The Compass and the Quill [Under Revision]

11. Okay to be Scared

Parker
It didn't take a rocket scientist to deduce why Mr. Morris was suspecting us. In my case he did have a point: I might as well have written the textbook on cheating and it was a miracle I hadn't been expelled. As for Quilla, she was unlucky enough to be caught with me - either that or he just didn't think her capable of any ethical conduct.

My rising anger made my tongue loose. "She's the smartest kid in class," I spat. "Why would you suspect her?"

Mr. Morris wasn't fazed. "Answer my question," he said calmly.

"Sure, once you explain - "

"Yes, it's our own work, Mr. Morris."

I choked on my own spit. That was the loudest I had ever heard Quilla speak, loud enough to cut off a loudmouth like me. Even more unexpected was the resignation in her voice, like she dealt with such things everyday: I had thought she would panic and cry, but here she was, cool as a cucumber, calmer than a repeat offender like me.

"Would you like us to submit our laptops to search our browser history?" Quilla asked.

Mr. Morris's jaw clenched in irritation. "I am not suspecting you plagiarizing sources," he clarified. "I suspect this project was made by someone else."

"I can give you the sheets on which we designed our model. He still has green paint  in his hair, it matches the color of the model."

"What!" I ran my hands through my hair, and sure enough, there was something crusty in the strands. No wonder everyone around me had been sniggering like they were sharing a dirty joke.

And why was this conversation starting to sound like the interrogation of a criminal? Morris seemed determined to prove Quilla and me guilty. Moreover, he seemed to hate every fiber of Quilla's being: his eyes showed open revulsion and he got angrier with ever word she spoke. His dislike of her wasn't unusual, but what was startling was the open malice in his expression, as if he bore a personal grudge against her.

"I don't have time for excuses. I will see the both of you with your parents in the Principal's office at the end of the day."

"But - " I began.

"This conversation is over, Mr. Kingsley. You can leave."

Quilla turned around and left without another word. I opened my mouth to argue, but decided against it and followed her out. "What the hell!" I snapped once we were outside the classroom. "Why are you just going along with him?"

"I didn't do anything like that." Quilla pulled out her phone and began typing a text, probably to her parents. "I just don't have the energy to yell and shout like you do."

"I don't yell and shout," I retorted. "Don't make me sound pointlessly scrappy. I don't know if you've realized it, but if we don't convince Morris and Johnson, we're going to get expelled."

"You won't. Morris has a problem with me, not you."

"Bullshit. You have the highest grade in class."

Quilla put her phone away and brushed her hair back, a growing habit since she had met me. "That is exactly what he hates," she said quietly. "Walk with me."

I wondered when she had started using imperative verbs with me and how I had ever let her get away with it. Even now, I wordlessly followed her, even though my class was on the opposite direction. "I should have you walk me to class more often," I blurted, too uncomfortable with the silence combined with the stares we were receiving. "Even I can't clear a path for myself the way you can."

"Walk with me long enough and they really will start clearing a path," Quilla shot back darkly. "This is a one-time thing for your own good."

"Alright, alright." I slowed down once I noticed her struggling to keep pace with me. "So, what is Morris's problem?"