Along Comes a Wolfe

by Angie Counios

  A few moments later, we pull up to the school and hustle to the gym to get changed for practice. If all goes well, we’ll finish by eight, right before first class.

  We get our uniforms on, cram our bags in our lockers, and rush to the gym. Yet as we step out onto the court, we move like we’re cool and composed, dropping our water bottles by the team bench.

  Coach shakes his head. “Nice of you two to join us.”

  I glance over at the clock. Just in time.

  “Well, Coach, we do what we can.”

  chapter 10

  The next hour is a blur. Coach works us hard with drills, plays, and strategy. There are a lot of do-overs, yelling, and whistle blowing on his part. His expectations are high. At the moment, it’s hard and I’m exhausted, but I know it’s worth it in the long run.

  Finally, Coach blows the final whistle and we all nearly collapse.

  “All right, team—huddle up.”

  I walk over to him along with the rest of the players. We’re dripping sweat and barely able to breathe. I savour the fact that I don’t have to use my legs anymore. I might collapse.

  Coach goes over his notes. “Solid effort. James, you need to focus a little more on defense, and Leo, you’ve really got to stick on your man.”

  Leo nods. We all start to relax. It looks like Coach is letting us off easy today.

  “Good work, boys. Practice is over… after you do your lines.”

  We groan and drag our asses to the far end of the gym. Coach blows the whistle and I push myself to the first line.

  Touch. Run back. Next line. Touch. Run back.

  By the time I finish, I’m sure I’ve lost ten pounds in sweat. I head for the shower and quickly rinse off before first class.

  I dress, exit the change room, and head toward my locker where I grab my binder for first period history and my psychology textbook for second. I check my phone.

  Still nothing from Sheri. She must really be running late this morning. I send off a quick text:

  Have a good day babe. I’ll text you at lunch

  and slam the locker door shut. I spin the combination lock and put the phone in my pocket. I still have a few minutes before class.

  Mike walks up. “Man, that was a tough one today.” Sarah, a girl from my English class, goes past, and he pulls himself up a few inches. “Tough but good, right?”

  She ignores his obvious stare and continues down the hall. He leans back against the locker, sighing.

  I try to change the subject. “Are we training after school?”

  “Yeah,” he mumbles, still staring in Sarah’s direction.

  “What about that girl from the movie theatre?”

  He looks at me. “Who? Chrissy?”

  I nod.

  “Oh, you know. Trying to keep my options open.”

  “You even talk to her?”

  Mike nods, but I can tell by his face he isn’t even listening to me.

  “Stay focused, Mike!” I yell, but it doesn’t matter—his groin is already leading him down the hallway toward Sarah. I shake my head. Why does he even bother to carry a backpack? I’d better get to class myself, I realize.

  The rest of the morning passes and I don’t hear back from Sheri. Deep in my gut, a small, uncomfortable feeling settles in, but I bury it. I don’t need to be insecure—I know she wants to be with me. Besides, it’s something I’m going to have to get used to once we start college. She’s way too driven and busy to have time for a clingy boyfriend.

  The bell rings—time for psychology. I slip in and drop down in my assigned seat by the door. The teacher, Ms. Statten, stares at her computer. Her glasses are on top of her head, burrowed in her strawberry blond hair, and her long legs stretch out beside her desk, showing off whichever pair of heels she’s decided to wear today. She’s not old enough to be a mom but not young either—she’s just in the neighbourhood of cougar. It’s her second year here, and the entire male student body knows about her ever since Black Panty Friday, when some freshman claimed to have gotten a glimpse up her skirt. Since then all my buddies have had perfect attendance. Not one guy wants to miss a class, just in case.

  All that aside, she’s interesting because she hardly talks about anything other than school. She’s down to business—unlike other teachers who tell us about their weekends, their kids, their spouses, dogs, whatever—but Statten? Nothing. Maybe she has boundaries or it’s about respect, but for me, she’s a secret—a riddle with really nice legs.

  The bell goes and I’m pulled out of my short-lived little fantasy. The data projector is on, her notes are up, and she’s ready to go. The first slide up—disorders. I write as Statten speaks: Antisocial Personality Disorder, Avoidant Personality Disorder, Borderline Personality Disorder, Narcissistic Personality Disorder, Obsessive-Compulsive Personality Disorder, and finally, Schizotypal Personality Disorder.

  The subject is engrossing. I stare down at my notes. The chances of being what I would call a sociopath or psychopath are way higher than I would’ve guessed. In fact, odds are that I’ve already met one. I look around the classroom, considering all the people I know—friends, family, neighbours. Did any of them have one of these disorders? A thought struck me. Do I?

  I shake the notion away when Ms. Statten tells us to read the first ten pages of Chapter 11. The class settles into silence.

  Then the intercom pings. “Good morning, Ms. Statten. Is Tony Shepherd there?”

  I look up from my textbook, surprised to hear my name.

  “Yes, he is.”

  “If it’s convenient, could you send him down to the office?”

  “I will.” Ms. Statten looks at me and nods.

  The intercom pings again. “Also, he’s not likely to be back before the end of class.”

  That gets everyone’s attention—including mine. A hushed, collective taunt rumbles through the room.

  I grab my books and head for the door, not wanting to look back.

  Ms. Statten calls after me, “Tony, questions one through eight—”

  “For tomorrow. Got it, Ms. Statten.”

  chapter 11

  I go straight to the office and enter. Mrs. Opal, the school secretary, sits at her desk on the phone. She looks up, sees me, and turns away, lowering her voice to a whisper. Constable Blake leans against the edge of the desk, listening to the call. He’s jotting notes on a pad of paper. He’s the school cop, our resource officer, and I rarely see him at the front desk in the main office.

  Mrs. Opal ends the call and turns back to me. She smiles but it feels forced. “Hello, Tony. The principal wants to see you, but it will be a few more minutes.”

  I nod and stand there, feeling awkward.

  She doesn’t seem that comfortable herself. She points to a plastic chair against the wall. “Please, take a seat.”

  I sit. I can’t think of anything that would get me called up to the office. This has to be about basketball or something, but no one’s giving anything away, and the door to the principal’s office is closed. Through the frosted glass I see several people moving inside.

  Mrs. Opal and Constable Blake talk, low-voiced, between themselves, but they keep looking over at me and I start to worry. I’ve never been in serious trouble before, but I sure feel like I’ve somehow landed in the middle of it now.

  “Do you know why I’m here?” I ask finally.

  “Just a few more minutes,” says Constable Blake. He tries to look relaxed, but he’s got his arms crossed stiffly and he looks distinctly uncomfortable.

  They probably don’t have any more of an idea about why I’m here than I do, but something is going on. The worst I can come up with is that a low grade on a test might bench me from a game.

  I decide to try and quit worrying and grab my phone. Two more messages from Jessica. She’s the kind of girl who gets worked up
over nothing. She should text Sheri or—here’s a thought—even her boyfriend, and leave me out of it. I skip over her messages and see that Mom called—twice—which is weird. I go straight to my voicemail and listen: Anthony, please call as soon as you get this message.

  This doesn’t help me relax at all, so I keep pushing through my texts. Still nothing from Sheri, so I decide to send her another message:

  Hope you’re having a good day babe.

  What’s on for lunch?

  This is the usual routine for the two us, since her noon hour break starts twenty minutes before mine. As long as she’s not in class, she’ll text back quickly.

  As I hit send, the door to the principal’s office opens and Mrs. Johnson steps out. She’s a great principal. She always makes it to our games and knows us all by name when she walks the halls. But she doesn’t smile when she sees me. That’s when I notice the woman behind her. She’s not a teacher but something tells me she isn’t a parent either. She wears jeans and a black corduroy jacket and there is something about her posture that makes her look like someone off a show about hard-nosed New York cops.

  Mrs. Johnson crosses the room to the secretary and lowers her voice—what’s with everyone whispering around here? I hope she’s only setting me up for a drive-along with the resource officer for law class, but I know it’s doubtful.

  Mrs. Johnson tells Mrs. Opal to hold her calls and my mind races. When was the last time I drove? Was I speeding? Did I blow through a light? Maybe it had to do with the last party I was at. Maybe I’ve been too friendly with the school dope dealer? I try to calm my spinning mind, but part of me feels like I’ve unknowingly slipped into a mess of trouble.

  “Tony, I think we’re ready. Can you come into my office please?”

  chapter 12

  I follow Mrs. Johnson into her office. She takes a seat behind her desk, and Constable Blake and the tough city cop follow us into the room. Constable Blake shuts the door and takes a seat, but the woman remains standing just behind my left shoulder. I want to turn and look at her but stand there feeling really uncomfortable.

  “Have a seat, Tony.” Mrs. Johnson motions to the chair.

  I sit down.

  “You know Constable Blake. And this is Detective Gekas.”

  I twist in my chair to look at them and force a smile.

  “Hello, Tony.” She puts out her hand and I shake it. She’s tall and slender with dark, wavy hair. Although her face seems kind, she looks like she hasn’t slept in several days.

  “Tony?” Mrs. Johnson addresses me and I have to turn back to face her. “We’ve called your parents to let them know we’ll be talking to you, but for now we have a couple of questions.”

  Detective Gekas starts. “Do you know why you’re here?”

  I shake my head. I don’t have a clue.

  “We understand that you have a girlfriend?”

  As soon as I hear the words, my stomach drops. I twist back around to look at her and nod.

  “Good. Her name is Sheri?”

  “Sheri Beckman.”

  “And how long have you been dating?”

  “A little under a year.”

  “It’s serious?”

  I nod. “Yeah, I love her.”

  Gekas pauses, her back straightening. “Would Sheri say it’s serious?”

  “I hope so.”

  Gekas moves around and sits on the edge of the desk across from me.

  “When was the last time you spoke to her, Tony?”

  I touch the phone where it sits in my front pocket. “Like ten minutes ago.”

  Detective Gekas, Constable Blake, and Mrs. Johnson look at each other.

  “I sent her a text asking what she’s having for lunch. I do it every day. It’s normal.”

  Officer Blake leans in. “When was the last time you heard from her?”

  I realize I’ve stopped breathing and inhale into my already full lungs. I haven’t heard from her all morning.

  I hear myself saying,“It’s not weird. We’re both busy—” My words are crystal clear in my head. I breathe out. “Um. Yesterday after school. I had practice. She had a run.”

  I look from Mrs. Johnson to Constable Blake to Detective Gekas.

  Then I hear myself say the words that I’ve been holding back. “Why? Is everything okay?”

  Mrs. Johnson’s eye twitches and the corner of her mouth curls down. She’s about to speak when my phone buzzes against my thigh. I look down and don’t ask for permission. I reach in, take it out, and see the name.

  “It’s my mom.”

  Mrs. Johnson looks at Detective Gekas, who nods to me.

  I answer it.

  Mom’s voice sounds calm but distant.“Tony, are you okay?”

  “I think so.”

  “Mrs. Johnson called me.”

  “I’m in with her now.”

  There’s a long pause. “When you need me, just say the word.”

  “Okay, Mom.”

  “Everything will be all right. I love you, Anthony.”

  I don’t even say goodbye when I disconnect.

  “Tony, we just have a few more questions to ask you.”

  I look over at the police detetective. A thick, dark feeling in the pit of my stomach slowly oozes to the surface.

  “When did you last see her?”

  “What’s going on?”

  “Tony—”

  I realize I’m standing.

  Gekas raises her hands, trying to usher me back into my seat. “Please stay for a few more minutes.”

  I look at Gekas and I’m no longer sure about her, but I sit down again.

  “When was the last time you saw Sheri?”

  “What’s happened?”

  “Tony, I need you to focus—”

  “Night before last. I went over to her house after supper.”

  “For how long?”

  “A couple of hours.”

  “And what did you do?”

  I close my eyes and see Sheri before me. Her lips, her eyes. She’s smiling. I look at Gekas and I know she isn’t going to give me anything until I answer her questions.

  “We hung out.” Now it’s my turn. “What happened to her?”

  “Her parents filed a missing person’s report last night when she didn’t come home from her run.”

  My mind starts to spiral, “Have you talked to her friends? There’s Katie and Paul and Jessica—”

  “Yes, Tony—”

  “And there’s her ex, Dillon, who’s a douchebag. And there’s this guy who is always trying to get her drunk at parties—”

  “Okay, Tony—”

  “And, I could—”

  Gekas raises her hands. “Tony!” She takes a breath and leans back. “Thank you. We’re exploring all leads.”

  I glare at her, uncertain if I believe her.

  “What I need from you is to help me answer a few more questions.”

  What I need is to get up and leave this office so that I can go start searching for her.

  She leans forward again. “Tony? Okay?”

  I agree.

  “How was she the night you saw her? Did she seem distressed? Overly worried? Sad? Happy?”

  “She was fine. Normal.”

  “Did she talk about going anywhere? Maybe she has a favourite place?”

  “Running. She likes running—have you checked the trails?”

  “We’ve got officers working out there now.” She clasps her hands together, coming in close to my face.

  “Tony—is there… anything she might have been keeping from her parents?”

  I know I’m supposed to fill in the gaps, that she’s asking for something underneath the question, but I can’t think. Her perfume is too strong and I shrink back, trying to
ignore the smell. My last texts to Sheri before she disappeared were duck faces and questions about the weekend. All that she was worried about was how to handle the long-distance relationship when we both went to college. Now, she was missing, running into a distance without end.

  “Tony? Were there any secrets she—”

  I feel the tears coming and I don’t want to deal with any of this now. “No. Nothing. Can I go?”

  Gekas sits up and looks away.

  I quickly wipe my eyes with my sleeve and try to get myself under control.

  She looks at Mrs. Johnson, who rises up from behind her desk. “It’s all right, Tony. Thank you. You can go back to class now.”

  I get up and move toward the door.

  Gekas opens it for me. “If you think of anything else, give me a call.”

  I take the card she hands me and get out of there fast. Yeah, I’m pretty sure I don’t like her much at the moment.

  chapter 13

  On the way to my locker, I do my best to avoid anyone in the hallways. I get my backpack and go out a side door by the stairs. I feel like I’m going to vomit, and as soon as I hit the fresh air, I take a deep breath. I push around the corner and at some point realize that I’ve slid down the wall, my legs going out from under me, my knees bunched up in my face. I keep breathing deeply, trying not to be sick.

  I don’t need someone finding me here, freaking out. I’ve got to get myself up and moving, but I feel a frustration I’ve never felt before and want to hit something. I don’t have time for this, and I stand and rush to the street and break for home.

  I don’t know where else to go but I know I can’t stay behind the walls of this school any longer. I need to put distance between myself and this place. I could probably call Mom, but I need the walk, to surround myself with the noises of the city and drown out the buzzing in my head. I don’t want to be asked questions about how I’m feeling, because frankly, I have no clue.

  When they called me into that office, they had to be thinking that I might have had something to do with her disappearance. And that detective—Gekas—she was trying to get me to confess. She was hoping I would say something.