I actually feel a tiny bit sorry for him, but I don’t know what to say to make this moment less awkward.
He clears his throat, and the moment lingers. Now I feel like he’s actually waiting for me to speak, which makes it even more impossible for me to think of anything to say. It’s like a silence showdown. I wonder which one of us will break first.
Finally, I remember what people are supposed to say in this situation: “Thanks for your concern.”
Mr. Tool nods, as if he’s received the appropriate response and can now move on. “Ms. Kellerman is concerned that this situation may have caused a setback to your case.”
I sigh. “Well, she should talk to Dr. Marcuse, who isn’t concerned.”
“It’s perfectly natural that this would affect you, Margaret—”
“It has affected me.” I have to fight tears, which are trying to strangle me.
“Given the fragile state of your mental health—”
“I’m sad, not crazy.”
Mr. Tool cocks his head, then begins again, as if I haven’t spoken. “Given the fragile state of your mental health—”
This is about all I can take from Mr. Tool. I really can’t bear listening to the rest of this lecture, so I start playing a Lady Antebellum song in my head—that one where they drunk dial each other, all wasted and desperate.
I can’t remember the rest of the words, so I switch to counting the hairs on my head. I feel a little bad for ignoring Mr. Tool, but not very. (By the way, his name has been changed to punish the guilty. He’s just… such an implement.)
After a while, Mr. Tool pauses, as if it’s now my turn to speak.
“I’m sorry—what were you saying?” I lean forward in my chair a little, trying to look interested.
Mr. Tool sighs. “I guess we’re through here, Margaret. I think we were through when we started.”
“I’m really fine,” I say as I haul myself out of the leather visitor’s chair. I will say one thing for Mr. Tool—he has nice chairs. “Thanks for checking in. It was a really nice talk.”
“Be careful out there.”
“I know, it’s a jungle.”
“Yes.…” He sighs and murmurs, “Sometimes it is.”
Something about his tone makes me stop. Our gazes touch for a moment, and then his eyes shift back to the papers on his desk. But I realize suddenly that Mr. Tool really is afraid for me. He actually cares, in his own totally-not-effective way. He doesn’t want to see me get eaten up.
For some reason, I find this almost tragic.
Chapter 34
HEY, CUCKOO CLARKE!
I’m not even halfway to my next class (bio with Winnie Quinn) when someone shoves me up against the metal lockers with a deafening clang.
I hear someone shout, “Hey!” from what seems like far away, but right here, right in my face, is Marty Bloom. His breath is so close I can smell the remains of his lunch. Sour-cream-and-onion potato chips and tuna-fish sandwich, for the record.
“You’d better not tell anyone about New Year’s,” he snarls, and it takes a moment for that to click into place for me.
“Bloom, I’ve got some serious problems right now,” I tell him, “and you don’t even make the list.” He loosens his grip a bit—just enough so that the combination lock jamming into my back no longer feels like it’s about to come out through my stomach.
Confusion flashes over Bloom’s face, but before he can really process what I’ve said, Brainzilla slams into his shoulder.
“Leave Kooks alone, you dirtbag!” Brainzilla screams, clawing at his eyes.
“Get her off me!” Bloom shouts. “Get her off me!” He flaps at her like a five-year-old trying to shoo away a bee.
It strikes me that this moment isn’t really very good for his image.
“Katie!” I try to pull her off Bloom, but don’t get anywhere until Tebow and Flatso show up. The minute they pull Brainzilla off Bloom, he scrambles to his feet and lopes down the hall.
Tebow gapes at Brainzilla. “What was that all about?”
“Aren’t we supposed to be nonviolent?” Flatso asks. “I thought that was your thing, Zilla.”
Brainzilla’s eyes flicker toward me, then narrow and follow Bloom as he disappears down the hallway. Tebow is still watching her, waiting for an answer.
“Ask Kooks,” she says at last.
Everyone looks at me, but I just shrug. Thankfully, nobody asks me to explain.
“Are you okay?” Tebow asks me.
“Yes,” I say. It’s true. I think.
I’m not really someone who advocates violence. Then again, it’s nice to know that your friends have your back. So I’m not saying that what Brainzilla did was wrong… and I’m also not saying that I’m sorry she did it.
Chapter 35
MORE “PROGRESS”
Flatso and I are working on an osmosis lab when the school secretary knocks on the doorframe. Winnie waves her in, and she hands him a note. He frowns as he reads it.
“Now?” Winnie asks Ms. Alter.
“That’s what it says,” the secretary snaps. She’s always like that. I think she needs to stop drinking those giant Dunkin’ Donuts coffees, because she is way irritable.
Winnie looks at me. “Kooks?”
The class stares at me as I gather my stuff and follow Ms. Alter out the door. She doesn’t say where we’re headed, but I can take a wild guess.
Ms. Kellerman looks up from her desk when I walk in. “Margaret—please sit down.”
I plop into the chair across from hers. From the highly concerned look on her face, I guess my “progress” meeting with Mr. Tool didn’t go all that well. From his point of view. That worries me a little. I don’t want to get sent back to Crazytown. Can they do that?
“I am concerned, Margaret.”
“Actually, it’s Cuckoo.” I shift my weight in the wooden chair. Ms. Kellerman’s chairs aren’t half as nice as Mr. Tool’s. Maybe it’s easier to get students to confess to things when they’re uncomfortable.
The school psychologist smiles faintly. “I don’t wish to make light of a serious situation.”
“Really? Sometimes I think that’s the best thing to do.”
Ms. Kellerman looks at me like I’m a sentence she can’t quite make sense of. Or maybe one of those word jumbles.
“In light of the recent developments in your case, I think it’s time for you to show me your diary.”
“No.”
“I’m not asking. I demand to see it, Margaret.” The corner of her mouth twists into a triumphant smile. “It’s for your own safety.”
“Nope.”
Her smile falters. I think she really wasn’t prepared for me to just flat-out refuse. But I can’t figure out why she wants to see it so badly. She must think it’s chock-full of crazy ramblings. I can’t help thinking about how disappointed she would be by all my failed attempts to come up with a new ending for Twilight.
Maybe I should just show it to her. But don’t I deserve a little privacy?
Just a shred?
Chapter 36
THE MIGHTY QUINN
You’re back?” Winnie Quinn smiles when I walk up to his desk, but his eyes quickly cloud over.
“I just wanted to hand in the homework,” I say, holding out my paper. The bell to end class has already rung, and there’s chaos in the hallway. But Winnie must have this period free, because his classroom is empty.