Shawn picked up the stack of yesterday’s mail from the basket at the front of the office, and took it around to the teacher mailboxes, which were housed in the side hallway that connected the main office to the guidance office and conference rooms. As he sorted the mail into individual cubbies, Mr. Warren’s muffled voice drifted through his closed door. Shawn assumed he must be on the phone and didn’t pay much attention, focusing on the mail in his hands, until he heard a second man speak. Unlike Mr. Warren’s even tone, this person sounded deeply upset.
“Mr. Warren, Dr. Birch, please, my mama’s not well. I just needed a little extra money so I can help my sister take care of her. Nurses are expensive. Please, sir, I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t have done it. I just needed the money for my mama. I won’t do it again. You’re good men. I know you are. Please.”
“I’m sorry about your mother, Mr. McMillain,” said a new voice, which Shawn recognized as Principal Birch’s. “But we just can’t allow you to stay after—”
“I’m a good worker. I work hard.” McMillain started speaking rapidly. “I don’t take time off. Not even sick time. I need this job. I swear, I’ll never do it again. I promise on my life.”
“Michael,” Mr. Warren said, his voice low so that Shawn had to strain to hear, “I wish we could give you another chance. But selling tests to students . . . you know we can’t just let that go.”
Shawn’s jaw dropped. So the secret test supplier behind locker 247 was the janitor? He had always assumed it was a student. But he guessed it made sense. The janitor would have access to all the classrooms after the teachers were gone and would be able to pick up and drop off things in lockers when no one was looking.
“Mr. McMillain”—Principal Birch spoke up again, his voice noticeably cooler than Mr. Warren’s—“it has also come to our attention that you lied on your application to work here. You were previously incarcerated, yes?”
There was a heavy silence. Shawn realized he’d taken several steps closer to the door, the mail forgotten. “Sir, I can explain that,” McMillain said, his voice trembling. “It’s just so hard to find a job . . .”
“Even if facilitating cheating wasn’t already a serious offense, we cannot have a convicted felon working around students.”
“But, sir—”
“This conversation is over. I expect you to collect your personal belongings and turn in your keys before the students begin arriving. Understood?”
McMillain must have acknowledged Principal Birch somehow, because a second later the door swung open and the principal emerged. Shawn shoved a handful of mail blindly into the nearest mailbox, hoping that it didn’t look like he’d been eavesdropping.
Dr. Birch hadn’t bothered to shut the door behind him, so it stood partially open, allowing the sound of McMillain’s quiet sobs to drift out. Shawn stood just out of sight of the men still in the office, slowly placing letters in random mailboxes—he’d have to redo all this later—straining his ears to listen.
“Michael,” Mr. Warren said softly, “I’m sorry. I know you’re not a bad person. But we just don’t have any other choice.”
“I understand, sir.” McMillain sniffed, his voice thick. “Mr. Warren, I need you to know about that application, and my jail time . . . I was just a kid. It wasn’t even my pot, but someone said it was and I-I panicked and tried to run and—”
“It’s okay, Michael,” Mr. Warren said. “You don’t have to explain.”
“I just don’t want you to think I’m the kind of person who would, you know . . .” McMillain’s voice was jagged, snagging on the words. “I just want you to know, even though I did what I did with the tests, I’m not that guy. I swear I’m not.”
The office was quiet for a minute, save for the sound of McMillain’s ragged breathing, but Shawn didn’t dare peek inside. His head spun as he tried to process what he’d heard.
After a couple of minutes, someone let out a shaky sigh. “You know anywhere that’s looking to hire an ex-con who just got fired from the only real job he’s ever had?”
“Actually, I think I might,” Mr. Warren said slowly.
“Really?” McMillain sounded like Mr. Warren had just told him he had a pet unicorn.
“But I need something from you first. Did you keep any records of who bought tests from you? It seems like we have a lot of students who have been cheating, and we need to address that. Anything you give us could help.”
“I-I don’t have names. But I have a list of the locker numbers and dates, and which tests they requested. Lots of repeat customers. Keeping track was . . . helpful.”
Mr. Warren chuckled. “Michael, you could’ve made a decent businessman.”
“Not a lot of businesses looking to hire men like me.”
“I suppose that’s true,” Mr. Warren said with a sigh. “Well, I’ll tell you what. Can you get me that list before you go? Do you have it here at school?”
“No, sir. It’s at home.”
“In that case, why don’t you go home and get that list, then bring it back to the office and drop it off with Shelly. I’ll tell her to be on the lookout for it, and to bring it straight to me when she gets it. If you can get it to me before the end of the day, I’ll see what I can do about finding you a new job. And even if that doesn’t work out, I’ll write you up a good reference.”
“Thank you! Thank you, sir. I really do appreciate it. You won’t regret it, I promise.”
Shawn heard the scraping of chairs and took a few steps away from the door, making a show of focusing intently on the mailboxes as McMillain rushed from the office, barely glancing at Shawn as he hurried by.
Mr. Warren appeared in the doorway, then noticed Shawn. “Good morning, Mr. Rothman.” He smiled warmly, but his eyes were exhausted. “Didn’t realize you were out here.”
“Just delivering the mail,” Shawn said, his throat dry. He held up the handful of papers he hadn’t yet placed in mailboxes, hoping Mr. Warren couldn’t tell that his heart was pounding. He didn’t think he’d necessarily get in trouble for eavesdropping, but it wouldn’t look good either.
“Anything for me?”
Shawn stared at the wall of envelopes, flyers, and slips of paper that he’d made a complete mess of. “Um, not quite done yet. I’ll bring it in to you in a few minutes.”
“Thanks, Shawn. You’re a good kid. Come see me next week; we can talk about your college applications. Lots of possibilities with that citizenship award.”
“Yeah.” Shawn swallowed, then forced one of his practiced, perfect smiles. “Sounds great.”
Chapter Fifty-Three
JUSTIN
I spend the day at the bridge.
That wasn’t my plan when I woke up this morning—or, more accurately, when I finally gave up on sleep and rolled out of bed, after spending the night tossing and turning, churning my sheets into a rumpled, sweaty nest. It was one thing to decide to stop our investigation into the fire once we realized Mrs. Hanley was basically living next door to a pint-size supervillain. It was another to just sit around waiting for Saturday to arrive, the day when I’ll either prevent two deaths and go home, or fail and remain stuck here—or, worst of all, succeed and remain stuck here, proving that there’s no reason for any of this, and that it was always just a totally random twist of reality.