Caught

Chapter 2 - Selling My Soul for a Piece of Paper

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

"I uh.... I'm not sure I follow."

I can tell immediately that he sees right through me.

Mr. Caplan rummages through his pocket and pulls out the ransom note, placing it gently in my shaking hand.

"I think this belongs to you." He says.

His expression makes it clear that lying to him again is not an option. To be honest, I'm not sure if I could lie to his face either way. My brain is so wired on Provigil that anything I say will be unbelievable.

After a full minute of silence, I finally speak. "How did you know it's from me?"

He sighs. "You're not a bad writer Ali. You're lazy and inattentive and almost failing my class, sure, but you're not a bad writer. All that being said, you do have what must be the worst spelling I've ever seen." At this, he taps on the note with his finger, bringing my attention to the mess of letters in front of me.

He's right. Every third word must be misspelt. In my rush to finish it (and my completely altered state of mind) I forgot to spell check. When you're as bad at spelling as I am, you always spell check.

"Ali, listen. I respect the gumption. Really, I do. But you have to understand my situation. I get students asking for my stamp of approval every second day. I'm not just a professor, I'm a celebrity. I mean, good God, my novel came out almost six months ago and it's still on the New York best seller's list. If I wrote a recommendation letter for a straight C student like you my opinion would mean nothing."

He finishes by looking down at me sadly, as though pity will make his words hurt less.

I forget how narcissistic he is. It doesn't seem to matter that he's only ever published the one book. Mr. Caplan will mention his success to anyone with two ears and a presence. I used to wonder why a famous author like him would agree to teach shitty public-school English. I've since guessed that he likes being the smartest guy in the building. The whole thing would be pathetic if it didn't relax my moral conscience.

"So, what?" I say. "You're not gonna write me the letter? Dude, you literally got caught doing crack. Photographic evidence and all. You do not want to piss me off right now."

He laughs, which only makes me angrier.

"Feisty, aren't we? Ali, half the writers on the planet are taking some kind of drug. And to be honest, Principal Duncan idolizes me so much I don't think a murder scandal could get me fired. Face it, you have next to nothing. Not only that, but trying to blackmail your only shot at actually getting accepted into university is pretty unwise, don't you think? So if you'll excuse me, I'd like to go have my lunch now. See you tomorrow Ali."

With barely a second look my way, he starts walking out the door.

I'm furious. Heat rises to my face, making my pale complexion turn a bright crimson colour under the florescent lights. Something in me breaks, like I'm one second away from screaming at the top of my lungs.

"Maybe I wasn't clear. I want a recommendation letter, and you're going to write me one. I'm not asking, I'm telling."

Mr. Caplan makes a hard stop. I'm not surprised; it's the first time I've ever spoken to him so firmly. It's probably only the third time I've spoken to him at all. But I'm desperate. God am I desperate. Ottawa U will never take me with the shit grades I have. And now that Carleton has rejected me, the only other schools I've applied to are dumpy community colleges. Not to be an elitist prick but any English program offered by a community college may as well be a one-way road to homelessness.