The Confessional

by Gabriel Goodman

  Lia rolled her eyes. “You know, I wanted to believe you when you said you didn’t do anything with Ashbury. But now that I see who you’re making friends with ... ”

  Grant unlocked his car. “Jenny, it was good to see you but we gotta—”

  I walked right up to Lia. She stood almost a foot taller than me, and I must have looked ridiculous staring her down, but that’s just what I did.

  “I guess maybe Shaniece is my friend,” I said. “She stood up for me. That’s what friends do.”

  Lia pushed past me and climbed into the passenger side of Grant’s beater. DeShawn looked like he wanted to say something but thought better of it and crawled into the back seat. Grant and I stared at each other as he played with his car keys.

  “Look, Jenny,” he said, quiet so the others couldn’t hear him, “I feel bad this is happening to you. I don’t agree with Lia. But I also don’t know what I can do to help. If you think of anything, let me know.”

  Then he hopped into the car and drove off. If he wasn’t going to answer texts, he wasn’t about to step up to the plate and do anything for me.

  I was on my own.

  CHAPTER TEN

  NOW

  SATURDAY, OCTOBER 31

  I hadn’t expected to see the Hmong Community Center decorated for Halloween. It’s such a Western holiday, I never thought a place that works so hard to maintain our culture’s traditions and values would embrace it. But Mee had told me that every so often, they let a little America in. “When in Rome ... ” Mee had said.

  Dad was working late, so I snuck out and showed up at 7:00 for the Halloween party, dressed as a mummy. The place was packed. Monsters of every kind rocked out on the dance floor. I scanned the room, looking for Mee. All I knew was she had dressed as an astronaut.

  I spotted Grandmother first, over by the punch bowl, chatting with the partygoers and handing out treats. Suddenly, it didn’t matter that I’d been suspended. It didn’t matter that the people I thought were my friends hadn’t wanted anything to do with me. I still had my family.

  I walked over to the punch bowl and tapped Grandmother on the shoulder. “Trick or treat, niam pog,” I said.

  Grandmother laughed and squinted at me. I unwrapped enough of the toilet paper I was using as bandages so she could see my face.

  As soon as she realized who I was, she frowned. Teeth clenched, she started talking furiously at me, shaking her finger with every syllable. At first, I thought she believed I was someone else, so I quickly took off all the TP around my head. That only made her angrier.

  “I don’t understand,” I tried to tell her. Her voice got louder, and people started to look our way.

  I felt a hand on my shoulder and turned to find Mee. She was wearing a motorcycle helmet as part of her “space suit.” She lifted the visor, and I could see she also was not happy. She said something to Grandmother, who immediately shut up but kept on fuming. Then Mee took me by the hand and led me away.

  We stepped just outside the center. The sidewalk grew quiet as the music inside faded away.

  “Does Grandmother not like mummies?” I asked. Maybe my costume was seen as disrespectful toward the dead.

  Mee, who was usually all smiles, frowned. “What were you thinking, Jenny?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I know about The Confessional.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Ugh, not you too. I already told you: I didn’t sleep with Mr. Ashbury. The rumor you heard was wrong. You’ve got to believe me.”

  “It doesn’t matter if I believe you. What matters is that you said it.”

  “It was a lie. I made it up. I promise.”

  “But you still said it. In Grandmother’s eyes, it’s just as bad as if you’d done what you said you did. You’ve brought shame to our family.”

  “Look,” I said, “I’ll go on the site and erase the comment. It’ll be like it never happened.”

  Mee shook her head. “It did happen. You just don’t get it, Jenny. Grandmother cried for two hours when she heard about what you said. She knows there’s no way anyone can arrange a marriage for you now.”

  “Arranged marriage?” I asked. “You’re joking, right? It’s the twenty-first century. People don’t still do that.”

  Mee looked like I’d slapped her across the face. “It’s rare, but those who stick to our traditions still arrange marriages, yes. We believe in family. I thought you did too. I thought that was why you were reconnecting with us.”

  “You thought I wanted someone else to pick a husband for me?”

  “Family sticks together,” she said, ignoring my question. “Everything we do affects the honor of the family. You brought us shame. It doesn’t matter that you didn’t sleep with your teacher. You said you did. That’s what matters.”

  I didn’t want an arranged marriage. I didn’t know that I even wanted to stick with traditions. All I knew was that I wanted my family. They shouldn’t have just given up on me like my so-called friends.

  “Mee,” I said, trying to sound calm, “please let me speak with Grandmother. I’ll give her a week to cool off. Then I can come over and we can talk about this. I’ll apologize. I’ll do whatever she wants to make up for it.”

  For just a second, Mee appeared to be thinking about it. Like she felt sorry for me and would talk to Grandmother on my behalf. But that second passed, and her face clouded over.

  “You should go home, Jenny,” she said.

  And she left me there on the steps of the center.

  •••

  Dad didn’t say a word when I came home. He should have reminded me I was grounded and extended my sentence. But maybe he could tell I’d been crying. So, instead of laying into me, he said, “We should talk about what comes next.”

  I threw off the rest of my toilet-paper costume. So he had been planning. I just didn’t know if it would do any good. My own blood wouldn’t stand by me.

  “I don’t know if I’m in the mood,” I said, and started for my bedroom.

  “I’ve been asking around,” Dad said in a tone that told me I wasn’t going to be able to dodge him. So I stood in the hall just outside the living room. “We’ve got a couple options. First, you could transfer schools. I know that’s not ideal, but it means you could continue the year with little interruption. It might be tricky getting another school to admit you, but we can try. Maybe we can get you into Mee’s school, Madison North.”

  I shook my head. “That’s really not a good idea.”

  Dad was good at reading me. Maybe too good. I didn’t have to tell him that something had gone down with Mee. He could just tell.

  “All right,” he said, not pressing. “Let’s talk option two. You make your case to the school board. The meeting to discuss you was an emergency meeting. Their next regular meeting is in a couple days.”

  I thought about standing up in front of a bunch of people like the stern-looking guy in the gray suit from Boyle’s office. It definitely wasn’t my favorite plan. But if there were only two options, I figured it was the one to go with.

  “So how will that work?” I said.

  “We get you on the agenda, and you can appeal their decision.”

  I’d never been much of a public speaker and I wasn’t exactly thrilled with the idea of speaking to a room full of Gray Suits. “Can’t we get a lawyer or something?”

  “A lawyer would make this easier, yes. But we can’t afford one.”

  “Can’t you appeal the decision?” I asked. “They’re more likely to listen to you. You sounded good going up against Boyle.”

  Dad took my hand. “I’ll be right by your side. But this is something you need to do.”

  I hated the idea. Hated it. But I knew he was right.

  “Okay,” I said. “Let’s do it.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  NOW

  MONDAY, NOVEMBER 2

  The one possible upside to the suspension was that I got to sleep in. Or, at least, I should have been able to sleep
in. An unknown number texted me at the time I’d normally get up for school: meet me in the food court at west towne mall at 7:00.

  I wrote back: Who is this?

  i think i can help.

  Which didn’t answer the question. But at that point, I was willing to take all the help I could get. I threw on some clothes and hopped a bus to the mall. Only a couple restaurants were open that early, mostly serving breakfast. Sadly, my favorite milkshake place wasn’t one of them. I sat down in the big empty court and waited.

  It wasn’t long before Shaniece Burton arrived. She stood over me, one hand on her hip. “Angry yet?”

  “How did you get my number?” I asked.

  “That skinny white boy who does plays gave it to me,” she said. She meant Grant. “I asked you a question: are you angry yet?”

  I shrugged. “Yeah, I guess.”

  Shaniece rolled her eyes. “I ain’t got time if you only ‘guess’ you’re angry.”

  She turned to leave, but I called after her.

  “Wait, I’m sorry. I’m new at being angry. I don’t have as much practice as you.”

  Her nostrils flared, then she burst out laughing. “Back talking me is suicidal, not angry. But it’ll do.” She handed me a roll of masking tape from her massive purse. “Come with me.”

  •••

  I couldn’t believe it. Ten minutes later, I was following Shaniece into school.

  “I’m not allowed here while I’m suspended,” I said.

  “First rule of being angry,” she said, hooking her arm around mine, “is ‘you gotta break a few rules.’ Now, let’s go wake people up.”

  We walked through the halls as students scurried around, getting ready for class. Shaniece pulled a handful of homemade flyers from her purse. Every few feet, I tore off a long piece of tape and she’d stick a flyer to the corridor wall.

  “Listen up, Monona High,” she yelled. “This here is Jenny Vang. You all know who she is. Did you also know she’s been suspended for two months for saying she did something she didn’t do?”

  Hardly anyone glanced at the flyers. They showed an unflattering picture of me from my online profile under the word UNFAIR in all caps at the top. Next to me, it said: Two Months. Lying.

  “Does that sound fair to you?” Shaniece continued. “Not me. It makes me angry. It makes me wonder how soon before they start handing out crazier punishments for small things.”

  A picture of a boy scowling at the camera sat under my picture on the flyer. Next to him, it read: One week. Weapon.

  “Evan Miller got a weeklong suspension for bringing a knife to school,” Shaniece said, pointing at Evan’s picture on the flyer. “Five days for bringing a weapon. Think about that. And they want to kick Jenny out for two months.”

  The first bell rang, telling people they had five minutes to get to class. While most people continued to bustle past, a few stopped to give the flyers a read. Two more students were listed under Evan Miller. Each had gotten a lighter punishment than me.

  I suddenly felt really guilty for ever judging Shaniece. She’d made these flyers on her own. Just to help me. Just because she knew what it was like to be treated unfairly.

  “We’ve got to let them know that what they’re doing is wrong,” Shaniece told a pair of sophomores passing by. “Jenny doesn’t deserve what she’s getting. We gotta tell Boyle where we stand!”

  We’d hung a dozen flyers at this point. But people were more interested in getting to class on time than listening. As Shaniece continued shouting, Grant appeared from around the corner, a stack of flyers under his arm. He thrust a flyer into the hands of anyone who ignored the ones posted on the wall.

  A herd of students, heads down, rushed past us, like gazelles fleeing a lion. A second later, Principal Boyle followed in their wake. She walked right up to us.

  “Take. Those. Down.” Boyle pointed to the flyers. Shaniece glared defiantly for a second, then ripped the nearest flyer from the wall. I took down the next one. Grant grabbed the rest.

  “You’re not supposed to be here,” Boyle said to me. Then she nabbed the rest of the flyers from Grant and Shaniece.

  “We have the right to free speech,” Shaniece said. “Just like Jenny had that right.”

  Boyle folded her arms. “If you didn’t skip Civics so much, Miss Burton, you’d know there are limits to free speech. You can’t yell ‘fire’ in a theater. And you can’t say what Miss Vang said without expecting problems. You also can’t hang posters on school property without the principal’s permission. Which you don’t have. Get to class now, and I’ll forget this happened.”

  Shaniece sent her eye daggers into the principal’s back as Boyle turned heel and disappeared around the corner.

  “Thanks for trying,” I said.

  Shaniece shook her head. “Everyone’s too scared. They don’t realize Boyle can’t punish us all if we stick together.”

  “People would listen if Boyle wasn’t around,” Grant said. “We need a way to rally everyone, but not at school.”

  I slumped against the wall. “It’s hopeless. Boyle’s only interested in teaching everyone a lesson.”

  “What do you mean?” Shaniece asked, eyebrows raised.

  “It’s something they said when they suspended me. ‘If Jenny isn’t punished, other students will think it’s okay to make similar claims.’ My suspension is a warning to stop anyone else from making false accusations.”

  Shaniece’s eyes went wide. She looked at Grant and whatever idea had popped into her head popped into his too.

  “It’s crazy,” Grant said, but it didn’t sound like he believed it. “And risky.”

  “We can do it,” she insisted.

  They were making me nervous. “You guys wanna clue me in?”

  Grant whipped out his phone. “Shaniece says Boyle can’t punish us all,” he said, his thumbs racing over the phone’s screen. “I think we need to test that theory.”

  The bell rang, which meant Grant and Shaniece were late to class. But they didn’t care. Together, they huddled over Grant’s phone. I peeked up over Grant’s shoulder and a chill crawled across my shoulder when I saw the bright red banner at the top of his browser.

  The Confessional.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  NOW

  TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 3

  I wore my nicest skirt with brand-new tights and pulled my hair back into a long ponytail. Dad wore a suit. We were waiting in the audience while the school board, seated at a long table at the front of the room, discussed issue after boring issue on their agenda.

  There was a huge turnout. People were standing around the outside of the room. Word had gotten out that the skizz was going to try to defend herself. Parents wanted to hear what I had to say for myself. Well, I couldn’t wait for them to hear.

  I kept an eye out for Grant and Shaniece. They were supposed to have arrived already. For one scary second, I worried that I really was on my own.

  After half an hour, the board secretary mumbled that I’d come to appeal my suspension. He very nicely reminded everyone exactly why I’d been suspended, as if they’d forgotten. All eyes turned to me.

  I stepped up to the podium and pulled the microphone down to my mouth. Five men and four women made up the board. I could see in their steely eyes that they’d already made up their minds. They were not repealing my suspension. So, basically, nothing I said would make a difference.

  The anger Shaniece wanted from me boiled up inside. Whether they listened or not, I still needed to say what I came to say.

  Gray Suit sat right in the middle, frowning the heaviest. His nameplate told me he was president of the board. Well, listen up, Mr. President. Angry Girl on deck.

  “Ladies and gentlemen of the board,” I said, speaking directly into the microphone. “Forgive me for starting by stating the obvious: I screwed up. I’m new to Monona High and I was just trying to fit in and be like everyone else. But that’s no excuse. I’m sorry for what I said and for any embarras
sment I caused Mr. Ashbury or the school.

  “That said, it’s also important that you understand I am not being treated fairly. I made a false claim on an online message board. Supposedly, I violated the school’s conduct code. If what I said online was a violation, I have to ask why I’m being singled out. Just a quick glance at The Confessional will show that everyone on there is violating the code.

  “In case you didn’t realize, you’re in charge of a high school. Kids talk. You can’t stop it. Nothing you do to me is going to stop it. You want to make an example of me. Why no one else?”

  I fell silent, waiting for the board to react. But no one moved, no one spoke. Then, Gray Suit cleared his throat.

  “Miss Vang,” Gray Suit said, “it’s commendable that you’ve come here. You’ve spoken very eloquently. I was hoping you were coming to share your remorse with the board. Instead, you are attempting to defend the indefensible. You show no signs of understanding what I think should be the obvious lesson here: actions have consequences. If you’re going to make false accusations about a teacher online, you need to face what follows.” Gray Suit kept speaking as if nothing I said mattered, now or ever.

  “You can’t punish me for what I do on my own time outside of school,” I said. “That’s my father’s job. He thought being grounded for a week fit the crime. A week. I’ve already spent nearly that in detention ... for something that didn’t happen in school. A two-month suspension is ridiculous. You’re only using a past scandal as an excuse to let—”

  Gray Suit actually banged a gavel on the table to shut me up. Which must have meant that I was winning. So I kept going.

  “You’re letting fear of what might happen interfere with giving the right punishment for what did happen. The punishment needs to fit the crime, and that’s not what you’re doing.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a slight—very slight—smile on the lips of old Stone Face Dad himself. He pointed to his heart and I knew what he meant. Turned out I had my own ogre inside and I didn’t even know it.

  “I think we’ve heard enough, Miss Vang,” Gray Suit said loudly.