In the library, I hide behind the heavy bookshelves of the biography section during lunch hour. My mind wonders while I pretend to be working on my research project for World History. I begin to doodle a caricature of the grumpy librarian that sits at the front desk, flipping through books and stamping them with labels then tossing them carelessly on a rusting metal cart. I finish the cartoon and slam my notebook shut, before pushing my uncomfortable chair away from the desk. Glancing at the wall clock, I notice I only have ten minutes before sixth block. Maybe I should eat the apple that’s rotting away in my paper lunch bag. I contemplate this and then decide to hide the apple under Principal Brown’s car after school.

When the phone rings at the front desk, the grumpy librarian answers in a irritated voice: “Hello?”

She rolls her eyes at something the person on the other end says.

“Well, I’ll make sure you get your copies of Gone with the Wind for ninth grade honors,” the librarian says with a forced smile. “Mhm. Yeah. Goodbye.”

She slams the phone down and mutters something under her breath before leaving the desk. When she disappears behind a door of the section further back in the library, I check to see if anyone else is in the library. A few freshmen with their heads down on the opposite side of the room and some sophomores with nothing better to do than text and whisper perverted jokes under their breaths, and I reach inside of my book bag for a bottle of spray paint. Quickly, I spray paint the word “Haters” on the blank wall in front of the folding chairs. Before the librarian comes back, I slip the bottle back in my bag and leave the library just as the bell buzzes.

My heart is pounding as I make my way to World History on the third floor. Chase runs up to me and slaps my shoulder.

“Whoa man. Where you heading?” he says. “You look like you just broke the law.”

“I did,” I reply, still moving rapidly down the bustling hall.

“What’d you do?” he asks.

“I used the spray paint bottle we shoplifted from the supplies store yesterday. That librarian is gonna have a fit when she sees what I did to her wall,” I say.

“Sick, yo,” Chase says, giving me a high five and nodding approval.

I stop at my locker and grab my notebook and walk into World History as the late bell rings. Pretty normal for me. The Greeks are always late anyway.

“Glad you could join us, Mr. Giannopoulos,” Ms. Honeywell says as I take a seat towards the back of the classroom.

“Pleasure is all mine,” I say sarcastically. The class snickers as Ms. Honeywell rolls her eyes and turns to write something useless about some war involving some king and some uncivilized nation on the whiteboard.

During class, I don’t pay attention and when we have to hand in our papers as the bell rings for last block, I try to slip out of the room unnoticed.

“Mr. Giannopoulos?” Ms. Honeywell calls out, and I turn around, giving her an innocent, questioning face. “Could you stay for just a moment after class?”

“Sure, Ms. H,” I say and know that I’m busted.

When the rest of the class files out of the room, Ms. Honeywell stands up and asks:

“Where is your final assignment?”

“I don’t know,” I mumble, looking at the ground. I notice Ms. Honeywell’s cheap high heels, decorated with large fake flowers at the toes.

“The final assignment is worth twenty-five percent of your grade for this marking period,” she says, matter-a-fact.

“And . . .?” I say, looking up at her with a bored expression.

“And if you haven’t completed the assignment, I will have to fail you.”

I contemplate this. It’s not like my parents are going to see my report card. They’re too busy working to care about how I’m doing in school.

“Dean,” Ms. Honeywell begins, “I know you are a very smart young man and if you’re willing to make up the assignment, I’ll give you the extra time. But I will have to give you one full grade lower for lateness.”

“Whatever, Ms. H,” I say and make my way out the door.

“Oh, and Dean?”

“Yeah?” I say as I turn around to face her.

“Good luck,” she says with a smirk.
~

Somewhere, in the middle of bio, the loudspeaker sounds.

“Please pardon the interruption, but would Dean Giannopoulos report to the main office. Dean Giannopoulos report the main office immediately. Thank you.”

Gladly, I jump out of my seat, snatch the post-it note from Mr. Gonzalez and head downstairs to the main office.

“Welcome, Mr. Giannopoulos,” Principal Brown says as I sit down in front of her desk.

“What’s up?” I say nonchalantly.

Principal Brown sighs before folding her hands neatly on her desk.

“I was told that when Mrs. Cunningham, the librarian, returned to her desk, she noticed the word “Haters” written in capital letters in a bold red spray paint on the wall by the biography section. She told me that you were the only one in that section of the library at the time and when she noticed the vandalized property, you had disappeared.”

I don’t say anything. I play with bobble head version of Tom Cruise on her desk. She places her hand on top of the bobble head and asks me to pay attention.

“Okay, so I did it,” I finally reply. “What’s the consequence? OSS?”

Principal Brown laughs, half-heartedly and shakes her head.

“You’re not getting out of it that easy,” she explains. “You will be in detention for two weeks and you will help paint the wall in the library. Additionally, you’ll participate in a wonderful program at our school’s library called “Book Buddies.” You will read to kindergartners and first graders for an hour every Friday for a month. Is that clear?”

“Crystal,” I say. “Can I leave now?”

“Sure,” Principal Brown replies. “But remember you have early morning detention starting tomorrow. Have a nice day.”

“Whatever.”



When we’re let out of homeroom, Chase comes up to me.

“Dude, I heard you got busted,” he says.

“Yep. Big time. Have detention for two weeks. I gotta paint over the wall in the library and Principal B is making me read to little kids for the stupid “Book Buddies” program.”

Chase snorts under his breath. “Have fun.”

“Thanks a lot,” I growl. I unlock my bike from the rack and start walking it to the front of the school building. I hop on my bike wheel up the sidewalk, with Chase beside me.

“I gotta go, man. I have to pick up my sister,” I say as I check my watch.

“Catch you later,” Chase says, and I ride away onto Main Street.

Soon, I’m in front of the elementary school. Katina walks up to me before notifying her teacher that I’m here.

“Hi, Dean,” she says happily. “How was school?”

“Great,” I lie. “How was your day?”

“Awesome! Ms. Cole said I got the best grade out of everyone in the class on our test last week,” she exclaims, hopping on the handlebars of my bike.

I look over at Katina’s teacher as she gives me a worried glance before waving goodbye to Katina.

“That’s wonderful,” I say, forcing a smile.

We go to Rite Aid on our way home. As Katina looks at coloring books, I slip a few Rolling Stone magazines into my bag. When we leave the store, I almost feel guilty. But it passes.