Trouble is a Friend of Mine

Musgrave’s left eye twitched but, thank God, Please-Call- Me-Steve called him to the other end of the room.

‘What are you doing?’ I smacked Digby’s arm.

‘You wanted him to announce your private business to the whole room?’ Digby said.

‘Stop helping and get away from me, please – I don’t want him to think we’re friends.’

‘Don’t knock it. Spend some time in River Heights and you’ll know it ain’t easy making friends around here.’

‘I’m serious. I can’t get in trouble. I need a clean transcript or I’ll never get out of here.’

‘Which makes your decision to skip school super-interesting,’ Digby said. ‘Are you transferring out of this fine establishment?’

‘Hope to.’

‘To where?’

‘A school in New York. The Prentiss Academy.’

‘Sounds uptight.’

‘It’s a feeder school for Princeton.’

‘Princeton? You want to go there?’ He was laughing at me.

‘Not that I have to explain myself to you, but I have the grades.’

‘Your answer to having school phobia is applying to a really hard school so you can get into a really, really hard college?’

‘I’m not phobic anymore.’

‘Were you ever really?’ Digby took a bite of cookie. ‘Hey, these cookies are good.’

‘Yeah, the guidance counselor made them.’

‘Wait. He said he physically made them?’

‘Yeah …’

Digby rifled through the tray of cookies. Across the room, Steve and Musgrave argued loudly.

‘You’re touching all the cookies. That’s disgusting,’ I said.

‘Want to get out of morning classes this semester?’ Digby said.

‘How?’

‘Think fast – Steve’s losing against Musgrave – are you in? Now or never, Princeton.’

I meant to say no, but as I later found out, something about Digby makes me do the exact opposite of what I know is the right thing. Over and over again.

‘I guess … I’m in?’

Digby ran over and inserted himself into their argument.

‘Steve, I’ve got to talk to you about our independent project,’ Digby said.

‘What independent project?’ Musgrave said.

‘Our approval form’s right here,’ Digby said.

‘It’s new,’ Steve said. ‘Students work on projects off campus to pursue interests the curriculum doesn’t address.’

‘They don’t come to school?’ Musgrave said.

‘They meet with a faculty advisor, but they work on it outside the classroom. They come to school for the rest of their credits,’ Steve said.

‘That’s ridiculous! That’s kids schooling themselves. Blue state liberal garbage … what’s this project anyway?’

Digby used his extra-bored expression. ‘We’re calling it “Convicted in Absence”. We’re looking at whether skipping class leads to criminal behavior, or whether being punished like a criminal for skipping class actually causes the criminal behavior. Bet it’s the second one.’ It came out fast and shiny, like he’d spent time polishing up his spiel. ‘We’re talking about securitization … schools as an extension of the police state. “Convicted in Absence”. Good title, right?’

‘This crap is destroying this country,’ Musgrave said.

That sealed it. Anything to annoy Musgrave. Steve signed the form.

I caught up with Digby in the hall. ‘What just happened? How’d you do that?’ I said.

‘Manhattan psychiatrist, but downgraded to a falling-down house in a B-grade suburb? Your parents are divorced. C’mon, you never use divide and conquer? It’s a divorce-kid classic.’ Digby looked at me hard. ‘Although … no makeup, no piercings, loose jeans.’ He looked at my butt a little too hard for my taste. ‘I don’t see a whale tail … good girl who doesn’t play that game? Yeah … that’s you. The girl in the music video before the makeover.’

‘Half the school’s got divorced parents. You had a fifty-fifty chance,’ I said. ‘What was with the cookies?’

‘When Mommy, or Steve in this case, lies about store-bought cookies being homemade, it means the battle for the kids’ affection is not going well for her. I gave Steve a way to win the battle,’ he said.

‘How’d you know these weren’t homemade?’

‘Unless they’re OCD, people don’t use cookie cutters on chocolate chip cookies. Perfect circles.’ He held up cookies he’d swiped. All unnaturally round. ‘Plus, they’re warm, so the guy microwaved them, meaning he really cares.’

‘Great, Professor Pillsbury. But now we have to actually write this.’

‘Read the room. Steve will give us a good grade no matter what we turn in just to freak out Musgrave,’ he said. ‘What’s with you, anyway?’

‘What’s with me?’

‘The psychiatrist. Bipolar? Plain vanilla depression? Rainbow sprinkles of phobias and anxieties? What’s your deal?’

‘That’s personal.’