When I think it’s as good as it’s going to get, I print out a copy and then paste it into the e-mail and hit Send. And just like that, it’s done. My fate is sealed. Everyone at school will know what I’ve done in a few days. Again, it’s that bittersweet feeling: painful, but good.
Mom gets home before Dad, and as I help her put away groceries, I tell her about what I did. She hugs me and tells me she’s proud of how I’m handling this, but I can still see that hurt in her eyes.
“I’m really sorry, Mom. I know I’ve already said it a lot and I’ll probably have to say it a lot more, but I am really sorry.”
“I know you are.” She nods as she places a milk carton in the fridge.
“Do you think Dad will ever forgive me?”
“Of course. But it might take him a while to get over it. He had such high expectations for you, GraceAnn.” She folds a shopping bag and sighs. “We both did.”
“I know,” I mutter.
“I’m sorry,” she says quickly. “I wasn’t trying to make you feel worse. This is hard enough on you … on all of us. I guess it’ll just take time.”
“When I was writing my letter today, I got an idea.” I put a carton of cereal in the pantry.
“An idea?”
“I wondered what would happen if I wrote a letter to Stanford, to the dean of admissions, telling him about what I did and what I learned and how I’ll never do it again and how sorry I am. Do you think they might consider forgiving me?”
She studies me with a curious expression. “I think it’s worth a try.”
“Okay.” I nod eagerly. “I’m going to go do it right now.”
“And at the very least, you’ll have laid it all out for them. They should appreciate that.”
My second letter is similar to the first one, but it feels good — almost therapeutic — to write it. Then I realize I owe my teachers an apology too. So I write confessional letters to both Mr. VanDorssen and Ms. Bannister, telling them exactly when and how I cheated and asking for their forgiveness. I put all these letters into white business envelopes, address them, and tuck them into my bag. Ready for Monday.
By the time my dad comes home, I’m feeling slightly hopeful. But when we sit down to dinner, he is still frosty cold. Even when I tell him about what I’m doing, how I’m attempting to do damage control, he barely looks at me. And once again, he turns in early. I know he’s not really going to bed because I can hear the television on in their master suite. I know he’s just trying to escape being around me. Will he ever come to terms with this?
The next morning, I get up and dress for work, and before my parents are up, I go to the pharmacy. To my dismay, Uncle Russ is working today. I had really hoped it would be my aunt, because I suspect that she, like Mom, might be more understanding. And I know I have to confess what I’ve done to them as well. Even the part about the OxyContin, which I’m fairly sure will cost me this job.
It’s midafternoon and there’s a lull in business. With no customers in the store, Uncle Russ is making small talk with me as I wipe down the countertop around the pharmacy. This is my opportunity.
“I have something hard to tell you,” I begin. He looks surprised and a bit wary but simply nods and listens as I pour out my embarrassing story. Even the part about Dirk pressuring me for pain meds.
Uncle Russ looks thoroughly stunned.
“I know you’re disappointed. But because I’m confessing the whole thing at school and to everyone, it’s only fair you should know too. And I’ll understand if you need to let me go.”
His brow creases. “Really, that’s what you think I should do?”
“You know, because of that business about the OxyContin.”
“But you didn’t do it, GraceAnn. Or did I misunderstand that part?”
“No, of course I didn’t do it.”
He purses his lips like he’s thinking hard.
“I’m really sorry, Uncle Russ. And ashamed. And I really do understand if you want to fire me.”
“So, why would I fire you?”
I shrug, glancing to the door where a customer has just come in.
“The truth is, I did something similar to this myself once.”
I blink. “Really?”
He nods. “I’m not proud of it. And I never got caught and I never told anyone. But I always regretted it.”
“Seriously?”
“And it’s always bothered me.”
“I can understand that.”
“So … maybe this is my way of making up for it.”
I take in a deep breath, feeling the relief washing over me.
“You learned your lesson, GraceAnn. I can respect that.” He pats me on the back. “Thanks for telling me.”
“And you can tell Aunt Lindsey too. I want her to know.”
He just nods. Now the customer is approaching with a prescription in hand, and it’s time to get back to work. But my burden feels so much lighter for the rest of the afternoon. And when I’m done working, I decide to stop by to pay my respects to Miss Julia.
As usual, she is happy to see me. And she doesn’t even seem terribly surprised when I tell her about New Year’s Eve and how I’ve confessed everything to almost everybody.
She smiles. “Yes dear, I knew you would do the right thing.”
“You did?”
“Certainly. I knew the good Lord wouldn’t let you slip between his fingers. He has such good plans for you. This little bump along the way is just part of it.”
“Little bump?”
She chuckles. “Well, I’m sure it seems like much more than that right now. And it certainly would’ve been much more than a little bump if you had let it go on.”
“It was derailing my whole life. Even now I feel like I’m barely on course. I may have forfeited Stanford.”
“Yes. That’s understandable. But someday you’ll probably look back and simply see this as a small bump along the way.”
“I hope so.” I hug her and thank her for believing in me, then head on home. Of course, it’s not until I turn onto my street — and I see a sinister-looking black SUV — that I remember about Dirk.
It’s Saturday. He’s here for his drugs. I consider pulling over behind his car but then decide to simply continue into my own driveway. Let him follow me in there if he wants. At least I’m on my own turf. If he starts getting out of hand, I can make a mad dash into my house. Hopefully my parents are home, but it’s hard to tell since they usually park in the garage.
I’m barely out of my car when his SUV comes zipping up behind me in the driveway and his tires screech as he stops fast. I head up the walk to the front door, pausing to watch as he leaps out of his SUV and hurries toward me. “You got it?” he calls out. “The rest of my payment?”
I shake my head. “No.”
His face darkens and he comes closer. “Why not? I know you worked today. I drove by and saw your car parked there. What’s the deal?”
I step back from him. “Because it’s wrong. And because — ”
“You are going down!” he snarls at me. “I’ve had it with you. I am pulling the plug, and you can kiss your fancy colleges good-bye.”
“I’ve already done that,” I say evenly, stepping away from him. “I’ve confessed everything.”
He glares at me. “You think I’m going to believe that?” He makes a nasty laugh. “Like I haven’t heard that one before? For a smart girl, you’re pretty stupid.”
“I was stupid to go to you.” I step back again. “But I’m paying for that and — ”
“And you better pay me too. You owe me and — ”
“She does not owe you a thing!” Now my dad is out the front door. Wearing only sweatpants and with his hair dripping wet, he charges toward Dirk with his fist raised. “And you better get off my property before my wife calls the police and I start pressing charges.”
Dirk looks surprised and scared as he backs up.
“And if you know what’s good for you, you�
��ll stop running this nasty little business. And you’ll get out of town before it’s too late.” Dad narrows his eyes. “I have connections. I know people who can take care of low-life losers like you. And I’m ready to give them a call right now!”
Dirk gets into his SUV, backing up — fast. But Dad still stands there, shaking his fist in the air and looking pretty threatening. It’s not until Dirk is gone that I realize I’ve been holding my breath.
“Thanks, Dad,” I say quietly.
He presses his lips together and shakes his head. “What a jerk!”
“I know.”
We both turn to walk back toward the house. “I appreciate you coming out like that.”
He stops walking and turns to look at me. “What did you expect me to do?”
I shrug, feeling that lump in my throat again.
“I’m your dad, GraceAnn.”
I just nod, tears burning in my eyes.
“I might be mad at you, but I still love you.” Then he takes me in his arms and hugs me … and the tears pour out … from both of us. Finally he lets me go and we head for the house.
“Do you really know people who could take care of Dirk?” I ask as we go inside.
He makes a funny grin. “No, but I could sure look some up.”
I can’t help but laugh over the image of my straitlaced dad making some new Mafia friends to go after Dirk the Dirtbag.
. . . [CHAPTER 19]. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
On Monday morning, I get to Mary Beth’s house about twenty minutes earlier than usual. “Wow, you’re really prompt today,” she says as I wait for her to gather her stuff. “You must be chomping at the bit to get back to school.” She laughs. “Unlike the rest of us.”
“I came early because I need to tell you something.” I glance around the kitchen. “Is your mom around?”
“She already went to work.” Mary Beth frowns. “Is something wrong?”
And so once again, I tell my story. To my surprise it’s easier than usual. Maybe because it’s starting to feel sort of anticlimactic. I tell her the whole thing clear down to the incident with Dirk and my dad on Saturday and how my dad is finally talking to me again.
However, when I’m done, I’m taken aback at Mary Beth’s expression. It seems like a mixture of surprise and something else … like disgust.
“I cannot believe you’d do that,” she says in a wounded tone.
“I couldn’t believe it either.”
“I mean, that you kept it from me. I knew something was up with you, and I asked you over and over to talk about it. But you refused.” She frowns. “I thought I was your best friend.”
“You are. But I didn’t want to tell anyone.”
“But this is me, GraceAnn. We tell each other everything.”
“I know … but this was so terrible … and so humiliating. I just couldn’t talk about it. Not even to God. I kept hoping that it would all just go away. But instead it snowballed, getting worse and worse. I kept trying to think of some way out — a way to keep it hidden. I didn’t want anyone to know.”
“Even so.” She folds her arms across her front. “It’s like I’m the last one to hear about it.”
“I’m sorry. But you were gone when I finally decided to come clean. And then I wanted to tell you face-to-face.”
As we get into my car, I can’t think of anything else to say. I can’t believe she’s taking this so personally. And then it hits me — it’s her pride. “You know,” I begin carefully as I start to drive, “I used to have a lot of pride. Especially when it came to academics. But I learned that my pride was a bad thing.” Now I tell her about what Miss Julia said. “I’m having to put my pride to death.”
“Oh …”
“Anyway, I’m sorry you feel hurt by this, Mary Beth. And I wish my pride hadn’t gotten in the way of me telling you. I really needed someone to talk to. And from now on I’ll make sure to come to you first. I mean … after God.”
She nods. “Well, I’m glad you told me now. Sorry to go on like that, but it’s like you’ve been living this secret life, and I’m supposed to be your best friend. And I never keep secrets from you.”
“Point taken. Now, since you’re my best friend, can I ask you to pray for me when I go into Mr. Peterson’s office?”
“Sure.”
I take in a slow, deep breath. “This is not going to be easy.”
. . . . . . . . . .
Mr. Peterson is sitting at his big shiny desk with my opened letter in front of him and a very disturbed frown across his face. “I can’t pretend I’m not shocked by this, GraceAnn.” He refolds the letter and slips it back into the envelope. “You’re the last student I expected this from.”
I nod. “I know.”
He shakes his head. “School policy is that anyone caught cheating will face immediate suspension. For two weeks.”
“I know.”
“Naturally, your teachers will have to be informed.”
“I know.”
He removes his glasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he peers curiously at me. “Do you mind revealing who your source is?”
I shrug. “Not really. I mean I wish he’d get caught. He ruins it for everyone. And he’s really a thug. But I guess I’m a little worried that he might try to take out his revenge on me. He’s kind of a scary dude.” Although as I recall the frightened look in his eyes when my dad came after him, I think maybe he’ll leave me alone.
“Is it a fellow student?”
I shake my head. “An ex-student.”
“Uh-huh.” Mr. Peterson looks evenly at me. “It might go better for you, and everyone, if you tell me.”
So I tell him. And I give him Dirk’s phone number and vehicle description and even the e-mail address he used to send me the answers. Mr. Peterson writes all this down, then seems eager to get rid of me.
“Should I go home now?” I ask as I gather my bag and coat.
He looks perplexed. “No. Not just yet. Go on to class. It looks like you can make it on time to second period, and I’ll get back to you in regard to your, uh, punishment. If you don’t hear from me before noon, come on back here and we’ll talk again.”
“Okay. I really am sorry,” I say as I reach for the door. “Sorrier than I can even say.”
He nods. “I know you are.”
I feel a tiny bit hopeful as I go to class. Oh, I know that I’ll probably still get suspended. Like Mr. Peterson said, rules are rules and they can’t bend them — even if I am normally an exceptional student. I get that. But I guess I’m relieved that Mr. Peterson didn’t seem to hate me. And it feels good knowing that they might go after Dirk. I hope they can catch him. Even if it means I have to go into hiding. That shouldn’t be too difficult since I won’t be at school anyway. In fact, it might be a relief. Or is that just my pride talking again?
Before I go to my second class, I stop by trig and hand Mr. VanDorssen my letter. “What’s this?” He grins. “A fan letter?”
I force a smile. “I wish.” Then I turn and hurry away.
I also stop by to give Ms. Bannister her letter. She’s just coming out of the classroom and looks a bit surprised, but she takes it and slips it into her book bag. “See you later.”
“I hope so,” I tell her, then hurry on my way.
Finally, after what feels like the longest morning ever, I am walking back toward administration, ready to be sentenced. It feels like I’m taking in this school for the last time. Maybe that’s how a convict feels as he’s being taken to his execution. Like I’m trying to see everyone and everything, pasting the snapshots in my mind.
“Just who I was looking for,” Mr. Peterson says as I come into the administration center. He waves me over to his office. “Right this way, Miss Lowery.”
With what feels like a brick in the pit of my stomach, I sit down again, ready to hear my sentencing.
“Well, I’ve discussed your situation with the principal and the counselor and even gotten som
e feedback from several of your teachers, GraceAnn. And we have reached a consensus.”
“A consensus.”
He nods. “We all agreed the rule states that any student caught cheating will face suspension. And we all agreed that you never got caught. You turned yourself in.”
I blink, feeling slightly light-headed. “So I won’t be suspended?”
“No. But we did agree on some disciplinary measures. First of all, you will be required to provide twenty hours of tutoring service. But you have until graduation to finish it up. Do you think you can manage that?”
“Sure, I’d be happy to.”
“And, of course, you’ll receive Fs for the three tests you cheated on. I’m sure that goes without saying. Your GPA will drop as a result.”
“Of course.” I nod eagerly.
“We think your cooperation will help us to implement a major crackdown on all the cheating that’s been going on around here. It’s been an item of growing concern this year. And having Dirk Zimmerman shut down should help things immensely.”
“I sure hope so.”
“So despite the circumstances, we do owe you some thanks, GraceAnn.”
I feel embarrassed by this. “You mean because I cheated?”
“I mean because you came forward.”
“Right.”
“But that’s not all. There’s one more disciplinary measure, and I strongly urge you to consider it.” He clears his throat. “I know it will ruin your image — and we can’t force you to cooperate — but we plan to have an assembly later this week. We want to address this whole cheating business up front and openly. And we’d like you to speak to the student body. If you could reiterate what you wrote in your letter, tell your fellow students what you’ve learned and how you know personally that cheating hurts everyone and how you will never do it again, we’d be most appreciative. Would you be willing to do that?”
I think hard about how it will feel to stand in front of the entire school and confess what a fool I’ve been — how I disliked cheaters so much and how I became one myself. Talk about a blow to my pride. Still, I know it’s something I must do. “Yes. I want to do that.”
Trapped: Caught in a Lie (Secrets) Page 16