Free Awakenings by Edward Lazellari

leave the room.”
    Daniel packed his books slowly in hope Mr. Palumbo would change his mind. No such luck. All eyes stayed on him as he shuffled out the door. Standing in the empty hallway, Daniel wondered what to do next.
    Only 10:00 A.M. and the day was already a bust. If he went to the mall there was a chance he’d be caught playing hooky. Then, his stepfather would get dragged into this, a situation Daniel wanted to avoid at all cost.
    2
    Principal Conklin sat back in his ergonomically correct executive chair like a man who thought he ran the Seventh Fleet. He was in his fifties, wore a brown suit, and his arms were up and resting on his bald head, while his gut protruded like a Butterball turkey hanging from a sling. The leather squeaked as he rocked back and forth. Daniel associated the noise with a common bodily function.
    Plaques and trophies from a distinguished career as a high school athlete and medals from military service decorated the office. On the desk were pictures of the principal’s wife and his two daughters, who no doubt got their good looks from the other side of the gene pool.
    The man’s legendary gaze made you feel as though he knew everything you thought you’d gotten away with. As Conklin blustered on and on about school property and the taxpayer’s burden, Daniel considered his role in the scheme of life.
    Not to be a jock, cheerleader, metal head, or standard-issue redneck increased the odds that you were a school geek. Soon, everyone would know what had transpired in Mr. Palumbo’s class. That was all he needed in a school where he could count his friends on one hand. Then the words, “your father,” broke him out of his trance.
    “My father?” Daniel repeated, rejoining the discussion.
    “Yes, Daniel, your father,” Conklin drawled. “Since your arrival, fourteen desks have been mutilated thanks to your hobby. Your pappy will pay for the damaged desks so that the good taxpayers of Glen Burnie County can rest assured their money is going toward books and teachers, and not for repairing the hobby of a juvenile delinquent.”
    “It’s not like I took a hacksaw to those things. I can wash those drawings off with soap.”
    “Those desks have grooves in them ’cause of your ballpoint. Son, I look good when the school looks good.”
    “Look, I’ll never do it again, and I’ll pay for the desks out of my own money. I have a part-time job at Pathmark. There’s no need to bring my stepdad into this.”
    “I respect a boy that fears his father. Means there’s hope for you, son. Tell you what … can you give me five hundred dollars by Monday?”
    “Five hundred dollars? Those desks can’t cost five hundred dollars. Who are we buying them from, Dominic Tagliatore?”
    “I’ll take that as a no,” Principal Conklin said.
    “Look, my stepdad’s been out of work for a while,” Daniel said. “I don’t want to add to his troubles. Can’t we work something out? I’ll throw in extra money … we can call it interest. You have my word.”
    Conklin considered the offer for an eternity. Daniel sat there tense, wishing for the words “it’s a deal” to come out the fat man’s lips.
    “I have to submit a budget by Wednesday. I can’t take a chance that you won’t make due. Everything’s got to be by the book.”
    “But if you’d just—”
    Conklin hoisted himself out of his chair and opened the door. “No means the same now as it did five seconds ago. I’ve got to know for sure where the money’s coming from. Now get on, go to your next class.”
    The boy left the office uncertain of what to do next. If a bolt of lightning had hit him right that second, he would have considered it a stroke of good luck.
    3
    Daniel liked stocking the aisle ends at Pathmark. In addition to the unobstructed view of the cashiers—of which Katie Millar was one—he usually stacked the sale items into intricate patterns, a more appealing labor than just placing boxes on an aisle shelf. He