It Wasn't Me

by Dana Alison Levy

  Ms. Lewiston stands up and puts her hand on Molly’s shoulder. But Molly shakes her off. When she starts talking again, her voice is like broken glass, loud and jagged and sharp. “Everything’s wrong! EVERYTHING. I’m failing math and Spanish. And my mom…my mom just sleeps and cries. Nothing is okay anymore! And they were in my face, like it was all a big joke. And…I…I just wanted to destroy something! I wanted to make something else be as ruined and awful and ugly as everything in my life, and just for that one second, for that one second when I held that gold Sharpie, I didn’t care. About anything! And it was such a relief. And I drew one line, one big, horrible zigzag, and I felt so awful, Theo. I swear, I would do anything—ANYTHING—to take it back.”

  She sobs, and no one speaks. Finally she looks up. Her eyes are red and swollen, and she looks ruined.

  “I’m sorry, Theo. I’m so, so sorry.”

  I open my mouth and close it again. I want to say something, tell her it’s okay, but what comes out in a weird frog voice is “What happened next?”

  She swallows, hard. “They heard footsteps and ran. They all went flying out the side door, and I just…I just stood there. Then a second later Jax and Erik came in the other door, and Alice came in, and, and…and…”

  “And you yelled for Davis,” I finished. I shook my head.

  Molly Claremont.

  Molly, the Overachiever.

  Molly, the sister of a dead boy.

  Molly, who wanted, just for a second, to destroy something.

  My mind flies back to the week after my dad told me he was leaving, how I went into my room and methodically smashed all my old Lego models—the fancy hundred-dollar sets that had taken months to build—smashed them to nothing. How deeply good it felt, then how bad.

  I nod slowly. “Yeah. I get it,” I say.

  Molly stares at me, and her face looks a million years old. “I’m so sorry. I’m just. So sorry.” She puts her head down on her folded arms and sobs.

  “Breathe, Molly,” Ms. Lewiston says softly. “Lean back and breathe. Slow, deep breaths.”

  Like robots, all six of us fall back in our chairs. I try taking one of those yoga breaths, like my mom does, and—go figure—my body relaxes.

  Slowly Molly’s sobs quiet. “I should have told,” she says, her voice flat. “Even after. I should have told.”

  “Why didn’t you?” Alice asks, her voice quieter than usual. “Tell, I mean.”

  Molly wraps her arms around herself and shakes her head. Her tears have stopped, but I can tell from her red face and bunched-up eyebrows that she’s a hot minute from losing it.

  “I don’t know,” she whispers. “I’m just so tired. I’m so freaking tired. And I knew they’d say I had done it too, and they’d be right.” She looks up at me, and her face isn’t frozen or cursed, it’s just so sad. “I’m sorry, Theo. I should have said something. It was a terrible thing to do.”

  In the silence, Alice speaks up. “I did the same thing, I think.”

  We all look at her. My stomach, which had calmed slightly with my yoga breathing, clenches again. “What do you mean? Were you there too?” I ask. The sweaty feeling comes back. Was everyone in on it?

  But Alice shakes her head, her dark eyes solemn. “No, I wasn’t there. But when Blaine and Kevin and Shaun and Jude came running out, they nearly ran right into me. And they…” Her voice is low. “They threw the Sharpies at me. Hard. One of them actually drew blood.” She pulls back her bangs, and we can see the remains of an angry red welt on her forehead. “Anyway, they called me a bunch of names, which they always do, and said the markers were a gift. A gift for the freak. Then they kicked my bag down the hall and ran away.”

  She pauses, and a wave of…I don’t know, sadness, or something…crashes over me. It must be exhaustingly, endlessly hard to be Alice.

  “Anyway, I bent down to pick up my stuff, and the Sharpies they threw, and then I heard Molly yelling. When I went in, I knew right away who had done it. But I didn’t want to tell. I didn’t want them to— Well. To be meaner than they already are.” She looks at me. “But that wasn’t fair. And I’m sorry. I should have said something.”

  Andre coughs. “I would have done the same thing. Heck, I have done the same thing, though in my case I actually saw it. I saw Kevin messing with Ms. Bellante’s sheet music and instruments before music class once, and I pretended I hadn’t seen anything. I didn’t want beef with him. It’s hard enough keeping out of stuff….There was no way I was going to get into that. And that was the day Ms. Bellante cried in class, remember? And we all got that big lecture?”

  We all nod. Hapless Ms. Bellante is an easy target, because (1) she’s really young; (2) she’s way too earnest about music for the grunts of Shipton Middle School; and (3) she has class after recess Friday afternoons. Talk about prey…she’s like a fluffy-eared bunny in a pack of wolves.

  “Anyway, I get it,” Andre says.

  I close my eyes. My brain plays a video for me, reminding me that my until-recently super-successful technique of staying out of people’s business meant walking right by locker fights, reading a book when some poor nerd got pelted with food in the cafeteria, talking to Mateo or double-knotting my laces when I heard crap going down in PE.

  Opening my eyes, I look at Molly, then at Alice and Andre. “Truth? I would have done the exact same thing,” I say finally.

  Molly sniffs a little and nods. “Still,” she says.

  “Yeah,” I say. “Still. Thanks for telling me.”

  Erik coughs.

  I look over. Erik Estrale, my number one suspect, jock extraordinaire, and teammate of at least two of the guys who did this. I think about those texts on his phone again.

  “I need…I want to say something.” He looks at Ms. Lewiston, and she nods slightly.

  “You guys probably think that since Kevin and those guys are on the team, I knew all about this, or maybe that I did it,” he starts.

  I look down.

  “Well, I didn’t. I had no idea. Or at least, I didn’t until a few days ago, when they started bragging about it in the locker room. This was the first day I made it to basketball camp—the first time I’d seen them all week. At first I didn’t know what they were talking about, and I didn’t really care. I was so pumped to be back with the team. And they’re always fronting about something….I kind of tune it out, you know? I mean, they’re my friends. Or…they were.” He pauses. “But then I figured out what they were talking about, and I straight up asked them.” He flushes bright red and presses his lips together. “And they said…well, it doesn’t matter. But it wasn’t cool. It wasn’t cool at all. And I told them I was going to tell, and they said they’d deny it, say they caught Molly doing it. And that…” He pauses and looks at Molly. “And that they had photos on a phone. Proof.”

  He shakes his head. “So I didn’t know what to do. And then Coach came down on me really hard, saying I was messing with the team chemistry and we needed to put the team first.”

  I nod. “I get it. So you kept quiet.”

  Erik shakes his head. “No. I didn’t.” He looks slightly sick. “I realized that I couldn’t. It wasn’t okay, you know? Like Derek’s friends, in that story we read. They couldn’t keep supporting him when he did that stuff. So I told Ms. Lewiston everything”—he looks over at her, and she smiles a little—“yesterday. But then the cameras were ruined, and you freaked out, and everything blew up.”

  “You told?” I ask. I look at him, then at Ms. Lewiston.

  She nods. “He did. We were in the process of discussing how best to get to the truth of the issue in the way that caused the least harm.” She glances at Molly. “Erik was in a tough position. But I have to say”—she smiles at him—“I’m very proud and impressed that you came forward.”

  Erik’s face is blotchy, like he might cry.

&nbs
p; I think about all he’s risking to speak the truth. “That’s…,” I start, but I don’t know what to say. I want to apologize for suspecting him, for assuming I knew him. For assuming the worst. A hot ball of shame sits in my chest. Am I as judgmental and closed-minded as I think everyone else is?

  I try to talk. “Yesterday, what I said…I never should have said that. I didn’t mean it, okay? I—”

  Erik cuts me off. “We’re cool, Theo. Sometimes you just lose it and wind up fouling someone who really doesn’t deserve it. I get it.”

  I actually don’t get what he’s talking about, but I nod anyway. “Thanks, but seriously. What I said to you”—I look around—“to all of you. It’s not just that I shouldn’t have said it. It wasn’t what I think of you. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s all good,” Andre says. “It was a rough day. I get it.”

  “It’s all good!” Alice echoes.

  Molly nods.

  I smile, feeling so relieved that my face almost does the chipmunk thing. “Thanks,” I say finally. I put out my hand toward Erik. “For telling, I mean. Thank you.”

  He reaches across the table and shakes my hand, his massive and hot and calloused. “You’re welcome,” he says. “I should have…I should have realized sooner that they’re…you know. But they’re not always like that. I mean, I guess sometimes they are, but…for Kevin, things have been really bad at home for a while. His older brother started using drugs and got kicked off the high school team, and his parents pretty much freaked. And Shaun only made the team this year, and he used to be a really chill guy. I think he’s trying to fit in.” He sighs. “I guess that doesn’t matter. They shouldn’t have done it. Real talk? I thought your photos were sick. I really liked them.”

  Molly nods, her face still small and pale. “They were really amazing, Theo. My…Before my brother died, my parents had a photographer take photos of us, and we look stiff and stupid. I wish you had done them. Yours were…They looked so…true. You know?”

  A small flare of heat hits my cheeks, and I try not to chipmunk-smile. “Really? I mean, thanks.”

  We all shuffle in our seats after that, and it’s a little awkward. But then Alice says, in her bright-chirp voice, “So Blaine and Kevin and those guys drew all over them the first time, and Mr. Saunders’s son threw out the cameras the last time. But who ruined them in the darkroom?”

  And once again, the stomach-clenching feeling comes back.

  Everyone looks around the room again, side-eyeing each other. Well, everyone except Alice, who once again is more focused on getting the blood to drip down from her new wound. And Jax, who…

  Jax, who is looking down at his clenched fists, like he wants to disappear.

  Oh.

  Eventually all of our eyes land on him. He doesn’t look up at first, and I get even more of the hot, sweaty feeling. I like Jax. I like his sense of humor, and how he rolls his eyes over his dads’ sea shanties (sea shanties! Seriously!) but was all worried about getting his younger brother’s Matchbox cars back to him. I like how he got us all playing yoga-ball soccer but then made sure everyone had fun, like he was hosting a party or something. I don’t want to think about him ruining my stuff.

  “Jax…,” I start.

  “It was an accident.” His voice is so quiet I can barely hear.

  “What?”

  “When I opened the darkroom door. It was an accident. I had forgotten my planner in there, and I’ve lost, like, three planners already this year, and everyone from my dads to Davis to the school shrink keeps lecturing me, and so I turned back and ran down the hallway to get it before the next bell. I didn’t even look at the sign on the door, Theo. I swear.” He falls silent for a second, then gives a mean-sounding, not-funny laugh. “I’m a total screwup and I suck at life, but I didn’t mean it.”

  We’re all quiet after that. Everyone looks at me, and for a second I wonder why; then I realize. They’re waiting for me to respond. To tell him I’m mad, or forgive him, or whatever.

  I burst out laughing.

  Alice, who’s still watching me like I’m a zombie movie she can’t wait to see the end of, squeaks, then laughs too, a high-pitched tee-hee-hee.

  That does it. Serious, tears-streaming-down-my-face, stomach-hurts belly laughs erupt, and I can’t help it.

  “Dude?” Jax asks, his voice worried. “DUDE?”

  And that makes me laugh harder. I slap at the table, barely able to breathe. Somewhere in the back of my mind I realize I’m falling off the edge of hysteria.

  Erik starts laughing too, either at me, losing it completely, or at Alice, who’s now silently rocking back and forth, wheezing.

  “Sorry! Sorry, sorry, sorry,” I say, gasping. “I just…You can’t imagine how it’s been, thinking that someone really hates me, hates me so much that they would follow me around, ruining everything I made. I mean, yes, I kept saying it was my photos, but it felt like me, like I had a target on my back and somewhere someone was taking aim, again and again. I had this whole conspiracy thing going in my mind, that someone had so much horrible energy to devote to my misery. And it turns out…” Laughter bubbles up again, and I have to lay my head on the table for a second.

  “SORRY! I just…Freaking Jude, Shaun, Blaine, and Kevin, who, sorry, Erik, are pretty much total walking dumpster fires to everyone. And then Jax, who just needed his planner, and then Mr. Saunders’s kid…There was no evil plan!”

  I lean back in my seat, exhausted but feeling so, so light. I look at Jax, who seems somewhere between amused and concerned.

  “Jax. Dude. Seriously, believe me when I say, it’s all right. I mean, yeah, I was bummed about those prints. But—” I hesitate, then push on. Everyone else here has been honest; now it’s my turn.

  “But here’s the thing. It was never really about the photos. I can always take more. I’m just really glad no one hates me.” I start giggling again.

  Jax joins in, shaking his head. “Jeeeeeez. If I had known how happy it’d make you, I could have saved it for your birthday or something.”

  I try to stop laughing. It’s not that funny, obviously. But I guess I hadn’t realized how much this nameless, faceless enemy had gotten in my head. It had felt personal, like some unknown hater was dogging me, waiting for me to expose myself, be vulnerable in any way, to humiliate me again.

  Jax and Erik are talking about how hard it is to keep track of the school planners, and Alice is speaking quietly to Molly, whose eyes are red but who seems calmer now. And I know Alice is probably talking about zombies or flesh wounds or how to realistically gouge out an eye, but whatever it is, Molly seems totally into it.

  Andre turns to me. His face is undecided for a minute, then he half shrugs and starts to speak.

  “I know what you mean, by the way. I work really hard to stay under the radar here. It’s not worth it to me—I got my band and friends from church and, you know, a life. But that’s all outside. And in here I’m, like, invisible. Which is fine—I want it that way. Means no one’s messing with me or looking to make trouble. But when no one even noticed I wasn’t there…well. It felt like maybe it wasn’t so cool to be invisible, you know?”

  I glance at him. As always, he’s wearing dark jeans and some kind of not-stylin’-but-not-aggressively-nerdy sweater. It’s easy to miss if you’re not looking closely, but when I really look, I see he also has some fabric and leather bracelets, and his geek glasses are actually kind of hipster.

  Ms. Lewiston clears her throat, and the talk dies down. She looks around.

  “So. Let me start by saying, Jax, that I really appreciate your honesty. It’s hard to speak up, and I recognize that this was really difficult for you.”

  She looks at him and smiles, and Jax grins back, his relief showing in his tipped-back chair and jiggling leg. “Before we finish up, though, can you talk a bit about why you didn
’t let Theo know? I realize it was an accident, but even so. His work was damaged for the second time, after a very serious and public vandalism incident, and it was your unintentional action that caused it. And it really upset him, because he thought he was being targeted in a sustained way. Did you think about telling him?”

  Jax drops his chair to all four legs and folds back up. He looks at me, then looks away.

  I want to tell him it’s all good, but part of me wants to know too. I mean, Mr. Smith wasn’t about to go raging over an accident, even if it did mess stuff up.

  “Jax?” Ms. Lewiston says again, quietly.

  Jax sighs. “I’m just…tired of messing up, you know?” His voice is low, and I lean forward to hear him. “I know it was an accident, and Smitty wasn’t going to freak, but still. I figured there was a good chance I’d get blamed, or at least be under major suspicion for what happened in the gallery. And it’d be all about Jax the Screwup again. Another conversation with a teacher who’s all ‘I’m so disappointed, Jax.’ Or ‘You’re going to need to try harder, Jax.’ Or, my favorite, ‘We’re going to have another talk with your parents, Jax.’ ” He shakes his head, and his eyes are shiny bright, but he blinks fast and pulls his hat down. “It’s my bad, for sure. I never thought it would turn into this whole thing with vacation week and Justice Circle and stuff. I didn’t want to deal with it, and figured since the prints were ruined, there wasn’t much point in talking about it.”

  “Like the neighbor’s window,” Alice says.

  We all spin to look at her. I gasp. “Jeez, Alice!” I blurt before I can stop myself.

  She grins. There are now maggots coming out of the new gash on her cheek.

  Ms. Lewiston, with what looks like serious effort, pulls her eyes from Alice. “You make a really good connection, Alice. This is what we talked about in the library. What’s the point of telling the truth if the damage is already done? The photos were ruined, no matter what. But, Jax, like your neighbor, Theo was left worried that someone had it in for him. Which is a very different feeling from knowing someone made a mistake. Do you understand the difference?”