Dissonance - Chapter 42

The hammer came down on Cameron just as quickly as I expected. The next day I got to school and everyone was talking about how both he and the newspaper’s editor, a senior, were expelled that morning as soon as they got to campus. The school resource officer even marched Cameron back out to his car without letting him clean out his locker or anything.

I expected a reaction, especially if they did fire the teacher, but I didn’t expect them to expel Cameron and the editor. For one, they hadn’t done anything that violated the school or district guidelines that would allow the administration to expel them. This wasn’t a private school. Cameron was entitled to an education and could only be expelled for violating specific rules. It’s what kept them from expelling me the year before, and I’d been a lot closer to breaking the rules than Cameron had. Hell, he’d gotten their faculty advisor's approval for the article. They could fire the teacher who gave the approval, I guess, but they shouldn’t be able to go after the students.

I already felt guilty about it, but I felt doubly so after lunch.

“What are you going to do about Cameron?” Megan asked when I sat down.

Although Cameron had only joined our lunch group part way through last year, he and Megan had really hit it off, so it wasn’t surprising that she was concerned about him. What was surprising was that she thought I was the one who needed to do something about it.

“Why me? It sucks, but I’m sure his parents will get it cleared up. They can’t expel a student just for pissing off the administration. I have way too much going on in my own life; I don’t need to pick any more fights.”

“You were the one who told him to do it,” Megan said.

“Hold on. I didn’t tell him to do it. He stopped me and asked me about it, and I said just what I said now, that my life was way too crazy to take on other things at the moment. I said if he thought there was a story, he should look into it, but I didn’t tell him to write a story that all but accused Mr. Packer of violating anyone’s rights.”

“He said you told him it was an important story and it was up to him to tell it.”

I tried to think back. I might have said something like that the second time he asked me about it. It felt like the last month had all happened so fast, and I was having trouble keeping things straight. Maybe it was when Harry broke my windows or maybe it was when Dad took all my money, but I’d barely been paying attention when Cameron talked to me. It did sound important and I had thought someone should look into it, since I didn’t want to see Mr. Packer get away with more shit, but I wouldn’t have said that out loud, at least not without some kind of warning about the consequences of accusing any teacher of anything. Had I warned him?

“I may have said something about it being important, but I didn’t twist his arm. Besides, what the hell am I supposed to do about it? It’s not like I have any pull with Mr. Packer.”

“No, but you have connections none of us have. Cameron’s parents don’t really understand him. Do you think they’re going to fight the school district? They’re farmers struggling to make it. I know you two don’t talk about his home life much, but did you know they’ve refused buyouts from one of the big conglomerates twice? They can’t afford lawyers or whatever. They’ll probably either agree to put him in the alternative education school with all the other expelled students, where there isn’t any theatre program or anything else that could help him get into one of the college programs he wants. This could destroy his dreams. You know people. You know journalists and lawyers and all kinds of people his family don’t. You could help him.”

“That’s not fair, Megan. My dad’s basically taken everything I have except for the payment for last weekend’s performances. I’m more or less broke. Hell, I’m borrowing money right now to pay for a lawyer to fight my parents.”

“Fine, then don’t help. I’m organizing a walkout next week for him. So far, I have about fifty kids willing to walk off school, and some of my friends are trying to convince some of the kids on the basketball and baseball teams too. We’ll show the school what we think of this.”

That would be a mistake. I knew Mr. Packer. He was all about appearances. He could be strong-armed into doing the right thing if he thought he was saving face, or if the humiliation happened somewhere else, but students in his school walking out in protest? No, he’d dig in his heels so hard that the only thing that would get him to change his mind would be losing a lawsuit or having the district step in. I hadn’t been impressed by the district’s decision-making after they agreed I should be expelled or at least put in a separate program because of the restraining order thing with Aaron. The only thing I could think to do to fix this was something that would put enough pressure on the district that they’d start making noise or threaten to intervene. I had some thoughts on how to do that, and they might even work, but not if kids walked out.

“Damnit,” I said, annoyed I was being pushed into dealing with this on top of everything else. “Fine, I’ll help. I have some people I can call that might be able to make the administration reverse course, but you have to call off the walkout. Mr. Packer will never change his mind if you confront him to his face. He’ll see it as a personal challenge.”

“So you’ll do it? You’ll help him?” she said, without even batting an eye.

I suddenly realized she might have played me. Megan always acted kind of reckless and incapable of any long-term planning, but I knew she wasn’t dumb. What I didn’t realize, until this moment, was how devious she could be. She’d just played me like a puppet. And it worked. I already felt guilty enough; I really didn’t have a choice. And she was right about Cameron’s family. He had talked to me about them, and I did know that they had a lot of their own problems at the moment. It wasn’t a sure thing, but there was a chance they’d just let him finish up the courses he needed for a diploma at the alternative education school and leave it at that. They weren’t as crazy about his plans to be an actor as he was, so they might not even see it as a downside.

“Yes. I’ll do my best. I’m not making any promises, but I’ll try.”

“Great. I knew we could count on you,” she said, smiling in my face, all but confirming I’d been played.

I had to wait until after school to do anything, since the school frowned on students using cell phones during the school day. If this did work, it wasn’t going to take them long to figure out who was behind it, and I didn’t want to give them anything else to target me with if I could help it.

“Entertainment desk, Greg Wilson speaking,” a voice on the other end of the phone said.

“Greg, it’s Charlie Nelson. You wrote a piece about me last month.”

“Yeah,” he said, sounding a little confused. “I remember you, Charlie. What can I do for you? I assume it isn’t about the article, otherwise, I would have heard about it a while ago.”

“It’s not. It’s about a possible story you guys might be interested in about the school system up here. I know that’s not your normal beat, but I thought you might be interested or know someone over there who would be.”

“We do have people here who write about that kind of thing, although the city desk normally covers only Ashville unless the story is really good. Don’t you guys have a school newspaper for whatever it is you want covered?”

“We do, but it’s unclear if there will be one much longer, and even if there is, they are the story and definitely won’t be allowed to write about this.”

“Okay, that does sound interesting. What exactly do you mean by ‘there might not be a newspaper any longer’ and ‘they are the story?’”

“A few weeks ago, one of the students on the newspaper uncovered some copies of supposedly anonymous SALT surveys marked with student IDs in the administration offices. He dug into it and the school newspaper published a story about it, with the okay of the faculty advisor. The advisor was fired that day and both the student who wrote the story and the student editor were expelled. I’d like to bring some light to the situation and hopefully force them to let the students back in school and maybe even reinstate the teacher. You guys would get a two-for-one. A story about the curbing of students’ first amendment rights and a scandal about something that broke both district policy and I think maybe even state law, or at least direction. I was hoping it was sexy enough that you guys would be interested.”

“I don’t even know what the, what did you call it, SALT survey is, but if a school broke state law and shut down a school newspaper to keep it quiet, there’s a good chance the city desk will at least want to look into it. I’ll tell you what, I’ll pass it along with your information and the information about the students involved, and let them start looking into it. I’m not promising you’ll get a story, but someone will at least hear what your friend has to say.”

“That’s all I’m asking,” I said.

I gave him Cameron’s home phone number and the name of the editor, whose number I didn’t know, and told him they could feel free to contact me, and I’d try to get it if they couldn’t, and then hung up.

It wasn’t a guarantee and Megan would probably think I hadn’t done enough, but it was probably the best I was going to be able to do without borrowing money and hiring Cameron a lawyer. Hopefully, it was enough to keep her from giving me any more guilt trips.

That, of course, had been wishful thinking. Even though I explained what I’d done the next day, by Thursday I still hadn’t heard anything from the reporter Greg had passed the information to and Cameron was still expelled. Megan gave me an ear full about doing something before his parents agreed to just put him in the alternative school, which would be much harder to undo than if the administration just reversed the expulsion. It didn’t matter that there wasn’t anything else I could do, of course. In her mind, I was the person who could take care of it, which made it my responsibility.

To say it was a frustrating few days was an understatement. Thankfully, things hadn’t stood still on other fronts, giving me at least a little bit to be happy about after Mr. Eaves called Thursday afternoon.

“Any word on the hearing?” I asked when I answered, and then felt like an idiot when I realized I was talking to his secretary, who put me on hold.

I actually knew his secretary usually made his calls and put the phone call through to him once the other person was on the line. He was busy and had a lot of clients, so he didn’t have time to sit and wait to see if someone would answer, especially someone like a high school student who could only talk after school got out but before he started band practice or training. I was just anxious because of all the stuff I had hanging over my own head that he was the key to solving.

“I have good news,” he said when he did come on the line.

“We have a date for the emancipation hearing?” I asked.

I knew the thirty-day deadline wasn’t up, but it worried me that the hearing was at some arbitrary point after that, which could stretch out months potentially. I’d managed to put a lot of things in limbo, waiting for the emancipation hearing, but no one was happy with that status and I wasn’t sure how long I could convince Kent or Sheriff Gibbs, or anyone else my father was using to get to me, to keep waiting week after week.

“No, but that’s to be expected. They won’t set the date until after the response deadline is up, because a lot of the time needed prior to the hearing depends on what’s in that response. If your parents don’t respond at all, then it could be the very next available family court date, or it could be weeks if there is a lot of evidence submitted that the court has to look through.”

“I don’t have weeks more. The label is going to have to pay out the royalties by the end of the year at the latest, and that’s assuming they don’t get tired of fending off Dad’s calls.”

“Like I said, that’s the worst case. I don’t think it will take that long. I know it’s difficult, but the process is going to be what it is. I can tell you from experience that nothing we can do will get the courts to move faster.”

“Yeah. I didn’t mean to bite your head off. Sorry.”

“It’s okay. You’re not the first client I’ve had that is anxious about a court date. My good news is on the restraining order front. I was worried that the judge might ask for a hearing before putting the order in place, or at least to hear from you directly, but his clerk just notified me that the order is ready. It’s only for a month and prohibits cohabitation and immediate contact, but that should be enough. I’m pretty sure the limited scope and short time frame are why they were okay about putting it in place, since longer-term or more complicated orders are what create the need for scrutiny. In this case, it’s just a precaution, which the courts can grant at their discretion.”

“It prevents cohabitation? So could I move back home, and force him to leave me and Mom alone until after the hearing?”

“Maybe, but that would be a bad idea. The court can always cancel the order, and will if they think that agreeing to a simple precautionary order was a trick for you to use the order as almost punitive against your father. Any complaints at all from him to the court would be enough to get them to reverse their order. Our goal is to keep his latest tactic from working, and this will do that. Don’t get clever and make things worse.”

“I won’t. It was just an idea.”

“When it comes to this, leave the ideas to me. It’s what you’re paying me for. The restraining order is in place, so for now don’t contact your parents, including your mother, don’t go to their home, don’t do anything. If you see them on the street, turn and walk in the other direction. We have a good case right now for your emancipation hearing, and this restraining order works in your favor. The thirty-day response period is up in six days, at which point the hearing date will be set, which I expect to happen before the end of the month. You’re in the final stretch of this, you just have to make it through two or three more weeks without anything major blowing up, and you’ll be home free.”

“A lot can happen in three weeks,” I pointed out.

“Sure, and if it does, we’ll deal with it … as long as the thing that happens isn’t caused by you. Clear?”

“Clear. Thanks, Mr. Eaves.”

“Sure. Just hang in there a little longer,” he said, and hung up.