A Face Without a Reflection Read online

  I hadn’t done the math, but her warning was more than enough to convince me that being late in returning the book was not something I wanted to do. “Yes, ma’am. It’s a lot,” I said. “I’ll make sure I have the book back on time.” I scurried off to the safety of aisle ten.

  The books in aisle ten were categorized by author, so it took a while to find the only book in the entire library on dog training. “Yes!” I hissed when I spotted it and quickly glanced through the chapter titled “Basic Commands.” “That’ll do,” I said and hurried back to the front desk to check out.

  Miss Finch was still absorbed in her manual and did not acknowledge my presence.

  “Excuse me,” I said. I was beginning to worry about making it to class before the bell rang.

  Miss Finch lifted her eyes above her rims. “May I help…oh, it’s you. Did you find what you were looking for?”

  “Yes, ma’am. It’s a book on dog training.”

  Miss Finch took the book. “So it is.” She punched some numbers into her computer and pointed out the return date indicated on my receipt. “There is a financial penalty if you are late,” she reminded me.

  “Yes, ma’am. Thirty-six cents a day. I won’t be late.” I ran out the door just as the bell rang for class to begin.

  I tried to sneak into my classroom quietly, and I would have been successful if I hadn’t tripped over Billy Gaberchevski’s backpack on the way to my seat and slam my knee against the side of his chair. Even that wouldn’t have been so bad if Billy hadn’t yelled, “Hey! Watch where you’re going, moron!” and everyone in the class, including the teacher, turned to see me limp back toward my desk.

  “You’re late, Miss Johnson.” Mr. Wicket put the chalk on the blackboard ledge and glared at me.

  “Yes, sir. I’m sorry. I was in the library.”

  “You were in the library? You were supposed to be at lunch!”

  “Well, I was at lunch, sir, but I wanted to get a book, so I left lunch early and went to the library.”

  “And who gave you permission to leave the lunchroom early? Did someone give you a hall pass?” His response, as well as his tone, was completely unexpected, and I sensed I had done something terribly wrong.

  “No, Mr. Wicket,” I answered nervously. “I didn’t have a hall pass.”

  His eyes bulged, and his lips pursed as he sat down at his desk and began scribbling something on a piece of paper.

  “Well, then, Miss Johnson, I will be happy to give you one now. This one,” he said, writing furiously, “will take you to the principal’s office, where you will explain to him your reason for being late as well as why you were wandering in the halls without permission.”

  “The principal’s office? Oh Mr. Wicket! No! Please, sir! I wasn’t really wandering. I went directly from the lunchroom to the library and then here. And I was only late by a minute. It won’t happen again, Mr. Wicket. I promise!”

  But the note had already been written, and his decision was irrevocable. He held on to the piece of paper and thrust his hand toward me with his arm extended like a sword.

  “It’s a little late for apologies, Miss Johnson,” he said, without moving a muscle. “Come up here now and take this to Mr. Rubello. He will be the one to decide how to deal with this matter.”

  I couldn’t believe what was happening. I got up from my seat and walked toward the front of the class as everyone began talking in hushed tones and giggles.

  “And take your backpack with you,” he said as I turned and walked toward the door. “You might not be coming back to the classroom today.”

  I looked back at him with a sorrowful gaze. Not coming back? My head was spinning as I walked forlornly through the empty hall toward the principal’s office. I thought I might throw up. I’d never done anything wrong before, and I couldn’t imagine why Mr. Wicket was being so mean. I was a very good student, after all, with a perfect attendance record. Shouldn’t that count for something?

  Mrs. Olson, the school secretary, greeted me as I walked through the door of the administration office. “Why, hello, Lily!” she said cheerfully as an overpowering scent of lilac perfume wafted through the air. “And to what do we owe this pleasure?”

  “It’s not a pleasure, Mrs. Olson,” I said, handing her the hall pass with the note from my teacher.

  “Oh my!” She read the note without looking up. “This is serious stuff.” She chuckled until she realized I was about to cry. “Oh dear! No, no, no! Don’t cry, Lily. I’m so sorry. I was only teasing you,” she said apologetically. “You have absolutely nothing to worry about, Lily, and I’m sure Mr. Rubello will agree with me. Why, I don’t know of anyone with a more spotless record than you. You are a model student,” she said, handing me a box of tissues. “This is undoubtedly a great big misunderstanding. I’m sure of it.”

  I smiled as I wiped away my tears and blew my nose. I was so grateful for her kindness and was beginning to feel a little better.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Olson. I hope you’re right.”

  “Yes, yes, of course I am, dear. I’m going to go speak to Mr. Rubello right now and explain things to him.” She gave me a reassuring smile as she trotted off toward the principal’s office with the cursed note in her hand.

  It felt like an hour had passed before she reappeared with a sheepish look on her face, as though she were the one in trouble. I looked up hopefully.

  “Mr. Rubello will see you now, Lily.” As I walked past her desk, she whispered halfheartedly, “Don’t be afraid, dear.”

  But I was afraid. Mr. Rubello was like a drill sergeant. He was a short man with a military build, who looked as though he was perpetually standing at attention in his over-starched white shirts and navy-blue ties. He never spoke to anyone without giving them orders, and even when he welcomed the students at our assemblies, his words came with an unspoken warning to “Sit up straight, and do not fidget.” I made a mental note about my posture before entering the room.

  Mr. Rubello’s slicked-back black hair peeked over the back of his big leather chair, where he sat facing the window. He didn’t bother to swivel toward me when I walked through the door of his office. Did he even know that I was there?

  “You may take a seat, Miss Johnson,” he said, speaking to the window.

  My heart pounded in my chest as my face flushed. When he finally spun his chair in my direction, it almost seemed like he was expecting someone else. He glanced at a manila folder that he held on his lap and then slapped it down on the desk.

  “I am very surprised to see you in my office in this capacity, Miss Johnson.” He opened the folder one more time. “Miss Lily Johnson,” he confirmed. “Yes. Well, I understand from Mrs. Olson that you are one of our better students.” He looked through the folder again. “Humph!” He smirked. “And…one of the more privileged, as well.”

  I had no idea what he meant by that remark, but his words seemed to make him angry. He took a short breath through his nose and quickly blew it from his lips.

  “But I suppose that is neither here nor there,” he concluded. “The question that is currently on the table is…what you were doing during the lunch hour that made you late to class? Can you answer that question, Miss Johnson?” His tone was not at all reassuring, and he quickly became impatient when I didn’t offer an immediate response. “Come, come, Miss Johnson. I don’t have all day.”

  I felt helpless and nearly too terrified to speak.

  “What was going through my mind?” I whispered into my lap.

  “Speak up, Miss Johnson!” the principal barked. “And lift up your head. How do you expect to defend yourself if I’m unable to hear you?”

  “Yes, sir,” I said, more loudly than I intended. Then I cleared my throat and began again. “Well, sir, I was just thinking that I wanted to get a book from the library.”

  “I see,” he said, jotting something down in my file. “And what did you do after you had this thought?”

  I had to work very hard to recall anythi
ng that happened even moments before this one, as my frightened mind had begun to shut down. I cleared my throat again and spoke in his direction.

  “I believe I cleaned off my area at the table, threw away my garbage, and then went to the library. I checked the clock before I left, though, and there was a full twenty minutes before the bell rang. I was sure I had plenty of time to get to class.”

  “So you decided there was something you wanted, and having no regard for the rules, you took it upon yourself to simply get what you wanted without asking for permission.” Principal Rubello sat back in his big leather chair with his hands folded across his chest and a very pious look on his face.

  “Rules are rules, Miss Johnson,” he said emphatically. “And they apply to everyone in this school. That includes you.”

  “But, sir,” I said honestly, “I always follow the rules!”

  The chair rolled back just far enough for him to take a superior stance as he glared down from his position of authority. “Is that so? Then why didn’t you ask one of the lunch ladies to give you a hall pass?”

  “I don’t know,” I stammered. “I guess I didn’t think I needed one.” My lower lip was quivering uncontrollably as the word “guilty” flashed before my eyes. A flush of red crept up from beneath the principal’s starched white collar and flooded his face.

  “You didn’t think you needed one.” He snapped his middle finger with his thumb. It was the loudest snap I’d ever heard, and it echoed through my head as he snapped and paced back and forth, back and forth. I began to tremble as my mind reeled through the events in the lunchroom.

  “No, sir. There was a book that I wanted very much to get from the library, and I thought I had enough time to do that before class started. But when I got to the library, Miss Finch was busy and didn’t help me right away. When I finally found the book, she was still too busy to check me out. And that’s why I was late.”

  Mr. Rubello stopped dead in his tracks and clasped his hands behind his back.

  “Being late is not the primary offense, Miss Johnson,” he said as his nostrils flared. “The primary offense is not having a hall pass. Not having a hall pass shows a blatant disregard for the rules of this institution, which simply will not be tolerated!”

  “Yes, sir,” I said, with my guilty head bowed.

  Mr. Rubello tucked his left arm behind his back and glared down at me from behind his desk. He stood perfectly still as he twirled a large-barreled fountain pen between the fingers of his right hand, and I thought for a moment that I might be crushed by the weight of judgment that filled the room.

  “Did Miss Finch ask you for a hall pass?” the principal asked as he held his pose.

  “No, sir. But she reminded me about the financial penalty for returning a book late. Twice.”

  “I see.” He wrote Miss Finch’s name in bold letters on a pad of paper.

  I was now afraid I had just gotten Miss Finch into trouble, which, as it turned out, I had.

  “And Mr. Wicket,” he said, tapping the tip of his pen on the desk. “Tell me about him. Why do you suppose he felt that it was necessary to send you to my office rather than give you a warning? I’m assuming, of course, that this was the first time you’ve been caught breaking a rule?”

  “Oh yes, sir! I mean…no, sir! I’ve never broken a rule.”

  “If that, in fact, is the case, then why would he take such drastic measures? It seems a bit unreasonable to me. Does it seem unreasonable to you, Miss Johnson?”

  Everything seemed unreasonable to me at that point.

  “I don’t know why Mr. Wicket decided to send me to your office,” I blurted. “He’s never acted irrationally before.”

  “Mmm…hmm,” he muttered. “I don’t believe I used the word ‘irrational,’ but it seems as good a word as any.” Then he wrote down Mr. Wicket’s name and included “irrational” in all caps next to it.

  “Frankly, Miss Johnson,” he said, shuffling the papers in my file, “I don’t know what to do with you. On the one hand, this is the first reported infraction against you in your history at this school. By every indication it appears that you are an acceptable student with a good attendance record. That, of course, will work in your favor.”

  He took a few steps and then hooked his thumbs through his belt in a power stance as he concluded, “But I can’t let you off the hook entirely, now, can I? What kind of example would that set? What would the parents of this fine community think if I, the principal of this school, were to overlook the rules and allow any student who cared to roam the halls to do so without a pass? For that matter what would our superintendent think?” He paused as he garnered the answers to his questions.

  “I’ll tell you what he would think, Miss Johnson. He would think I was incapable of doing my job and that I don’t have the backbone required to keep a tight reign over the vandals and hooligans who run amuck in this school and in this very town. He would think that the recent behavior of a bunch of scoundrels who have nothing better to do with their time than to spew garbage through our pristine streets was the result of a lack of discipline within these walls and that I am slacking off when it is clearly the time to kick butt and take names. But let me tell you, Miss Johnson, nothing could be further from the truth. You’ll see pigs fly before you see those trash bags take me down. You can bet your perfect attendance on that!”

  The principal slammed the folder onto the desk and turned, once again, to the safety of the world outside his window as he composed himself and his thoughts.

  “In light of today’s events,” he began, his back facing me, “I believe it is appropriate that you spend the rest of the day here in my office and write one hundred times in this notebook, ‘I will obey the rules.’” He pivoted on the heel of one foot and then marched toward his desk and handed me a pencil and notebook. “One hundred times, Miss Johnson,” he ordered as he checked his watch. “You may begin…now.” He left the room and slammed the door behind him.

  I sat stunned for a moment, unable to move. “What just happened?” I asked myself. “Has everyone gone mad?” I looked down at the notebook as my eyes filled with tears and ran down my disgruntled face.

  “If Finch had asked me for a hall pass, I wouldn’t be in this position right now,” I said to the paper. I pounded my fist on the arm of the chair and declared, “Stupid Finch,” just under my breath.

  I will obey the rules. I will obey the rules.

  “And what is up with Wicket and Rubello?”

  I will obey the rules. I will obey the rules.

  “The two of them have absolutely lost it!”

  I will obey the rules. I will obey the rules.

  “Maybe they’re aliens,” I snarled, “and the real Wicket and Rubello are being held captive in an invisible spaceship that’s hovering above the town.” I shook my head, deciding not to let them off the hook that easily. I looked at the clock. School would be over soon, and this horrible day would go with it. I continued writing and finished the hundredth time when the bell rang for dismissal. I dropped the notebook and pencil on Mr. Rubello’s desk. Grateful that I didn’t have to go back to my class, I grabbed my backpack and walked quickly out of the principal’s office past Mrs. Olson and a cluster of people who were waiting to speak to her.

  “Have a good night, Lily,” she called out, turning her attention from the group to me. Then she cried out, “Oh dear,” as I ran past her without saying a word.

  I figured out later that that was another big mistake, since everyone waiting to speak to her would have wanted to know what was wrong with Lily Johnson, and Mrs. Olson, being a woman of great compassion but not much wisdom, would surely have shared the troubling story with them. And, most likely, those who’d just witnessed my rude behavior would be quick to judge and even quicker to tell others about their firsthand experience with “the other side of the Johnson girl.”

  “I would never have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes,” they would say, and the news of m
y shocking behavior would spread through the town like wildfire.

  Being impolite, it seemed, was on par with throwing garbage throughout the town and, as I discovered, would simply not be tolerated. I didn’t mean to be impolite. But the building and everything in it had begun to feel toxic, and I couldn’t wait to be outside to breathe the fresh air. I saw the sunlight shining through the doors in front of me and could almost taste the sweet smell of freedom when I felt someone grab me by the back of my shirt.

  “And just where do you think you’re going, Miss Johnson?” It was the principal.

  “I’m going home, sir. School is over, and I have to get to my bus.”

  “Did you finish your assignment?”

  “Yes, sir, I did. It’s on your desk. Now may I please go home?”

  He had nothing else to hold me with, yet he wouldn’t let go of my shirt. My lip quivered as his eyes filled with rage; then the anger I had experienced earlier welled up inside me once again. This time it carried the revelation that I was being treated unfairly. I jerked my shoulder away from his grasp and left his empty hand suspended in midair. I looked him in the eye, but I didn’t say a word.

  As I turned and walked quickly toward my bus, he yelled, “Dismissed!”

  The altercation with Rubello nearly made me miss my bus, and Mr. Little was about to pull away when I knocked loudly on the door, and the other students yelled for him to stop. I was exhausted from the events of the day, and my legs felt weak as I climbed up the bus steps, and the door closed behind me.

  “You’re late, Miss Lily,” Mr. Little said without a smile.

  “No kidding,” I thought as I kept my eyes fixed on the open spot next to Maddie. The stagnant bus air was making me sick to my stomach, and I wanted more than anything to be home. I felt like a jackhammer was going off in my head when I dropped down into my seat, too wasted to say hello to Maddie, who was leaning toward me like a mother hen. I knew she was just concerned, but the hovering was making me claustrophobic. I wished she’d back away so I could breathe.