It Wasn't Me

by Dana Alison Levy

  Jax speaks up. “I can be in charge of Operation Fun Times. You know, get something going, like…oh, I don’t know. Off the top of my head…mayyyyyybe…yoga-ball soccer! Doesn’t that sound fun?”

  We all carefully look anywhere but at each other.

  “That sounds…interesting. But whatever you want. Shenanigans. You’re on it,” Ms. Lewiston says, and Jax grins.

  “I think I can manage that.”

  “And in exchange, because this is quid pro quo time, Molly, you’re helping Jax get his school stuff organized. That does NOT mean”—she continues, because Jax appears to be dying by violent poisoning—“that does not mean color-coding his notebooks. That means checking in with him at the end of class and making sure he has the homework written down. That means texting after school or in the morning and making sure things like finished homework and his planner are coming back to school.”

  Molly straightens up and sniffles a little, but her voice is strong. “I can totally do that. I have a whole system of backpack checks and stuff. I check my sister’s homework folder every night.”

  Jax rolls his eyes. “Are you sure this isn’t my punishment?” he asks, but he shakes his head and grins. “That’d be cool, though. Seriously, I’ll take any help I can get at this point. I just want everyone off my back.”

  Ms. Lewiston eyes him. “You have to be willing to actually do this, right, Jax? So if Molly texts and says ‘Make sure your math assignment is in your folder,’ you don’t text back ‘Sure!’ and keep playing FIFA, right? You actually stand up and double-check that the sheet of paper is in your folder.”

  Jax laughs. “It’s like you’re living in my house, Ms. Lewiston. It’s a little scary.”

  “I’ve seen it all before. You’re not alone, my friend,” Ms. Lewiston says. Then she turns and looks at the rest of us. “How else can you all help each other out?”

  Jax leans forward. “Yo, Erik, you know the end-of-season team videos are always brutal. Totally boring, bad sound…a snoozefest. What if you work with our girl Alice—”

  But we don’t find out right away what Alice would do for Erik, because in a spectacular gesture of no-chill, Erik tips his chair over and falls off it with a crash.

  Wow. The boy is a mess.

  By the time he gets up and finishes apologizing (not sure for what, exactly, other than having no game), we’ve moved on. But eventually we agree that Erik will help Alice start videoing games and putting together end-of-season films for each team. Alice’s eyes light up and she squeaks and doesn’t even seem that disappointed when Ms. Lewiston warns her that the videos need to be realistic and uplifting, with no horror effects whatsoever.

  And finally, Andre and I agree that I’ll take head shots and live stills of Skeleton Curse. Because they have some big meetings coming up with potential agents (!!) and need professional but also seriously dope photos for the press kit.

  When we’re finished with all the deals and projects, Ms. Lewiston leans back and crosses her arms. “This is great. We’re almost there. But there’s still something we need to address.”

  We’ve all started talking over each other, making plans for photo shoots or basketball playoffs or a meet-up in Jax’s backyard for yoga-ball ice hockey on his rink (I can’t help thinking this is a potentially disastrous idea, but he swears that he has extra helmets). But eventually we all stop talking and look at Ms. Lewiston.

  “Restorative justice requires that we close out by ensuring that you, Theo, have a sense that justice has been done. We’ve learned a lot, and we’ve become closer as a group, but let’s go back to what happened, and how we as a community, regardless of our guilt or innocence, can make amends.”

  I lean forward. “Actually, I’ve been thinking about that, and I have an idea.”

  Everyone’s looking at me now. Part of me wants to stick a sock in my own mouth so I’ll stop talking, but I can’t seem to make myself shut up, even though I’m breaking my own solemn lifetime vow of five days ago. Apparently I’m terrible at solemn lifetime vows.

  “So here’s the thing: Ms. Davis thinks she knows us. Heck, I thought I knew you guys, and I was totally wrong. And I don’t know how she’s going to find the ‘perpetrator’ unless we tell her how it all went down. Which honestly, I don’t really want to do. I mean, Ms. Lewiston, you can tell her about Kevin and Blaine and those guys, but since we have no evidence…”

  Ms. Lewiston nods. “Even without evidence, I can bring them in and talk with them. Let me handle that part. And, Molly, I think your role has already been dealt with. Not to worry.”

  Molly nods, her eyes still red.

  Jax opens his mouth, then closes it again. Finally he says, “I’ll tell her. I mean, that I screwed up with the darkroom. And maybe you can say about Teddy John—”

  “I got the feeling maybe Mr. Saunders didn’t want to make that a big deal,” I say, thinking about his face as we talked about his son coming to work with him.

  Jax grunts. “Yeah, knowing Davis, bringing his kid to work would be a serious infraction. She’d get poor old Saunders in detention if she could.”

  I nod. “Exactly.” Taking a deep breath, I go on. “Look. I just thought…what if I hang a new show? A series of photos? Of you. Of us. Trying to…you know…” I trail off, and I get the sweaty-embarrassed feeling again. “You know, trying to show our real selves. Or something.”

  My face is probably approaching Molly levels of red, and I shake my hair down in front of me. The memory of the gallery show is neon bright, and so is the mosquito buzz of the whispers and giggles and gossip when the show got vandalized. It makes my stomach cramp, honestly. I swore I wouldn’t do this again. Why would I do this again?

  I remember why. Because, not to be pathetically earnest, but…that’s not who I want to be. I clear my throat. “And that would be our…like, closure. We’d tell Davis that this was the ‘justice’ we agreed to.” I pause. “I mean, you don’t have to. Obviously. It might be a really bad idea.”

  Silence.

  I’m tempted to keep talking, to tell them I’m kidding or ask Ms. Lewiston what she thinks. But I remember my mom telling me that sometimes the most powerful way to say something is to hold your words and let other people fill the silence. So I wait.

  “I’m in,” Andre says suddenly, and his voice is loud. “I think your photos are dope, and I don’t know what the point is of staying so quiet. What the heck? Take a photo of me drumming, or on a yoga ball, or whatever. Let’s do it.”

  My face-spreading chipmunk smile is unstoppable. “Yeah? That’s…that’s sick. Thanks.”

  “I’m in too,” Molly says. “What’s the worst that will happen? People will make fun of me? Please.” Her voice turns steely. “Compared with everything else right now, that’s like…” She waves a hand like she’s shooing away a fly. “What. Ever.” She’s got the full-on Everything Is Disgusting voice going, but this time it cracks me up.

  “You can definitely take my photo!” Alice chirps. “I think that would be awesome! Let me see if I can add an eyeball really quick.”

  “Yeah, I’m in,” Jax says. “Your photos are sick, Theo.”

  “Me too,” Erik says. “Just…can you not make me look too dumb?” He blushes.

  I nod. “I will make you look awesome,” I promise. “I’ll make you look real.”

  We have to move fast. Ms. Lewiston promises to be our lookout, so we tiptoe through the office and into the front hall, where the afternoon sunlight is streaming in. Even though it’s barely three o’clock, the sun is low and orange.

  It’s perfect.

  I move each of them around, first positioning everyone by themselves against the sunlit wall. There’s a mad dash to the gym for a basketball, which photographs as a blur of movement in Erik’s hands. And Andre pulls drumsticks out of his bag, so we quickly improvise a few stools and e
mpty file boxes, and he whales away on them. I snap one of Molly jumping, an explosion of energy, and another of her looking past me, her face shadowed and mysterious. One by one I try to capture them, making them laugh, waiting until they think I’m not watching, circling behind them so that I get just a slice of a face, lit with the blazing sun.

  Then it’s time for the group shot. I drag a chair out of the nearest classroom, prop the camera on it, and fiddle with the exposure, making sure everyone is in the frame. The five of them are sitting in a row on the banister (rule infraction, of course, but artists have to break the rules). There’s room for me in the center, and the shadows from the slanting sun make them look mysterious and larger-than-life. The only problem is that, even with a textbook yanked from the lost and found, I can’t get the camera to stay put.

  Suddenly there’s a faint whistle. Alice squeaks and almost falls off the banister. Davis must be on the move. Whipping up my shirt, I yank my belt off my pants.

  Jax calls out, “Go, sexy!” but I ignore him and try to strap the camera in place.

  “There! Quick, make room!” I say, sprinting toward them. I push myself up on the banister and let my hair fall forward right as the camera clicks.

  “Okay, I’ll check it later. Let’s go!” I grab my belt but abandon the chair and the book, and we race back to the office.

  Ms. Lewiston’s standing in the doorway, looking a little stressed. “I told her you were all on bathroom break. That I sent you all at once so you didn’t keep disrupting the group at different times! Quick!”

  We slide into our seats, red-faced and a little sweaty, but in place. Within seconds Davis walks in. I try not to gasp. Her shoes are making a weird squelching noise, and there are now so many cobwebs in her hair that she looks like she’s gone gray.

  Her eyes narrow. “There’s a chair in the hallway. Why is there a chair in the hallway?”

  We all stare at the table. Predictably, Alice squeaks a little bit.

  “Well?”

  Erik looks up, his face a model of respect. “Could you describe the chair, ma’am?” he asks.

  “It’s a chair! A regular classroom chair! What is it doing in the hallway?” Davis says.

  Andre looks up. “Why would we move a chair to the hallway?” he asks, as polite as can be.

  “That’s what I’m asking you!” Davis yells.

  Alice squeaks again.

  Molly raises her hand. “Maybe it was a poltergeist. I heard there was an ancient burial ground for condemned witches in our town.”

  Ms. Davis looks like she might actually swing at something.

  “There is. No. Poltergeist.” She looks around. “Really? No one will admit to this?”

  “To what?” Jax asks. “The world is a mysterious place. A chair in the hallway is hardly the greatest mystery of them all.”

  “It’s true!” Alice adds. “For instance, there are these totally creepy giant crop circles that just showed up in New Zealand, and no one knows why. That’s a true mystery!”

  I keep staring at the table, suddenly realizing the camera bag is sticking out by my feet. I send up a silent prayer that Davis won’t walk over.

  She looks around at us, but everyone is poker-faced. Ms. Lewiston is looking calmly right at Davis.

  Finally Davis slams her hands, which are almost black with dust, down on the table.

  “Okay. Fine. You have another hour—” Before she can go on, her walkie-talkie gives a screech.

  “Ms. Davis? You copy? Over,” comes Mr. Saunders’s voice. I am going to owe that man the biggest Dunkin’ Donuts coffee in the world.

  Ms. Davis closes her eyes for several seconds, saying nothing, then opens them. “I will see you at dismissal,” she announces. “To mete out your final punishment.” And she spins on her heel (squiiiiish!) and leaves.

  We all stay silent for a minute, in case she comes back. Then we collapse.

  “OMG OMG OMG THAT WAS SO CLOSE!” Molly whisper-shouts.

  Jax shakes his head. “We are seriously lacking in chill here, people. Come on.”

  I start to laugh. “Poltergeist?” I ask Molly. “Really?”

  She turns her trademark Starburst cherry color and half smiles.

  “It was the best I could come up with,” she says, and Jax shakes his head.

  “Rookie.”

  “Crop circles!” Andre adds.

  It takes a while for the laughter to die down.

  “Okay,” I say finally. “Let’s see what I got here.”

  I pull up the camera and start to look through the images. They’re better than I hoped—stark and dramatic and so not-typical middle school shots.

  I look up. “These are going to be awesome. If I rush and beg and call in a bunch of favors, I think I can get large-format prints done and have them framed for the student gallery this weekend.” I stare at the photos on the tiny screen. “But right now, I really want to get one printed from the computer and leave it for Ms. Davis. You know, to say we’ve completed our ‘process’ and justice has been served.”

  I look at Ms. Lewiston. “If you’ll help us, of course.”

  She nods. “Theo, that’s all I’ve been trying to do.”

  So that’s what we do. Ms. Lewiston fires up one of the office computers, and I use my memory card to pull off the best group shot. When I print it out, everyone crowds around me, and we all get quiet and awkward-happy-proud-weird all at once.

  It’s a great shot. We’ve all literally borrowed each other’s hats, so Alice is wearing my fedora and Erik is wearing Jax’s flat brim and Andre is wearing Molly’s wool ski hat with the big pom-pom. Our arms are around each other. Some of us are looking up, and some of us are looking sideways at each other. Jax has his head thrown back, laughing. The slanting light puts us all in such deep shadow that it’s not immediately clear who’s who. All it looks like, at first glance, is a photo of six friends.

  I look around. “So…what do you think?”

  Molly has gone Starburst cherry–colored again, but she’s smiling. “I think it’s awesome. I mean, as a photograph. You’re really talented, Theo. Seriously.”

  I try to keep my chipmunk smile back, but it’s hard. “Thanks,” I say. “But I meant, what do you think we should do? Just leave it for Davis?”

  “Ms. Davis,” Ms. Lewiston corrects me. “And if you’re hoping to use this as closure, you’ll need to say something more.” She looks around. “You’ve done incredibly well with this process, all of you. And I think”—she glances at the clock, then back at us—“I think you should finish it on your own. In your own words.” Picking up her bag and coat, she starts toward the door. “Dismissal is in ten minutes. I’m going to head out to talk with Ms. Davis before the end of the day. Once you finish here, you may wait outside for your parents.” She smiles at us. “You’ve made me very proud,” she says, and walks out of the room.

  We look at each other.

  “What are we supposed to do?” Jax asks. “Am I supposed to confess about the darkroom? Because I will, but—”

  “No,” I say, and my voice is louder than I meant it to be. “No, I don’t want you to. Let’s…let’s leave her a note. And then let’s get out of here.”

  Everyone nods and mutters, and I pull out a piece of paper.

  Before I start writing, Alice raises her hand.

  Molly has her Why Is Everyone So Stupid face on, but she says, fairly nicely, “Alice, you can just say something. You don’t have to raise your hand.”

  Alice squeaks. “Oh! Well, I was wondering. Monday, at school…”

  There’s a pause.

  Molly says, “I’ll be texting Jax about his backpack and stuff. And maybe you and Erik can meet up before first bell and figure out what you’re going to do for the basketball video.”

  Erik, who has been lea
ning on his elbow with his chin in his hand, promptly manages to punch himself in the face.

  Jax closes his eyes as though he’s in pain. “Dude,” he mutters. He claps his hands together. “Yo, Alice, we’re all going to be cool on Monday. Right? We’re cool? We’re, like, a band of brothers or something. Like grizzled old war veterans, you know?”

  And it is a sign of how far we’ve come that we all nod in agreement like this makes sense.

  * * *

  —

  Seven minutes later we leave our note and the photo faceup on the table and head out. As always, Molly’s in front, storming through the doors like the boss of Bossville, but this time she waits and holds the door for the rest of us. Meanwhile, Alice holds on to Erik’s arm as she tries to walk out backward, just to see if she can, while Andre and Jax move even slower, talking bands and shouting over each other.

  And me? I’m laughing with Alice, waiting for the music nerds, but also watching, watching us, taking a picture in my mind of the six of us, walking out together into the late-winter sun.

  Dear Ms. Davis,

  We wanted you to know that we finished our Justice Circle, and justice has been served.

  But let’s be honest. You weren’t really that excited about this in the first place. As far as you’re concerned, we all had our roles: victims and perpetrators, bullies and targets.

  We’re pretty sure you think you know everything about us. You know us as the Overachiever, the Jock, the Nerd, the Screwup, the Weirdo, and, of course, the Victim. They’re the simplest definitions, a way of filling in the whole picture from one small fragment. We all do it, all the time. Those labels fit, and we admit we thought they described us pretty well.

  But we were wrong.

  Because, as this photo shows, that fragment isn’t close to the whole picture. Each one of us is more than our definition, and less obvious than you might think. Look at this photo, and ask yourself: How well do you know us after all?