Page 13 of Playworld
Any happiness I felt was obliterated the moment I entered the classroom.
The discussion stopped as if I’d been its subject—Ihad,it turned out. The act of removing my binder was attended by a mysterious suspense, which Miss Sullens dispelled by approaching my desk. She held my paper in hand and returned this facedown. She taught class in the round, and everyone watched as I registered its grade and comment, written in red capitals and visible through the loose leaf:Fail—see me afterward.Cliffnotes, my best friend—he was seated across from me—nodded toward Simon Pilchard, to his right, incriminatingly, which cleared up nothing. For the period’s remainder I sat slumped and stunned, plunged, as I was, in silence, breaking only when the bell finally rang.
Miss Sullens directed me to her office, a series of three cubicles. She started in on me the moment she took a seat. “I’d be remiss,” Miss Sullens said, her cheeks aflame, “if I didn’t tell you I feel betrayed.”
I was thankful my back was to the door, because even though I didn’t know what I’d done, I admired Miss Sullens so much that tears filled my eyes.
“And the disappointment…” she said, and then paused. “The utterembarrassment was compounded by the fact that I began class by readingyourparagraph aloud. Because it was exemplary, so far as I was concerned. Amodel.And I was about to give it the highest possible grade when someone pointed out that you’d plagiarized.”
“I don’t understand,” I said. I had no clue what “plagiarized” meant.
Miss Sullens pinched my essay between her fingers and placed it on her desk between us. Then she opened her copy ofRomeo and Julietto the summary preceding Act II.
“This says”—and in the paperback she pointed to a double-underlined sentence—“ ‘Meanwhile, Romeo has succeeded in leaping over the Capulets’ garden wall and is hiding beneath Juliet’s balcony.’Youwrite, ‘Romeo, meanwhile, is hiding beneath Juliet’s balcony after leaping over the garden wall of the Capulets.’ ”
My eyes darted between both pieces of writing. “But I rearranged the words.”
Still holding the book, Miss Sullens shook her head and considered me for a moment. “Griffin,” she finally said, “you tried to pass off these thoughts as your own. People get expelled for this. There isno moreserious offense in academics. Do you understand?”
“I didn’t know,” I said. This was the absolute truth. I had always done this.
Miss Sullens sighed and then sat up straight. She was a tall, broad-shouldered woman. The ends of her hair were roughly cut, as if with safety scissors. I could not meet her eyes. Instead, I looked over her shoulder, at the framed picture on her desk I’d often wondered about, of her sailing on a small outrigger, in northeastern waters the color of iron, with a woman who appeared to be her sister. Was this why her lips were so freckled? Miss Sullens lowered her voice. “I believe you,” she said to me. “But that doesn’t excuse it.” The second bell rang. “You’ll fail this assignment and rewrite it.” She got up. “We’ll discuss this further, but right now I have another class.”
—
Cliffnotes was waiting for me outside. “Are you in trouble?” he asked.
We started walking down the empty hallway. I wasn’t sure how to answer, “trouble” being more of an environment in which I existed than a temporary state. Even now I was late to meet Coach Kepplemen.
Cliff cupped his hand to tame his cowlick; his inner lips, permanently scabbed by his orthodontia, shined wetly. “It was Simon Pilchard,” he said. “He ratted you out.”
We stopped.
“When Miss Sullens read your essay, he raised his hand and told her he didn’t know we could use the summary like that.”
“No shit.”
“You gonna fuck him up?”
“Something royal.”
“Ready for math?”
“No.”
“I’m free now if you want my help.”
“Later,” I said. “Coach Kepplemen wants to talk lineups.”
“Catch you on the rebound,” Cliff said.
We did our secret handshake, double slaps high low plus thumb snaps, and then I jetted.
—
In the locker room, Coach Kepplemen said, “Let’s check your weight.”
He had a carny’s eye for our mass, and he liked to amaze us by accurately picking a number before the Detecto scale rendered its exact judgment. He slid the larger poise’s tooth into the hundred-pound groove. Then he pushed the smaller one so that it hissed along the top beam till he tapped it, at thirty, to a stop. I stepped onto the platform. The balance rose, inexorably, bouncing once, twice, and then settling to a stop: 130 pounds. Kepplemen’s eyes, wide-set and watery, were gloomy with disappointment. Before he could ask, I stepped off, dropping my drawers in the same motion, and, back on the scale, exhaled so hard my shoulders hunched.