Page 28 of Sleepover

“On Monday, all the students in the class began calling Mr. Ketotzi Mrs. Ketotzi.”

Madden’s eyes meet mine finally, then fall away. I bite my lip. He raises his blond head again, and I see defiance on his small features.

Huh. What’s that about? Guilty and self-righteous.

“On Tuesday, when Mr. Ketotzi asked the students to line up girls first, the boys lined up first.” Mr. McKibben ticks off the offense on his index finger.

“On Wednesday, someone replaced Mr. Ketotzi’s blue-and-green fleece jacket with a pink one.” A second finger.

I wince.

“And then today, the students refused to pick teams in P.E.” Mr. McKibben abandons his fingers and crosses his arms. “Taken by themselves, these are all fairly minor infractions, but they’re disruptive, they waste time, and they undermine Mr. Ketotzi’s authority. It’s disrespectful, plain and simple, and all the students have been told quite clearly after each of the incidents that it’s not acceptable behavior. So we’re going to ask Jonah and Madden to stay home from school tomorrow.”

“You’re suspending them?” I demand, before I can think better of it.

“Yes. For one day. And we’d like them to perform community service. Every day after school for a week, next week, emptying the trash cans in all the classrooms.”

My stomach hurts like I’m the one who’s in trouble. I never got called to the principal’s office, and I’m not liking the feeling, even in the parental role.

“Also, Mr. Paulson?”

Sawyer’s expression barely flickers. He must have made administrators miserable when he was a kid.

“Madden has been at this school for several years and has never given us the slightest cause for concern about his behavior. If Jonah continues to be a bad influence on him, we’ll have to separate them into different classrooms next year.”

Jumping to conclusions much?

Sawyer’s eyebrows rise and a muscle moves, a visible knot, at his jaw. One fist tightens. “Noted,” he says stiffly. He seems, I observe, like a guy who’s used to taking it on the chin, whether he deserves it or not. But I’m also watching Jonah, and he seems to be shrinking in his chair.

“No,” I say, without thinking it through.

“Excuse me?” Mr. McKibben asks.

“I don’t buy it.”

Sawyer’s mouth is open.

Mr. McKibben seems to be struggling for words.

“I’ve spent almost as much time the last three weeks with Jonah as I have with my own son. And I like to think I’m a pretty good judge of character. Jonah’s not a bad influence. So whatever happened here—it’s not what you think.”

Jonah sits up a little straighter in his seat.

Mr. McKibben opens his mouth, but before he can speak, Madden’s voice, small but strong, cuts through the stale air of the small office.

“It wasn’t Jonah’s idea. It was mine. It was because of Junie.” Madden pronounces it “a-cuz,” which he’s done since he was little.

“Who’s Junie?” I ask.

“She’s in our class. Her parents thought she was a boy when she was born, and we thought she was a boy when she was in first grade. But she’s actually a girl. And Mr. Ketotzi makes Junie line up with the boys.”

It’s my turn to gape.

Mr. McKibben looks equally gobsmacked. It’s safe to say that this is news to him.

“And when we choose teams in gym, Mr. Ketotzi makes us choose Junie with the boys, not the girls,” Madden says, and I can tell he’s almost crying from frustration, his little voice tight with righteous rage.

Mr. McKibben recovers his ability to speak. “Did you try to talk to Mr. K about it?” he asks the boys.

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