“Christopher! My office, please. Now.”
The five words nobody wants to hear when walking down the hall towards the classroom first thing in the morning.
I turned around and saw Mr. Wozniak, the principal, standing in the hallway watching me with that serious “you are in trouble” face.

I know that face, because I’ve seen it before.
Long story.
I didn’t have much choice, so I turned away from the stream of students heading towards their homerooms, doing my best not to see their curious glances in my direction, and walked back towards Mr. W and the main office.
“In here, Chris,” he signaled like a traffic cop towards his office. “Take a seat.”

Mrs. Carroll looked at me over her glasses as I sat down on the bench just inside the door. She was trying to catch my eye, but by this time I was starting to get a bit mad at everyone and didn’t want any “Why, Chris, why?” looks from her to make me feel guilty.

Funny thing was, this time I didn’t even know what I was guilty of.
I was racking my brains and I couldn’t think of anything. In fact, since that last incident of swearing—(according to our gym teacher, Mr. Portman, who just happened to miss the moment when Simon had ground his foot into mine while pretending to wrestle the basketball away from me)—I had been lying low. Keeping it clean. Not causing any trouble. No detentions.

“Please, Chris,” my mom had said that night, after the phone calls from school, and after the paper that had to be signed, and after the painful dinner conversation where she almost cried when she told me to that this behavior just had to stop.
“You’re making things so hard for me.”
My stepfather, Randy, hadn’t said anything. He doesn’t say much, which is just fine with me. But he reached over and gave her hand a squeeze.
Which made me sick. I mean, he’s OK, but he’s not my dad.
So, I made this promise to myself: no more crap. No more bad stuff. I’m not going to make my mom cry any more.

It’s a lot harder than you might think. That’s what I was thinking as I sat on the hard bench waiting for Mr. Wozniak to tell me whatever I had done and whatever would happen next. And what happened next was a big surprise.
In walked Randy. Right into the school front office, in his work clothes. Blue work pants and muddy work boots and that jacket with the big orange X on it. At least he’d left the hard hat in the truck.
He looked at Mrs. Carroll who smiled at him.
It’s her job to do that, of course.
Then he looked at Mr. Wozniak who was getting ready to say something, but before he could, Randy looked at me and took a step over.
“You OK?”
I nodded. Of course I’m OK, idiot. I’m the one in trouble, remember?
“Thanks for coming so quickly, Mr. Kennedy,” said Mr. W, and they shook hands. “Mrs. Kennedy was concerned when she wasn’t able to come. She’s usually the one…”
“No worries,” Randy cut him off. “So what’s the problem?”
“Let’s go into my office,” Mr. W nodded. He put out an arm to indicate the way to his office, but Randy hesitated.
“Shouldn’t Chris come too?”
Now that’s a new one. My mom always goes in alone for the talk, then they call me in and tell me what my punishment is going to be. For whatever I’ve done. Which I always know.
But this time, I didn’t know what I was supposed to have done, so it was all different.
And having Randy there was different too. And weird. And not great, to be honest.
My dad would have shown up in his work suit and tie, and he would have made conversation with Mrs. Carroll first, to put her at ease, and then he would have shaken Mr. W’s hand (I know this, because I’ve seen it a few times. Well, more than a few times.) And then he would have The Talk with Mr. W, and when I came in, things would be clear-cut and set: detention or whatever, a talking-to by my dad, done, over, more handshakes out the door. Clean.
Mr. W was looking at me, looking at Randy.
“Of course, Chris can join us if you prefer,” he said. “Come on, Chris. In you go.”
So the three of us went into the office and sat down.
“So what’s this about?” Randy asked.
Mr. W turned to me.
“Well, maybe we should ask Chris to tell us,” he said, and waited.
We all waited. Because I didn’t have a clue.
Chris?” Randy said. “What happened?”
My mouth got dry. Why, I don’t know, because I truly didn’t know what it was I was supposed to have done. I didn’t know why these two guys were looking at me as if I was going to confess some big crime.

I guess being silent and swallowing a lot makes you look guilty, because Mr. W leaned back and looked at me with that disappointed look that adults get. I see it a lot.
But this time, I just didn’t understand. And it wasn’t fair.
I hadn’t done anything.
“Chris?” Mr. W, doing that probing thing.
I stared at the floor. I could see Randy’s work boots. Muddy. He must have come right from the construction site.
“Alright, maybe I’ll start with a question, then,” Mr. W said. “Where’s the money that Mr. Portman collected for the trip to the batting cage next week?”
“What?” I looked up, totally confused. “I gave my money to Mr. Portman on Monday. Remember?”
I turned to Randy. He’d been the one that had given it to me. My mom had put it in an envelope, and I had given it in during home room, like everyone else. And then Mr. Portman had checked my name off on his sheet during gym class, along with all the others. I could see my envelope in with all the other kids’ money in a pile clamped to his clipboard.
“No, not your money,” Mr. W leaned forward. “I mean the class’s money. All the money. Mr. Portman says it’s missing. He took it into his office at the start of class, and when he came back after you were all dismissed, the money was gone.”
But why me? I was thinking. I didn’t take it.
Why me?
“Why do you think Chris has it?” asked Randy.
Like he read my mind.
“Because he was seen entering Mr. Portman’s office during class,” said Mr. W. “And at the end of class, you were seen stuffing something into your gym bag and hurrying from the change room.”
The unfairness of it made my stomach turn over. I thought I might throw up, just for a minute. But I didn’t.
“Did you go into the teacher’s office?” Randy asked.
“No! Well, yes. I did. But ...” I ground to a halt.
It was so unfair. Just because sometimes I say and do things that make other people mad – and I don’t even know why I do it. It happens before I can think. I just react. Badly, usually.
You have to think first, says my mom. Think before you act, Chris.
Right, Mom.
“Did you take the money that Mr. Wozniak is talking about?”
Randy was asking the questions. Not Mr. W.
“No, I didn’t!”
“What happened?”
I thought back. It was just a normal gym class. A rainy day, so indoor gym. We were playing basketball – that was it – and I got a nosebleed. So Mr. Portman sent me into his office to get tissues, and at the end of class I stuffed them and my t-shirt, all bloody, into my pack. Because I knew Miles Bilak would barf if he saw blood, so I was very quick and careful so he wouldn’t see. And Simon had told Miles to look, just as I was stuffing the shirt away, so that Miles would see the blood and faint or something. But I was too quick.
So that’s what I told Randy.
He nodded.
“I remember the nosebleed,” he said and turned to Mr. W. “And the t-shirt in the gym bag, which gave my wife quite a scare,” he added.
“Yes, Mr. Portman told me all that too,” said Mr. W. “Well, not the part about Simon and Miles.” He paused, thinking. Looking at me.
“Who accused Chris of stealing the money?” asked Randy, and it occurred to me that Randy should trade in his muddy boots and blue work pants and hard hat for a suit and tie and a job as a lawyer.
“Interesting,” said Mr. W after a long pause. “It was Simon Morris.”
“Did you take the money, Chris?” Randy asked me. Looking right at me. I looked right back at him.
“No. I didn’t take the money.”
Do you know who did?” asked Mr. W.
And it would have been so tempting to say Simon did. Because of course I remembered Simon following me to the office to enjoy watching me stuff tissues up my nose, and how he stayed there at the door after I walked away.
But I didn’t.
“I don’t know,” I said. Randy nodded.
“I’d say we’re done here, wouldn’t you, Mr. Wozniak?” my stepfather said.
We three stood up, and Mr. W shook Randy’s hand, and then he put his hand out to me. Which was weird, but I shook it anyway
“I’m sorry, Chris. I should have had all the facts before hauling you in like this,” he said. And something completely different – he was smiling at me.
I mumbled something and I was told I could go back to class, but please not to speak about our meeting to the other students, so I nodded and followed Randy out into the hallway.
Awkward moment, while he looked up and down the hall.
“It’s my coffee break,” he said suddenly, out of nowhere. “You hungry?”
Are you kidding? I’m always hungry. It was only first period.
So, he signed me out for the morning. We went to Tim Hortons, and he dropped me back in time for math class.
“From a collection of short stories. Reprinted with permission from Dude! Stories About Boys by Heather Wright and Jean Mills"