The File on Angelyn Stark by Catherine Atkins Page A

my eyes. Mr. Rossi is there. He sticks out a hand. I take it, and he pulls me to my feet.
    “If it weren’t for bad luck,” he says, “would you have any luck at all?”

CHAPTER TWELVE
    Mr. Rossi walks Charity and me to the vice principal’s office.
    “There,” he says, pointing to a row of chairs outside Miss Bass’s door.
    Charity slumps into the closest one, sniffling.
    I take the one at the end.
    “Be ladies,” he says, a smirk as he knocks and enters.
    I shift to find a soft spot, my butt sore where I landed.
    “Hate you,”
Charity slings over.
    “You want more?” I ask. “Here?”
    “No,” she grumps.
    Mr. Rossi walks out. “Miss Bass is calling your parents.”
    Both of us groan.
    “You girls take it light,” he says. It’s dumb, but I smile at him.
    Charity’s mom shows first. I hear her in the hall asking people which way.
    Charity sits up straight and sober.
    I almost say,
Trade you
. I wouldn’t. But I think it.
    Mrs. Flint walks in, dressed like she’s been to lunch somewhere.
    “Charity.” She stops. Hands on hips. “What happened?”
    Charity opens her mouth. She looks at me. Shuts it.
    “Never mind.” Mrs. Flint pushes into the office.
    “My daughter does not fight,” she says, voice soaring.
    “Better get in there,” I say. Charity drags herself up.
    “This is all about Angelyn Stark,” Mrs. Flint says.
    I lift my head, listening.
    “I have told my daughter and
told
her to stay away from that girl.”
    Like Charity never does anything wrong.
    Miss Bass tells Charity to shut the door.
    As it closes: “Angelyn is pure trash,” Mrs. Flint says. “Like her mother.”
    I stand. Gut aching.
Bitch
.
    Mrs. Flint was a room mother. Every year. And Mom was
—Mom
.
    The front-desk ladies are watching me.
    When Mrs. Flint and Charity come out, I point.
    “
She
jumped
me
. Truth.”
    Charity scoots like I’ve booted her. Mrs. Flint huffs after.
    Miss Bass curls a finger.
    The visitor’s chair inside Miss Bass’s office is a mile more comfortable.
    “Mr. Rossi’s story supports yours,” she says at her desk.
    Warmth spreads through me. “Really?”
    Miss Bass nods. “He said Charity had the best of you.”
    Not sure I like that. “We fought, but it wasn’t my idea.”
    “What did you fight about, Angelyn? It would help me to know.”
    “She’s been on me all day. I can tell you that.”
    “Charity says you’ve been on her.”
    “She would.”
    “I’m inclined to believe you,” Miss Bass says.
    “You are?”
    “I’ve heard good things, lately.”
    “Wow,” I say softly to myself.
    “That must be your mother,” Miss Bass says.
    Mom is outlined in the frosted glass, hand up to knock.
    “Good things?” I say. “She won’t believe them.”
    “You work for us, Sherry,” Miss Bass says. “We appreciate that.”
    “Yes, ma’am,” Mom says. “What exactly did Angelyn do?”
    “Ask me,” I say.
    Mom says, “Quiet.”
    Miss Bass clears her throat.
    “Angelyn had a physical fight with another girl. Charity Flint. A teacher intervened. It appeared to him that Angelyn was not the aggressor.”
    “Angelyn knows she’s not supposed to fight at all.”
    “Yes,” Miss Bass says. “But this is a change. This girl is one of her friends.”
    “It was probably over some boy,” Mom says.
    “Charity can’t get close to any guy,” I say.
    “You’d be better off if
you
couldn’t.”
    “Thanks, Mom.”
    “Dressed like that.” She flips her hand to me. “Skin-tight everything.”
    We’re dressed alike. T-shirts and jeans.
    “On me it looks good,” I say. Just above my breath.
    Mom leans to Miss Bass. “She’s got a history with boys. Scratch any problem with Angelyn and that’s what you’ll find.”
    “This fight was not about boys! Mostly not,” I add.
    “You see what I deal with?” Mom says.
    Miss Bass taps a pen. “Mr. Rossi says Angelyn’s work has improved.”
    “I thought I was here because of the fight,” Mom says.
    “Mr. Rossi is