Chapter 37
WILL
People are cheering as Croon marches me up the aisle. The fact she’s dragging me like a criminal only heightens the experience.
The cheering turns into chanting as we exit the foyer. A hundred and twenty voices are shouting in unison.
Amelia, Amelia, Amelia.
I feel like bawling.
It’s a ten-minute walk to her office. Croon pushes the door open. It looks pretty much as I remembered it, but with less of the French perfume smell and a shitload more schadenfreude. Croon takes her seat behind her desk and threads her fingers into a tiny church complete with pinky steeple. ‘I suppose you’re going to tell me I should have hauled in the entire year. That you are no more culpable than your hundred and twenty classmates who also confessed. There will be a full investigation, believe me, but I would like to hear what you have to say first. Were you involved in the Amelia Westlake hoax?’
I nod. ‘I sure was.’
She seems surprised and pleased by my answer. ‘And did you or did you not act alone?’
‘Completely alone.’
She leans forward. ‘The cartoons in the paper. They were your work?’
‘What can I say? I am witty and artistic.’
Croon registers my insolence with a scowl. ‘And what about the essay swap?’
‘All me. Fowler never recognised my true brilliance, you see. She needed to learn her lesson.’
Now that I’ve decided to cop the full blame, it’s easy. All I have to do is channel one of those British murder mysteries that Mum likes to watch. In the final scene of every episode, the culprit gets caught by the good guys and promptly confesses to everything.
‘And the letter to the local schools offering our Lower Hall free of charge?’
‘Yep.’
Croon takes out a notepad and puts pen to paper. ‘Let’s see. What else was there?’
‘The computer donation.’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘Oh, and the newsroom break-in.’
Croon is writing furiously. She looks up. ‘You realise that in breaking into the newsroom you were breaking the law?’
‘I sure do. Now, let’s see. What else? Oh, yes. I put a notice on the Performing Arts Centre noticeboard. And I graffitied the exam tables. And I entered the gym staffroom without permission. There are some other bits and bobs but to be honest, I can’t remember everything.’
Croon puts down her pen. ‘Just to be perfectly clear, Miss Everhart. You received no help for any of these pranks from anyone else at all?’
‘Correct.’
‘Natasha Nguyen wasn’t involved? Or …’ Here, she pauses. ‘Harriet Price?’
‘Harriet Price? Are you serious? No. I deserve one hundred per cent of the blame. I flew solo with all of this. I’m a lone wolf.’
Croon nods with a jaunty little chin tuck.
There is an urgent rapping on the door.
Croon eyes the door hatefully, and then slides the notebook swiftly across to me. ‘Sign here.’
I speed-read what she’s written. She’s outlined in dot form each Amelia Westlake activity I’ve mentioned. At the bottom of the page are the words I am solely responsible for all of the above followed by a horizontal line marked with a cross.
‘Here?’ I ask, pointing to the line.
Whoever is at the door raps on it again, keenly.
Croon nods at me impatiently, looking ready to murder the person at the door.
‘I guess this means the investigation into Amelia Westlake is closed and I get expelled.’
‘That’s right,’ says Croon.
‘Fine with me.’ I sign on the horizontal line. Croon instantly looks more relaxed. I’m half-expecting her to put her feet up on the desk and light a cigar when the door bursts open.
Harriet stands in the doorway, waving a piece of A4 paper covered in type. ‘Whatever Will Everhart has admitted to, she’s lying,’ she tells Croon breathlessly.
Croon’s brow darkens. ‘Not this again, Harriet.’
‘This has nothing to do with you, Price. Get out of here,’ I hiss. She should be halfway to Blessingwood with Edie’s notes by now.
Ignoring me, Harriet thrusts the paper at Croon. ‘I have written down the details of every Amelia Westlake episode and my personal involvement in it. If you want to expel Will, you’re going to have to expel me, too.’
Croon forms her lips into a line.
‘You really shouldn’t have done this,’ I mutter.
Harriet continues to ignore me.
Croon eyes Harriet with something akin to pity. ‘Miss Price. Wilhelmina’s misdemeanours are part of a very long record, stretching back two and a half years now. You, on the other hand, have an exemplary record –’
‘Just read it,’ Harriet interrupts.
Croon appears deeply shocked. Obediently, she begins to read Harriet’s paper.
‘See?’ says Harriet.
Croon looks up. ‘It says here that Will broke into the newsroom by herself.’
‘We planned it together,’ Harriet says.
‘But you weren’t at the school on the night of the break-in.’ ‘She most definitely wasn’t,’ I confirm.
‘No, but –’ says Harriet.
‘Then I don’t need to expel you,’ Croon says.
Harriet stares at her.
‘I am expelling Will on the basis of her previous behaviour and her recent offence against the criminal law of this state. Neither of these things apply to you.’
‘What about aiding and abetting?’ Harriet cries.
Croon hesitates. ‘Difficult to prove in court. Whereas with Will and the break-in, there is DNA evidence.’
This is incredible. The court talk is surreal, sure, but here is Harriet actually demanding to be kicked out of Rosemead and suggesting an offence she should be charged with. Into what parallel universe have I fallen?
‘Are you saying you’re going to have her charged?’ Harriet asks.
‘That is ultimately a matter for the police,’ Croon says. ‘I think, however, that in this circumstance expulsion is adequate punishment, and I will be passing on that opinion to the local area command.’
‘And what about Coach Hadley? What about what he’s done?’ Harriet continues.
Croon straightens. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’
‘You know exactly what I’m
