Page 23 of Rock and a Hard Place

“No, sir,” she mumbled.

“Excuse me?” Apparently, he wasn’t used to hearing no.

“No, sir, I wouldn’t like to explain.” If she confessed about her CD, he’d probably take it away.

“I see.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Well, young lady, we have zero tolerance for stealing in this school. Let me spell this out so you understand the full consequence of your actions. You will serve an in-school detention, you will return the money, and your guardian will be notified.”

“Please don’t call her,” Libby interrupted in a full panic. Aunt Marge would be livid. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t plan to do it. I’ll do whatever detention you want, but please don’t call her.”

We have strict policies in this school, and perhaps this will help deter you from stealing again. I’ve already called her. You can expect to be disciplined at home as well.”

Why did life always have to be so complicated? Could nothing ever go her way? How could she go home and face her aunt?

“Miss Orman will oversee your detention, and you can return the money to Mrs. Keller at the front desk.”

“I don’t have it anymore. I spent it.”

He leaned back in his chair again, glanced at her file, and sighed a deep breath, clearly annoyed. “I assume that would explain your unexcused absence Friday afternoon.”

She nodded.

“Well, we’ll be sure to find a way for you to work the money off. Let this be a strong message to you. If this should happen again, you will be looking at a suspension. You may go.”

8

Entering the gloomy farmhouse felt like walking into a prison. Libby always worked hard to avoid confrontations with Aunt Marge. The woman had a warped sense of right and wrong, and Libby could never figure out where her thinking came from. Thank God for Peter and her new phone. She texted him throughout the day and on the bus ride home; it made this crummy day tolerable. His humor gave her the courage to face Aunt Marge.

Libby peeked into the living room, which was empty, except for her aunt’s clutter of beer cans and old copies of the National Enquirer. As quietly as possible, she stepped into the kitchen, then startled.

Aunt Marge closed the fridge and popped open a beer as she spotted Libby. Her frizzy, gray hair stuck out around her wrinkled face.

“Well, well, well. The little criminal shows her face.”

Libby fixed her gaze at the floor, hoping to prevent a fight, then slunk over to the stairs. The best solution was to disappear to her room.

“Where do you think you’re going? Get back here. Your principal thinks we need to have a talk.” She folded her arms across her faded shirt.

Libby lowered her backpack to the floor and returned to the kitchen doorway.

“So what do you have to say for yourself?” Aunt Marge asked with the voice of an evil witch.

Libby knew a trick question when she heard it. No matter what she said, it wouldn’t change the temperature of the hot water she was in.

“Speak up. Don’t play your shy game with me, I know better.” Aunt Marge leaned against the counter, which was cluttered with piles of dirty dishes and stacks of junk mail, sales flyers, and unpaid bills.

“I’m sorry.”

What more could she say? If she had money, she wouldn’t need to steal. Her parents would have given her an allowance, or at least let her get a job and earn her own money.

“Sorry? Do you really think you can make this go away with a simple sorry? Ha!” she spat. “That arrogant principal pulled me away from my work to preach about the value of integrity and discipline. He seems to think I haven’t been firm enough with you.” She glared resentfully at Libby.

Libby stood silent, waiting for the storm to hit full force. And what work could Aunt Marge possibly be pulled away from?

“So what are we gonna do about this?” Aunt Marge took a drag of her beer; the smell of hops hung in the air. “Your stealing shows your need for attention. What was so important you needed money for?”

Libby couldn’t tell her about the Jamieson CD; she’d take it away and destroy it. The CD belonged to her, regardless of how she got it. What could she say? Her mind darted for something, anything to explain it.

“I bought perfume,” she blurted. “From the drugstore.” Hopefully, that would appease her.

---