Free What Mr. Mattero Did by Priscilla Cummings

to her room.
    â€œOh my God! You got it!” I exclaimed.
    Jenna pulled the strips off her teeth and picked up a beautiful red-and-black-striped top from her bed. She grinned like a spoiled brat. We’d seen that shirt together at the mall, at Abercrombie & Fitch, the week before, but it was so incredibly expensive none of us could afford it.
    â€œMom got it for me,” Jenna said, waggling her eyebrows up and down.
    â€œOh, I hate you. I love that shirt!” I snatched it away from her and sat on the edge of her bed. No question I was envious. I’d been thinking of asking for that shirt for my birthday.
    â€œLook what else she got me.” Jenna picked up a small brown leather purse from her bureau. It wasn’t a shoulder strap, but the kind lots of girls were carrying around now. It was cute.
    She put the purse down and kind of bounced into a seat beside me on the bed. “So,” she said, cocking her head, “do you want to hear what happened to Suzanne?”
    I didn’t even get a chance to answer.
    â€œGirls! Come and eat!” Jenna’s father hollered from the stairwell. He had a really loud voice, like a Marine sergeant or something. We jumped to our feet and scooted downstairs.
    In the kitchen, we watched as her father tilted his head back and took a really long drink of beer. You could see his Adam’s apple moving up and down when he swallowed. I wondered if he was going to chug the whole can at once. When he finished, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
    â€œGo ahead. Eat,” he told us.
    â€œBut I don’t want to yet,” Jenna tried to tell him.
    â€œEat!” he ordered.
    Something about the way he said it. Quickly, we pulled out stools at the kitchen counter and sat down. Jenna opened the pizza box, and each of us took a slice while her father walked into the family room and turned on the TV.
    Jenna handed me a napkin, and I started picking pieces of mushroom off one piece of pizza. Even though I’d had that hot dog, I was still hungry. I was always hungry. But I just ate the mushrooms.
    â€œSo what did Suzanne’s mother do?” I asked in a low voice.
    â€œUm . . .” Jenna held up a finger—she had just polished her nails blue—because she had a mouthful. “You won’t believe this.” She swallowed and leaned toward me. “Her mother is putting her in Catholic school.”
    I sucked in my breath. “Are you serious?”
    Jenna nodded, and the long silver earrings swung back and forth catching the light. “I’m not kidding you. I don’t even think she’s going to be at school tomorrow.”
    â€œYou can do it that fast? Change schools?”
    Jenna shrugged. “I guess. I told her she was nuts. I mean, she’ll have to wear one of those dumb little kilts.”
    I put a hand to my mouth because I felt awful for Suzanne. She hated skirts.
    Suddenly—incredibly—it was on the evening news! We could hear it! A report about us! About three girls at Oakdale Middle School telling officials what Mr. Mattero did. The reporter, a woman in this low-cut sweater, but with a really butch haircut, stood outside of our school, right beside the outdoor sign that said PTO BOOK FAIR FRIDAY. She didn’t say our names, she just said three girls had come forward and accused “Frederick Mattero, a music teacher at the school for the past eleven years . . .”
    Jenna and I couldn’t believe it. We slid off the stools and moved into the doorway to the family room, never taking our eyes off the television. I pulled on the ends of my braids. The reporter pointed to the front door of our school, like Mr. Mattero was going to come out or something. “It happened here, at Oakdale Middle School,” the reporter said. “The teacher has been suspended with pay until an investigation is complete.”
    Jenna’s dad blew the air out of his cheeks and belched.