I Just Got a Letter from Allyson Pringle

by Anya Bateman

  Mr. Thorndike tipped his head, then lowered it into a single nod, his eyes cold again. “Very well, then.” Quickly, and without further comment, Mr. Thorndike penciled in an F, then snapped his book shut. “As I said, I’ll change it on my computer when I get home.”

  “Thank you, I, umm . . .” I decided to grovel. “I’ll be better prepared next time.”

  “Yes, this mars your A-minus record in this class,” he said. Now he sighed. “Well, at least you came forward, and that’s more than most would have done.”

  Yeah, I’m kind of an idiot that way, I thought as I walked out of that class blowing air from my warm cheeks. Thank goodness it was over! I pulled my backpack up over one shoulder, readjusted my trombone case, and looked up and down the hall. Thorndike had reacted much better than I’d expected and hadn’t seemed that angry. He’d probably been disappointed that I hadn’t studied, and at first it had looked like it might get complicated, but it had turned out okay. It’s over, I thought. I would go find Arnold, head home as fast as I could, get to my science project, finish my English, start immediately on the next history sections, and life would go on. I could maybe even think about Monica’s wedding now. I’d pick up some Christmas gifts on the way to Lynette’s and resume my life. I could think about stuff like that now. I could really dig in at the warehouse over the weekend and practice for the Christmas performance first thing in the morning. As I hurried toward my locker, there was a little bounce in my step again. Yes! It was over!

  Only it wasn’t over.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  I could tell by the way Mr. Thorndike walked into the classroom on Monday afternoon that he was wearing war paint. He always peered at us over his glasses, but this time his head seemed to be jerking up and down, making him look like he literally had four eyes. I hoped beyond hope that this foul mood didn’t have anything to do with what I’d admitted to him Friday after school, that this was about something else entirely. I assured myself that there were any number of things that could have aggravated Mr. Thorndike. Maybe there’d been some behavior problem in his previous class. Maybe his oatmeal had burned that morning. Maybe one of the younger teachers had made a crack about his bow tie. Oh, how I hoped something else had soured his disposition even more than it was generally soured.

  Mr. Thorndike called the roll crisply, then snapped shut the thick brown roll book and looked around the classroom. “Before we begin our history lesson today, I have some business to take care of,” he said.

  I pressed my fingers against the front edge of the desktop, my eyes on his face.

  “Last week,” he said, enunciating carefully, “you corrected one another’s tests. As you are aware, I have felt you were mature enough to handle this small assignment, and so far we’ve had no problems.”

  Slowly, I moved my body in reverse until I reached the back of my seat.

  In a low and controlled voice, Mr. Thorndike continued. “Unfortunately, this is apparently not the case. Friday after school, Mr. Kendall Archer reported to me that whoever corrected his test filled in the questions he’d left blank, giving Kendall a grade he didn’t deserve.” As Mr. Thorndike removed his glasses, I felt the urge to slide down my chair and into the floor, maybe hoping to disappear into some invisible drain.

  “Now I need to know who that person was,” said Mr. Thorndike, peering around the room.

  Even if there’d been a drain nearby, my head didn’t feel like it would have gotten through. It felt strangely heavy . . . huge . . . my face the heaviest of all. My eyelids had turned to rock and had fallen shut. It was just as well, because it was important for me not to look in Allyson’s direction. Even though I wanted in the worst way to know how she was reacting, glancing at her now could give her away. I hoped as well that the people around her weren’t looking at her either. I managed to lift my eyelids far enough to check with my peripheral vision and could tell she wasn’t moving. Nobody was.

  “Let me continue,” Mr. Thorndike said, his lips pulled tight against those sharp incisors. “If that person does not identify himself or herself, the entire class will be punished. I am not just talking about an extra assignment, students. This will be far more consequential than anything I’ve meted out before. We’re talking about permanent records. If someone does not step forward and admit to this, the grade of every person in this class will be lowered and poor citizenship marks issued. And that will be only the beginning. It could very well be that graduations in several cases will be jeopardized. Now, I will ask you one more time. Who,” and he looked around slowly, “corrected Mr. Archer’s test last Wednesday?”

  My fingers were pressing so hard against the desk that pain would have been shooting up my arms if they’d had any feeling. Was I moaning out loud or just inside? Nooooo! I was saying with my entire body. This can’t be happening! It was the absolute last thing I wanted to have happen. The absolute last thing. The tension in the room could almost have been sliced with a spoon as students darted looks at each other. Molly and Jake and the others around Alysse, however, continued staring straight ahead. No one spoke. In fact, the only sound that broke the silence was the hum of the clock.

  I moved ever so slightly to alleviate the pressure in my chest, and lifted my neck to help me swallow. From the corner of my eye, I could see Alysse move slightly as well. She sat up a little. Then she opened her mouth.

  “Look . . . I . . .” At first I didn’t even realize I was speaking. It felt almost as if someone else was talking out of my mouth. But then I knew it had to be me because I recognized my voice, and my tongue and lips were moving. “Sir, I didn’t want anyone to get into trouble.”

  Mr. Thorndike twisted his head in my direction so fast he looked like something out of a Halloween poltergeist movie. “Oh, but you didn’t get anyone in trouble, Mr. Archer.” He took in the rest of the class again. “Let me make it clear, class, that whoever did this got himself into trouble—himself or herself.” Was it just my imagination, or had he just glanced in Alysse’s direction? “Now, I’m asking you just one last time,” he said slowly, pausing between each word. “Who filled in the answers on Mr. Archer’s test last Wednesday?”

  “I said I didn’t want to get anyone in trouble,” I heard myself repeat firmly, my voice louder this time, its forcefulness surprising even me.

  It was clear by the way he blinked hard and then jerked in my direction that Mr. Thorndike felt I’d just jumped way over that invisible line of what he deemed acceptable. Thorndike pushed his glasses back and leaned much farther forward than he generally did when he was about to pounce on someone for an infraction. I was in for it—oh, yes, I was really in for it. But oddly, I didn’t care. I was ready for him to dish out his wrath at me and wasn’t trembling in my boots as I would have been doing under normal circumstances. Maybe I even hoped that drawing his anger in my direction would shift the attention away from Allyson. I drew in my breath and this time shut my eyes as I waited for him to come down hard. But before Mr. Thorndike had a chance to lash out at me, a familiar voice rang out clearly. “I corrected Kendall’s test, Mr. Thorndike. It was me. I did it.”

  Our teacher turned his head toward Alysse so slowly we could have finished a plate of spaghetti by the time his eyes reached her. With great relish, he finally spoke. “Well, well, Allyson Pringle . . .” His voice remained calm, but it was obvious by the way his right eye was flinching that this calm was deceptive. “So you’re saying that you corrected Mr. Archer’s test a few days ago?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  The corners of Thorndike’s mouth began twitching now. “Well, well,” he repeated, still slowly and with great satisfaction. “I should have known. Yes, I really should have known.”

  “It was meant as a joke,” Alysse added, her face expressionless. Molly stared at Mr. Thorndike wide-eyed as Jen concentrated on something on her desk. Jake opened and closed his right hand. I really needed to swallow again, but couldn’t seem to manage this simple bodily function because my tongue fe
lt like it had swollen to the size of a baseball.

  Mr. Thorndike’s nostrils were flared, and his left eye was twitching now. He seemed to be nodding again. “I see,” he said even more slowly, “so it was just a joke. Just a joke.” He looked around the room. “Is this surprising, class?” Since he didn’t get so much as a head bob, he answered his own question. “I don’t find it at all surprising, Miss Pringle, because you’ve clearly established that you’re very good at joking, haven’t you?”

  As Mr. Thorndike leaned forward, his palms on his desk, his voice gradually increased in volume and intensity. “Haven’t you, Miss Pringle?” He paused. “From the first, or was it the second, day of this school year, you’ve made that clear. As I recall, I even had to send you home at one point. Oh, you’ve tried to make a good impression on the students and you’ve even won over certain members of the faculty. You’ve been able to get away with your shenanigans because every once in a while you’ve done something . . .” He made quote signs with his fingers: “benevolent.”

  It angered me that he was probably referring to homecoming and Charlotte. Why couldn’t he see things as they really were? Alysse was benevolent.

  “Well, this time, young lady,” he continued, “there’s no smoke screen. Your joking has just gotten you into serious trouble.” He was quiet again, but lethally so. Thorndike picked a pencil up from his desk and tapped it, then pointed it at Alysse, his mouth lifted into a snarl. “I’ve had just about enough trouble out of you, and I’m tired, very tired of this kind of behavior. It isn’t humorous, and it isn’t appropriate.” He took in the rest of us, his jaw stiff. “You’re juniors and seniors now, and it’s time for you to get serious about life. I have absolutely no tolerance for this kind of mischief and won’t allow it in my classroom.” Mr. Thorndike slammed his palms down with a thump. “Miss Pringle, this antic is not only going to affect your grade and your citizenship, but it may have just cost you your leadership position and your graduation status. You and I will be having a talk with Mrs. Millenstein as soon as possible. Please report to my desk immediately after class.”

  “Whatever you say,” said Alysse stonily.

  I was so horrified at this unexpected turn of events that for the remainder of the period I stared down at the sheet of paper in my notebook, at my textbook, anywhere but at Alysse or my classmates. It was a well-known fact that Mrs. Millenstein almost always supported the teachers when it came to problems involving students. I’d never heard of a case where she hadn’t. My stomach had risen to my chest, squeezing at my lungs as I tried to breathe. Trouble like this could affect Allyson’s dream of being accepted to a top drama school. And would she really be ousted from her school office? Could Thorndike do that?

  There are moments in a person’s life that stand still. I felt as if I were stuck in the center of an out-of-control horror merry-go-round. Yet, on the surface, as class continued, I went through the motions, taking notes, acting as if I was listening. Later, when I looked back at the words I’d written in my notebook that day in history, they made little or no sense.

  It wasn’t until class was almost over that I managed to regain a little equilibrium. When the bell rang I hurried to the front of the classroom. “Mr. Thorndike,” I said, talking fast. “I’d like to ask you to reconsider and let this go. Alysse, umm, Allyson is doing a really good job in her position as a class officer. I know it’s hard sometimes for teachers to . . .” I wasn’t at all sure where I was heading with this speech. “Sir, I’d really appreciate it if you’d give her a break—another chance.”

  “A break? Oh, but I’ve given Miss Pringle many ‘breaks,’ as you call them.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “I’ve given Allyson Pringle more chances than she or any student deserves. That will be enough, Mr. Archer.” He didn’t even bother looking up.

  “But . . .”

  “You’re excused, Mr. Archer.”

  “But . . .”

  His eyes had turned to ice. “I said, that will be enough!” Then he looked toward Alysse, who was waiting patiently several yards from us. “Miss Pringle, my desk, please.”

  My head throbbing, my mouth open, I was half afraid I might be sick right there at his desk. I had no choice but to leave. I took a few steps back, stopped, glanced toward Alysse, opened my mouth, and then turned to go. A few other students filtered out quietly as well, some looking straight forward, others glancing back. “Nice one, Archer,” Danny Karlowski muttered when I passed him in the doorway.

  “Yeah, good job!” Bret Nuswander bumped into me hard. I didn’t go flying like I had a few years before, but I didn’t push him back, either. I just rolled away and moved on.

  “Good job all right, Archer,” I muttered to myself after I turned at the AB hall, my legs moving and the rest of me following along. “Really good job.”

  In orchestra I went through the motions and that was about it. When it was time to put my trombone away, I felt so drained of strength that I couldn’t bring myself to reach for my case. It felt as if there were an anchor tied to my feet and that my arms and hands, even my tongue and jaw, were attached somehow to that anchor, making it impossible for me to move. Why, I wondered, hadn’t I listened to Arnold? Why hadn’t I just left all this alone? It was all my fault this had happened. By trying to do what I’d thought was the right thing, I had created a nightmare. I was far too conscientious—always such a stickler. My brother was right. Arnold was right. Alysse was right. She’d just been trying to be funny and I’d had to make a big issue of it. I could have worked it out. I could have just accepted the A and then purposely missed a bunch on the next history test. Yes, that was what I should have done. So why was I just realizing that now? If only I had just kept my mouth shut, everything would have ended up fine. But no, I hadn’t been smart enough to do that.

  Instead of heading to my locker after school, I turned at the front hall in the direction of the office. If I could talk to Mrs. Millenstein before Thorndike got to her, maybe it would help. “Could I help you, dear?” asked the middle-aged secretary at the front desk. Because she so obviously cared about us, students pretty much overlooked the strange way she drew on her eyebrows and puffed up her hair.

  “Is Mrs. Millenstein here?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, but Mrs. Millenstein had to leave early for an appointment. Do you think you could come back in the morning?”

  “Okay.” I felt a little more optimistic and hopeful. If Mrs. Millenstein had left, it meant Mr. Thorndike wouldn’t have been able to set up a meeting with her. Or had he already talked with her?

  As soon as I got home from school, Lucky Duck rushed past me out the back door, reminding me that Mom was still in New York with Dad. “Sorry, mutt,” I muttered miserably.

  I threw my stuff on the kitchen table, pulled off my hat and gloves and coat, hung up the key on the key rack, then moved into the family room area, where I picked up the remote, flipped on the TV, and plopped down in front of it.

  Two, maybe three minutes later, Lucky was scratching on the door to let me know that he wanted back in. I didn’t blame him. It was cold out there. I pulled one foot and then the other to the floor, forced myself upright, and finally trudged to the kitchen, opening the back door just far enough for him to slip through.

  Lucky followed me back into the family room to the couch, where I plopped down again. Watching television wasn’t part of my normal after-school routine, and he whined a little. I ignored him as I sat staring at the flickering screen. I’m not sure how long I would have sat there if the phone hadn’t rung. I forced myself up again. By the time I found it in the plant stand, it had stopped ringing. But the caller ID said it was Dad’s warehouse. Bob, probably. I’d need to call him back. Instead I just stood there, the phone in one hand and the remote in the other. Lucky Duck nudged me. “Yeah, okay. There might be a problem.” I clicked the TV off.

  Sure enough, Bob had some questions about an order of circuit-breaker panels going to Kansas. I knew wh
ich order he was talking about and explained the situation. After I clicked him off, I stared at the phone in my hand. I wanted in the worst way to call Alysse. Even though we’d done most of our talking in school, and on an occasional e-mail, I’d memorized her number. Now I slowly tapped all the digits but the last, which I couldn’t bring myself to push. I was too afraid of how she would respond. I was afraid Alysse wouldn’t want to talk to me—not now. Not ever.

  My cell was about out of juice, so I took the wireless downstairs with me and lay down on my bed for a few seconds. Then I jumped back up and went into the computer/sewing room. I’d seen a stake directory by the computer—sure enough, I found it in the desk basket under some spools of thread and an old ward bulletin. I pulled it out and flipped to the Cs. Did I dare call Sister Carruber? She’d been pretty excited when I’d gotten nominated for the Spirit of Hollenda award. Maybe I could tell her that Alysse was the one who had helped me get nominated. Maybe I could tell her about what had happened in Thorndike’s and explain that it had just been a prank—a crazy practical joke—that Alysse was a little impulsive but a great leader and a good person. Maybe Mrs. Carru could then talk to Mrs. Millenstein. I tapped the numbers and pushed the green “talk” button. The phone rang several times, and I was about to hang up when a young voice answered. “Oh, hi, is Mrs. Carruber there?” I asked quickly. “I mean, is Sister Carruber there?”

  “Gwamma’s at store. She buy me yummy fwuit smacks.”

  “Okay.” I smiled in spite of my misery. “Okay, thanks.” I looked at the oversized clock on the wall next to the door and wondered how soon I could call again. It was family night, so I didn’t dare wait too long. The computer was right there in front of me and I dropped down into the seat. Like it or not, I needed to enter the business invoices. I placed the phone next to the keyboard and went to work.