Free Fault Lines by Brenda Ortega Page A

homework in computers, he explains, and it’s pretty straightforward work in class. My grade remains a B in there, he says before leaving.
    It’s hard to listen. I’m waiting.
    Mrs. Vernon is the director of this show. She steps in to introduce each teacher every time one finishes talking. She tells them what pattern to follow. Positive stuff first, then negative, plus when the change happened and how it can be reversed. It’s obvious she wants to punish Mrs. Luna for being late, because she skips past her in the movement around the table. Saving the worst for last.
    “And finally today, we’ll conclude with Mrs. Luna, who has perhaps had the most interaction with Danielle as both her English teacher and director of the freshman play. Mrs. Luna, what can you add?”
    “Well, Dani’s grade has fallen in my class as well,” Mrs. Luna says. “It’s plummeted to a D in just a matter of weeks, and it’s very sad. She had always contributed such wonderful ideas in class discussions. She’d been doing so well with her work. Now she sits there looking… I don’t know… lost . That’s what I mean. Like she doesn’t know where she is or which way to go.”
    “And how is she doing in the play?” Mrs. Vernon asks.
    Everyone’s eyes are on me like spotlights angling from all directions. I watch my hands rubbing together.
    Mrs. Luna hesitates, breathing in sharply and blowing it out in a huff. I wish she’d just rip off the Band-Aid. Go ahead. Mom and Dad already know I’m rotten. Feel free to confirm it.
    “I can’t add anything to what’s already been said,” Mrs. Luna says, “except that I’m deeply concerned.”
    Nothing about that day with Ricky. I don’t make eye contact with her, or anyone. I’m memorizing the swirls in the fake wood table top. I just want to be done, but Mrs. Vernon keeps talking, explaining how she’ll type up her notes and send a copy to Mom and Dad along with the court.
    “Excuse me,” Mrs. Luna says. “I’d like to speak with Danielle alone. Could you finish up with her parents in your office, Mrs. Vernon?”
    The other teachers stand to leave. So do Mom and Dad, but Mrs. Vernon sits there. No one wants to leave without her command.
    “Please,” Mrs. Luna says.
    “Meet me in my office, Mr. and Mrs. Burkhart.”
    The room empties, and the door closes. Mrs. Luna moves to the chair next to me. “Dani, I had no idea what was going on with you at home. I wish you would’ve told me, because I care about you. I care very much. Maybe I can help.”
    I’m beyond help now. Doesn’t she know that?
    “You’ve had an atomic bomb drop right in your back yard,” she says. “I know it’s devastating. But now you’ve got to get started folding cranes. Metaphorically speaking, if you know what I mean. You’ve got to find hope.”
    Maybe she could have used a better example than folding cranes to make her point. Doesn’t she remember the little girl dies at the end of the play? That her friends finish folding cranes to make her wish come true?
    Who’s left to fold my cranes?
    The fact is if Mrs. Luna wants to talk about metaphors, that bonfire at Derek’s was the perfect image to start off my post-dad life.

then
    the bonfire was just beginning
    The morning after the bonfire, I found out the truth about Mike and Taylor. He was shut in his bedroom with the hip-hop music cranked. I banged on the door, and he turned the volume down before opening up.
    “I heard something unbelievable about you and Taylor,” I said, looking into his blank eyes, desperate to see the answer I wanted. “You two aren’t going out, are you?”
    He leaned into his door frame. “None of your business. Just leave her alone. I heard what you did, and you better lay off.”
    “Did you hear what she said to Justine?”
    “Yeah, I heard she made a joke, and you flipped out like a psycho. And if it happens again, you’ll answer to me.”
    Me, answer? “And who’ll you answer to? For selling your