Chapter 18

Dana stayed up late, despite the next day’s game, and even then didn’t finish math. When her alarm went off, she was tempted to skip her morning run for an extra half hour of sleep. But, no, not on a game day. And moving would improve her mood.

It did, but then The Bribe wouldn’t start—just made a few grinding noises, then stopped.

“Oh, just perfect,” Clara said. “Not today.”

Dana tried the ignition again. Again. The fourth time, it didn’t even turn over.

“DAAA-na,” Clara said dangerously.

Dana banged her forehead on the steering wheel once, twice. Then she took a deep breath as Clara got out of the car. The problem with driving a junker was that sometimes it was a piece of junk. Dana knew that. But she didn’t need this now. And it was too late for them to catch the bus. She grabbed her bag and ran after Clara into the house.

As they burst into the kitchen, her father looked up from the breakfast table, mildly startled.

“What is it?” Thea asked.

“Car won’t start,” Clara said, making it an accusation. Dana ignored that and described what happened.

“Sounds like the alternator,” her father said. He rose, taking a last sip of coffee. “I’ll take you in.”

Dana hugged him. “Thanks.”

Graffiti had been spray-painted throughout the school. Most of it game-related, but Dana’s row of lockers shouted WHOORES in red, one letter per door—Dana’s was R. Because she was running late, she shook her head and grabbed her books. As it was, she made it to first period just before the bell. She listened to the teacher for long enough to learn she could tune her out, and opened The Red Badge of Courage—just in time for a summons to the principal’s office.

As she walked through the empty halls, Dana wondered what he wanted. Something about the game? The pep rally? But why would he bother? Whatever, apparently it wasn’t urgent, as she had to wait in the outer office—in a molded chair one size too small for her—as he organized the school clean-up and then dealt with two chronic truants. She spent almost a half hour with Red Badge open on her lap before he was ready to see her.

“Miss Partlow,” he said, ushering her into his office. Grijalva was a short wiry man, dark-skinned, but with no trace of an accent. “Well-rested for the game?”

“Yessir.” She sat down before his desk.

“Good, good.” The principal paused. “There’s been some vandalism overnight.”

“I saw,” Dana said. “The graffiti, I mean—not who did it.”

He looked at her hopefully. “Any idea who it was?”

“Nope,” Dana said cheerfully. Then an awful thought struck her. “And no, it wasn’t me.”

“I didn’t think so,” he said solemnly.

“Good,” Dana said. “‘Cause I’ve got witnesses.”

Grijalva waved that off. “I’m interested in the graffiti on your locker.”

“The scarlet letters?” Dana had thought of the name while waiting—she was pleased to get a chance to use it. “What about ‘em?”

“Have you considered the possibility it referred to you?”

Huh? “No.”

“Because the school code—” he began, but Dana went on, “That doesn’t make any sense. For one thing,” she held up a finger, “the whole school was tagged, not just my locker. For another, even if they were aiming me, they almost missed—you’d think the target would be W. And third, I’m singular.” After a moment, she said, “Okay, that came out wrong.”

Grijalva looked at her oddly. “Your uniqueness is not at issue here.”

“I mean, the word was plural, and I’m just one person.”

Grijalva continued, “As I was saying, certain standards of behavior must be observed. Otherwise, it sets a bad example.”

“Well, yes,” Dana said, now completely lost. “Tagging is bad. But like I said, I didn’t do it.”

“I was referring to you,” he said with labored patience. “Have you been involved in any, shall we say, incidents of a similar character?”

Dana wasn’t about to mention Jimmy or the locker note—that’d only confirm his harebrained idea. “This is the first time I’ve seen the school tagged,” she said with a straight face.

Grijalva looked at her a moment. She met his eyes directly. Then, shaking his head, he dismissed her.

Only as she left the main office did Dana realize—by “bad example,” he meant her. Blaming the victim. He was telling her to not rock the boat by being out. She stopped short. What the—? It’d been indirect enough, she couldn’t call him for discrimination—not without getting him to speak more explicitly, and he was no idiot. She wanted to march back into his office anyway.

And why was he telling her this, anyway? What about the cheerleaders?

The bell rang, ending the period. Dana grimaced. It was too late now to go back. She started towards English class with a burn in her belly.

Because she was still pissed—and she still hadn’t read much of The Red Badge of Courage—Dana stayed quiet in class. Which wasn’t easy—she had to force herself to sit still and not run out her frustration. From the discussion, she got the impression she wouldn’t like the book when she did read it. She didn’t like cowardice and lying, no more than most of the class. When Ms Emerson asked whether anyone had ever lied, told a really big one, to impress someone, or to get out of trouble, Dana didn’t raise her hand—but she kept thinking about how she hadn’t told her parents about the Rustler. That was just a lie of omission—but then, so was Henry Fleming’s. The comparison made her uncomfortable, and made her determined to read the book, to prove the parallel didn’t work.

Sam, Heather, and Zoe met Dana on the way to chemistry. She stomped down her irritation.

“Did you hear?” Zoe asked Dana, looking amused. “Jinn Conners and Rose Robins were caught making out in a classroom.”

“Uh, no.” Except it sounded familiar. It took Dana a moment to remember—Clara had mentioned it, without names. And then Jinn had come to Dana—when she’d asked about what team she played for, she was asking if she was gay. And Dana had brushed her off. Damn. “Are you guys going to ask them out?”

Sam made a derisive noise. “Puh-leeze.”

“They’re not exactly our type,” Zoe said, as if explaining things patiently to a toddler.

“But you guys are supporting them,” Dana said.

“We should,” Heather said. Sam frowned, while Zoe shook her head. Heather went on, as if continuing an earlier argument, “The more girls who come out, the better for us. Not that there’s anything wrong with you,” she added to Dana.

“But I’m just one girl.”

“Bingo—there’s quite a line-up waiting for you.”

Dana looked askance at Sam. A line she maybe wanted to keep long.

“But a girl like that?” Sam said, as if the answer were obvious.

“Of course,” Dana said. “And a girl’s a girl.”

“Well, Jinn’s kinda cute, in a skinny stick sort of way,” Zoe said, teasingly—though whether directed at Sam or Dana, Dana couldn’t tell.

“Any-way,” Sam said at the corner where she turned. “We’ll see ya.”

Dana continued on, but Zoe said, “Dana.”

Dana looked back. Zoe stood alone, looking contrite. Dana turned around.

“About last night,” Zoe said, “I’m sorry about, you know.”

Good. Dana was, she realized, still angry at her—angrier than she’d expected. She swallowed it down—it was a sincere apology. “That’s okay. I was startled, that’s all. I have nothing against,” she gestured with three fingers.

“You don’t,” Zoe said with a slow smile.

“It’s just,” Dana kept one finger raised, “I need to know beforehand. Don’t spring it on me—ask me.”

Dana’s intensity seemed to get through to Zoe—she nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind.” She looked ready to ask Dana right there. Fortunately, Dana had to get to chemistry. She entered the room as the bell rang. Mr. Rodriguez looked sour—like he’d been sampling his acids—but said nothing.

As they set up for today’s lab, Dana realized—it must have been Jinn and Rose that had bunched up Grijalva’s boxers. Bad example, indeed. If that was the school administration’s attitude, the girls were probably in for a bad time.