Caught

Chapter 2 - Selling My Soul for a Piece of Paper

The clock reads eleven forty-four. For a solid five minutes I thought it was eight fifty-eight, until I realized that I was just mixing up the two hands. And people wonder why us kids prefer digital.

I hardly slept a wink last night. I'm not sure why. Could it have been PTSD from the luxury car hit-and-run fiasco? Or was it catching my English teacher snorting coke? Definitely the second one. It's hard to forget such a sight when that same English teacher has been lecturing you on Shakespearian poetry for the past hour and a half.

Mr. Caplan looks surprisingly dapper considering recent events. It's incredible what personal hygiene can do. His eyes are wide and his hair is combed and he's wearing the nicest button up dress shirt. Even more strange is the fact that he's glanced at me seven times during this class. Not just glancing. Staring. The kind of staring you do when you don't care whether the person notices. It's making my skin crawl. Most days I'm lucky to win his attention for a few seconds at most. He definitely knows I'm up to something.

Maybe leaving an anonymous note in his office wasn't the best way to threaten him. Or maybe the problem is that the note I left him looks a little too much like a ransom message. It took me half an hour to cut out letters from various magazines that I stole from the library. With each one individually glued to a white sheet of paper, it looks like something out of Criminal Minds:

I KNOW WHAT YOU DID LAST NIGHT.

UNLESS YOU WANT EVERYONE TO FIND OUT, DO AS I ASK.

YOU WILL SEND A WRITTEN AND SIGNED RECOMMENDATION LETTER TO THE PROVIDED EMAIL. IT WILL BE ADDRESSED TO THE OTTAWA U ADMISSIONS BOARD. NO SPECIFIC NAME WILL BE MENTIONED. I WILL REMAIN ANONYMOUS. IF THE LETTER IS NOT SATISFACTORY, YOUR SECRET WILL BE PLASTERED EVERYWHERE.

The cherry on top was printing out a photo of Mr. Caplan mid coke-snort and gluing it to the bottom of the page.

At the time I though the note was genius. Thinking about it now, with only minutes before the lunch bell rings, I'm convinced I've completely screwed myself.

What if the principal finds out? What if I get expelled? Or worse, what if I get after school detention? I can't afford to miss the appointment I have at my dad's old accounting firm today. It's my best shot of digging deeper into his life and I refuse to mess that up. The thought alone makes me so nervous I take another capsule of Provigil. If I'm going to be anxious all afternoon I may as well be wide awake. Thank God for my mom's plethora of pharmaceutical prescriptions.

Swallowing the capsule, I nearly choke when the sound of the school bell pierces through the room. Students all around me pick up their bags and rush out of class. Even the kiss-ass know-it-alls seems to leave rather quickly.

I wonder if they can all sense the hostile energy in the room. Standing up from my own desk located at the back, my head starts to spin. I've had a splitting migraine all morning. If I had known what today would be like I would have skipped school entirely. At least that would have stopped me from making the mistake of blackmailing a man whose net worth is over a million dollars.

As I speed walk out of the room and towards a delightful lunch of ham and cheese on white, my worst fear comes true.

"Ali, a word please."

Mr. Caplan's voice is smooth and low. I stop in my tracks, nearly shitting myself, and turn around to face him.

Those eyes. Those damned blue eyes. Why must they be so intimidating? It's like looking at a modern-day Medusa.

"Is this about yesterday's homework?" I stammer, hoping to play innocent. "Cause I swear I'll hand it in eventually. I'm just a bit behind."

The corners of his mouth turn up into a smile. A horrendous smile. The kind of smile a fast food employee gives you after they spit in your drink. "No, it's not about your assignment. It's about a letter I found on my desk today. I checked just before class, actually. The strangest letter. You would hardly believe it."