"Arson?"
"That means the fire was intentionally set."
"I know what arson is."
Principal Redman leans back in his chair and runs a hand through his silver hair. "You don't have many friends here, do you, Mr. DuMont?"
"Excuse me?"
"Friends," Principal Redman says again. "Got any?"
"What does that have to do with the fire?" Eddie shifts again then places a hand on his knee to keep it still.
"Whenever I see you, you're alone, or with your sister."
"I guess I'm a loner."
"Fair enough," the principal says. "Lots of people are. But...what about enemies?"
"What about them?"
"You have any of those?"
"Doesn't everybody?"
"That wasn't the question."
Eddie doesn't reply. Redman is playing some kind of mind game, that's for sure.
"What about Mark Johnson? You got a problem with him?"
Eddie raises an eyebrow. "I can't say I care for him much."
"And why is that?"
"We've never really seen eye-to-eye."
"I see." Principal Redman leans forward and laces his fingers together. Eddie notices there's some sleep in the corner of one of his eyes, and his glasses are badly smudged.
"So, would you say that there is tension between the two of you then?"
Eddie hesitates.
"I'm waiting," Redman says.
"We don't have much to do with each other," Eddie says finally. "Never have."
"That's not what I hear," Redman says. "I was told you had an altercation with him just the other day. Gave him a bloody nose. Is that true?"
"Yeah, but—"
"Violence is simply not tolerated here at Bridgeman Lake High, Edward."
"There was a reason for that punch, sir," Eddie says. "There was a girl. Mark was...the girl was—"
"Oh, spare me, won't you? Boys have been fighting over pretty girls since the beginning of time, Edward. But we're civilized here. We don't break noses over them."
"We weren't fighting over her," Eddie says, his face burning. "Mark was hurting her. I stepped in."
Redman snorts and pushes his glasses further up on his nose. "Please, Eddie. Don't make this worse than it already is by throwing around accusations like that. Did you know Constable Johnson is the engine behind the new Women's Transition House in Bennings?"
Eddie shakes his head. He didn't even know there was one.
"But the girl, sir. What about—"
"We don't take violence lightly here, Edward. And Mark isn't the kind of boy to get his nose dirty. He's headed to Columbia on a full ride you know."
Yeah. Eddie had heard. Rugby. The Neanderthal could barely spell his own name, but he could play rugby.
Eddie wants to ask Redman how Mark's post-secondary plans are relevant to this particular situation, but he knows better. Silence is golden, especially right now.
Redman switches tact. "Tell me, Eddie. How are things at home?"
"Okay."
"Your phone is no longer in service."
"Sometimes Mom is late with the bills."
"Fair enough. But the thing is, what I can't figure is why you and your sister have been camping out in the Athletic Shed the last little while. Do you want to tell me about that, Eddie?"
Eddie grips the side of his chair. No, he certainly does not want to tell Principal Redman about that.
But Redman is a dog with a bone. He cracks his knuckles in front of him, grinning like a Cheshire cat, clearly enjoying Eddie's discomfort. "Surely you have something to say. I've been told that Frank Podborski gave you a key to the place. Is that true?"
"Mr. Podborski?" Eddie says, stalling.
"Our custodial engineer. I understand the two of you have a friendship of sorts, and that Mr. Podborski offered you the athletic shack to sleep in." Mr. Redman raises a finger in front of Eddie's face. "Do not deny this, Edward. I have it on good authority. You've been spotted on several occasions, either entering or leaving the hut."
"Is Mr. Podborski—"
"Mr. Podborski is no longer an employee of the school."
"What?"
"He was let go this morning."
"Wait. You can't do that!"
"Yes. I most certainly can. He was not acting in a professional manner. We had no choice."
"But—"
"It seems to be a big coincidence that the athletic shack would burn down, destroying thousands of dollars of rugby equipment, right after you had a violent confrontation with Mark Johnson, our star flanker."
"So that's what all this is about? You think I set fire to the athletic hut?"
Mr. Redman pivots back and forth in his chair. "A gas can was discovered several metres from the hut with a t-shirt stuffed inside the spout. There's a drawing on the can. Some Picasso-like scribble. I have it on good authority that it's yours."
Shit!
Eddie remembers tagging the can with a black Sharpie marker, back when they'd first found the clearing. He'd done it the first night he'd gone out looking for gas. He'd done it for good luck. Stupid, stupid move.
"Look. I did not torch the hut."
"But you and your sister were living there."
"We weren't living there. We spent a few nights there. It doesn't mean I struck the match. There were a few problems at home last week. We just needed some space."
"We'll let Constable Johnson decide what means what, shall we?"
Constable Johnson. Eddie sits in his chair, numb.
"That is all for now, Eddie," Redman says, standing up. "You can return to class."
Eddie shakes his head and walks to the door.
"Close the door behind you, please," Redman says. "And Edward?"
"Yeah?"
"Don't plan on leaving town any time soon. Understand?"
Eddie's hand is slick on the doorknob. A hot heat fills his head. But when he opens his mouth to let Redman know just how well he understands what's going on, there is a timid knock on the other side of the door.
"Come in!" Redman bellows impatiently.
The door opens, and Georgia Baines walks into the office.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
"Miss Baines," Redman wipes his forehead with the back of his hand. "This isn't a good time."
Georgia looks at Principal Redman, then over at Eddie. She steps into the room, biting her lower lip.
A scared rabbit, Eddie thinks. A deer in the headlights.
She stammers. "I...I need to..."
Redman sighs and motions for her to take a seat. He looks at Eddie and jerks his head toward the door. "I said that will be all, Edward."
"No!" Georgia rushes toward Eddie and grabs a fistful of his T-shirt. It catches him off guard and he stumbles.
"No!" she says. "Please. Can he stay? He needs to stay. This...this concerns him." Her voice is higher than it normally is. Too high.
There are beads of sweat forming on Redman's brow. "All right. All right. Sit down then, both of you."
Georgia fiddles with the zipper on her oversized purse. Her face is flushed, her eyes red-rimmed.
"Waiting, Georgia," Redman says, drumming his smooth, white fingers on a file folder in front of him.
Eddie looks out the window. A few crows are hopping along the branch of a nearby maple tree, all of them eyeing something on the ground, and then each other. A Mexican stand-off.
"Georgia," Redman says, losing the last of his patience. "I'm a very busy man. If you—"
"Wait!" Georgia digs frantically in her bag and pulls out her phone. "It's here. Right here. I have to show you something."
Jesus. Now what, Eddie thinks. He lets his head fall against the back of his chair and stares at the ceiling. There is a loopy brown water stain in the corner. It's shaped like a noose. The irony is not lost on him.
Georgia tips her phone sideways, so that whatever she's looking at fills up the screen. "Here." She gets up and hands the phone to the principal.
"Can you please watch this, Mr. Redman?" She looks at Eddie. "You, too."
Eddie sighs and pulls himself out of his chair. He has no idea what Georgia is up to.
She sets the phone down on the desk and touches an arrow in the middle of the screen. It's a video, shot at night, so it's difficult at first to see what's going on. But there's the athletic hut, just visible in the dim glow of the lights in the school's parking lot. A few seconds later, two figures move at the side of the screen. One is wearing a red ball cap.
The person in the ball cap lights a match. There is a whooshing noise, and almost instantly, flames burst up from the ground, and the screen lights up.
Jesus. They used an accelerant, Eddie thinks. Gasoline. Dumb asses.
"Wait. Now. Here it comes," Georgia says, pausing the video. She adjusts the volume on the side of the phone, then puts in back down and presses the arrow again. "Listen."
The audio isn't great, but they can all hear it. They hear Sean Talbot's voice. "That's good enough, Mark! It's fine! Let's get the fuck outta here!"
The video gets shaky as the two figures run off into the darkness. Seconds later, a car engine starts, and there is the sound of squealing tires. It's the Trans Am. Eddie has heard that piece of crap burn rubber a thousand times. Nice move, Johnson. Stealthy as fuck.
Georgia slips the phone into her jacket pocket. "It wasn't Eddie, Mr. Redman. It was Mark and Sean. I was there. I recorded this."
Redman's face is redder than ever; the same colour as the stripes in his tie. Eddie almost feels like laughing—the principal is totally living up to his name.
"And you were out on school grounds in the middle of the night, because...?" Redman asks dubiously.
Georgia grows pale; her face is stark in contrast to Redman's. "I...I knew Mark was up to something," she says. There is still a tremor in her voice, but she's a little calmer now. "I overheard him talking to Sean a couple of days ago about the athletic hut. They were making plans."
Eddie suddenly finds his voice. "Wait. Are you serious? You knew about this? You knew? What if Maya and I had been inside? What if—"
"He knew you weren't!" Georgia interrupts. "We saw you and your sister in town, with Jasmine. We saw you guys coming out of that cafe. That's when Mark decided to drop me off at home early. But... I was scared. I knew something was up. He was so pumped. He and Sean...they were acting crazy! I knew they were going to do something awful."
"So, you came here? You followed them back?" Eddie looks at Redman, whose face has changed from red, to purple.
"I stayed in the trees," Georgia says. "I hid the whole time, but I saw everything. Everything!"
The principal coughs. Beads of perspiration have formed a straight line across his forehead.
Eddie takes his first full breath since entering Redman's office. Then he takes another one.
Redman appears to have frozen in his chair.
"I..." Georgia stammers. "I feel so bad that I didn't say anything right away. I mean..." She clutches her bag tighter and turns to look at Eddie, tears finally filling her eyes. "Eddie... I never meant...I mean, after what you did for me...when Mark..." Her voice trails off. She's rambling, Eddie thinks. She's terrified.
He softens and takes a step toward her. "It's okay, Georgia. It's okay." He is surprised to find he means it. This girl is messed up. You can't blame her for being terrified.
"It is most definitely not okay!" Redman says. His face is slick with sweat. "This is not okay at all!"
The air around them is charged, but oddly, Eddie feels strangely calm.
"Georgia," he says to the principal. "What about Georgia? It isn't safe for her now."
Georgia looks at Eddie, unable to speak. Watery black tracks course down both her cheeks. She swipes at her face with her hand and makes it worse.
Eddie nods at her and mouths the words: It's okay.
Their eyes lock, and he holds hers steady with his own. Again: It's okay. It's okay.
Mr. Redman scrapes his chair over the floor and strides angrily across the room. "Don't either of you leave this room. You both stay put, understand?" He doesn't wait for an answer and slams his office door behind him.
The air in the room feels better as soon as he's gone. Eddie can almost feel the molecules begin to move about freely again.
Georgia slumps back down in her chair and drags the sleeve of her jacket over her nose. Eddie retrieves a box of Kleenex from Redman's desk and holds it out in front of her. "Here."
She takes a Kleenex, blows her nose loudly, then takes another one and dabs at her eyes. "Thanks."
"Sure."
She blinks at him gratefully. Her eyes have changed, Eddie thinks. They're more grey, than blue.
"I'm so sorry," Georgia whispers. "About everything. The fire. Mark, your car...and—"
"Don't apologize for him!" Eddie shouts suddenly, but when he sees the fear on her face—sees her jump—he shuts up. He drags his chair over and sits directly in front of her. "Look. You aren't responsible for his shit, Georgia. You know that, right?"
Georgia nods, but Eddie can tell she's not buying it. He's seen that expression before. His mother used to wear the same one all the time.
Georgia blows her nose again. When she's finished, Eddie holds his palm up in front of her and waits.
"Seriously?" she says. "Ew." But she gives him three balled up tissues and watches as he chucks them one-by-one into the garbage can beside Redman's desk. "Looks like chivalry isn't dead," she says softly, a slight catch in her throat.
"Pfffffft," Eddie snorts. "It's only snot."
"Seriously, though. Thank you."
Eddie stops looking at the garbage can and starts looking at Georgia. Her face is smudged—a total mess.
But her eyes, Eddie thinks, are definitely more grey than blue.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
Maya is waiting in the cafeteria. She's sitting alone at a table eating an apple, but as soon as she sees her brother, she stops chewing. "What happened? What did Redman want?"
Eddie sits down beside her and snatches the apple from her hand. He takes a big bite and decides right away it looks better than it tastes. It's mushy—and he got the bruise on one side.
"Well?"
But Eddie doesn't hear her. He's looking out the window at Mark Johnson—Mark, who is walking reluctantly towards a police car in the school parking lot.
The police officer gets out of the car. He's a big man with familiar broad shoulders and a thick neck. Mark's father? Has to be, Eddie thinks. The DNA runs strong.
The cop slaps the back of Mark's head, and the boy is momentarily caught off balance. For a second Eddie thinks he'll take a swing at the cop, but he doesn't. Instead, he gets into the car and slams the door. A minute later the cruiser drives off, too fast, out of the parking lot.
"What's that all about?" Maya asks. "Was that Mark's dad? What happened?" She takes back the mostly eaten apple from Eddie's hand in an attempt to get his attention. "Eddie! WHAT. HAPPENED?"
"Shhhhh!" Eddie tells her. "Come on. Let's go."
Maya sighs, gathers up her stuff and follows her brother out of the cafeteria.
***
Jasmine is waiting for them in the hall. She's standing by the recycling container, her sketchbook clutched tightly to her chest, an oversized bag hanging off her shoulder. It's covered with quirky literary pins and badges. Eddie stares at one in particular: I like big books and I cannot lie.
"Eddie. God. Georgia told me what happened," Jasmine says. "About the fire." Her voice is soft. Her eyes are, too.
"Yeah," Eddie says.
She touches his arm, squeezes it a little. "I'm so sorry, Eddie. About, you know, everything. And last night—that too. It's just...I just get so frustrated!"
"Whoa. No way. I'm the one who should apologize, Jazz. I was so outa line."
"We do this a lot, don't we," Jasmine says, staring at her shoes.
"Broken record," Eddie says, nodding.
"Dramatic," Jas
mine adds.
"Yep. We're fiery," Eddie says, trying to lighten things up. "Passionate."
"Would somebody please tell me what's going on?" Maya drops her backpack defiantly on the floor and waits.
"Mark," Eddie says, still looking at Jasmine. "Mark set the fire. Set me up good. But Georgia got it all on her phone."
"What?" Maya screeches and then covers her mouth with her palm.
"It's true," Jasmine says. "She showed me the video before she went into Redman's office."
Maya's cheeks flush and her hands form tight little fists at her sides. "But he can't just do that! He can't just go around hurting people like this! He can't—"
"It's okay," Jasmine says, putting her arm around Maya's shoulders. "Really. He's so busted. Arson with intent is pretty serious stuff."
"But...what about his dad."
"Not even his dad can bail him out of this one." She hitches her bag higher up on her shoulder and adjusts an elastic band on one of her braids. Braids. Eddie smiles. He's never seen her wear her hair like this before; Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm...with attitude. It's awesome.
"What are you smiling at, Eddie?" Jasmine says, flushing.
"Nothing," he says. "Everything."
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
"Edward?" Mr. Mackie rests a hand lightly on Eddie's shoulder. He hates to interrupt Eddie when he's working so hard—it's been a while since he's seen him this focused on a painting.
"Yeah?"
"It's Mr. Redman. He wants you in his office. Right now, I'm afraid."
Eddie drops his brush angrily in the jar of water beside him. "Again? What now?"
"I'm sure I don't know," Mr. Mackie says.
Eddie pushes his chair out and stares at his painting while he scratches some dried paint off his thumbnail. It's not a bad piece, as pieces go, he thinks. He's kind of into it, and he'd really like to keep working on it. He could finish it today if he really put his mind to it.
Mr. Mackie watches Eddie leave, and shakes his head. Kids these days, he thinks. It's always something. And it's a real shame, especially with Eddie DuMont. That kid has a real spark, he thinks. Some real talent. It would be a shame to waste it.
THE PICASSO PROJECT Page 18