices rendered.” The letter was signed Jim Forrester, President of Ballistic Printing, with a “J.F.” scribbled after the P.S.

  “Gift?”

  Karen held up a photocopy of a check for $2,000 payable to Art Laker from Ballistic Printing. Lucy gasped.

  “Why would Ballistic Printing pay Mr. Laker $2,000?” Karen closed the file.

  Lucy’s best instincts as a reporter kicked into gear. “Wait a minute. So what we have here is a company that does all of the school’s printing—even though it’s more expensive—because Mr. Laker is given money by the owner.” Now it was Lucy’s turn to check the hallway. She whispered, “But that’s wrong!”

  “It sure is,” Karen answered.

  Now Lucy understood why Karen looked so worried. She had accidentally stumbled onto a small case of corruption in the upper ranks of their school.

  “What am I going to do?” Karen asked, then paused thoughtfully. “What would Jesus do?”

  Lucy put her hand on Karen’s shoulder. “I’m not so sure what Jesus would do, but a good reporter would take this file back to the Owl’s office and make copies of those bids, that letter, and the check!”

  Lucy and Karen made their way through the Owl’s office and into the adjoining closet. It was a cramped little room with metal shelving piled high with reams of paper, envelopes, textbooks about journalism, old issues of the Owl, and a small photocopier that had been donated to the Owl by Mr. Whittaker two years ago. Karen watched nervously while Lucy made copies of the incriminating documents.

  “So, what would Jesus do about this?” Lucy asked.

  Karen chewed on a fingernail. “I don’t know. Would Jesus have sneaked a peek in the file in the first place?”

  “You didn’t sneak a peek,” Lucy rebuked her. “You were looking for a phone number and saw the rest of it by accident. If it was an accident.”

  “What do you mean, if ? I didn’t do this on purpose!”

  “I know you didn’t. But maybe somebody else did.”

  “Like who?”

  “God.” Lucy made the last copy and handed the original pages back to Karen. “Mr. Whittaker is always telling us how God answers our prayers in unexpected ways. You said you want to follow in Jesus’ steps. Maybe this is His way of testing your pledge.”