Page 53 of Diem

Please, it’s about Dad

Of course, I receive no answer but after a few minutes, Diem’s head shoots my way. Bingo. Fucker.

“Maeve?”

When I look up, I think I’m busted until I spy a student slipping out the door.

“Report to the front office please,” Mr. Bloom says.

Reluctantly, I grab my things. I’ve done nothing wrong. So why do I feel like I’m in trouble?

I can feel Diem’s burning gaze as I leave and once I'm in the hall, I exhale quietly.

When I find Bone standing outside the door to the office, I slow my steps, approaching with cautious curiosity.

He glances up at my approach with a grim smile and says, “They’re questioning everyone about Dixie.”

Nodding, I pass him by, but the secretary asks me to wait outside. So, I cross the hall and lean against the opposite wall, ignoring the sweat gathering on my palms.

What if they ask me something that leads back to Dad?

“Why do you think they’re questioning us?” I whisper.

Bone’s eyebrows fly up and he says, “There’s nothing to worry about. They just want to know about her life.”

Nodding, I watch while he’s pulled into the office and with a sigh, I slide to the floor and wait. Should I tell them about the messages?

Or about Kenny? Surely, they already know. Shit. What if they try to trap me?

Okay, deep breaths. It’s nothing. They’re questioning Bone and he’s not affiliated with my dad.

I’ll keep what I know to myself for now. At least until I have more proof.

Sorry, Dixie. I’ll find the dick, I promise.

Soon Bone emerges and he gives me a tiny nod as I pass by. I’m led to the principal’s space and sit down in front of the desk where Mr. Carhart usually does.

A detective with a walrus mustache, curly sideburns and large nose sits there now.

“Ms. Maeve Goodlow?” he asks, glancing at his notes.

“Yes,” I say through dry lips.

“I’m Detective Masters, I have a few questions regarding Dixie Loughlin.”

“Okay,” I say, halfheartedly wondering if this is appropriate.

I mean, shouldn’t my parents be here? Not that I want them involved. Shudder. Dad is definitely out.

“And how did you know Dixie Loughlin?” the gruff detective says, his mustache jumping with his words.

“We were friends, we hung out,” I say with a shrug.

“And what sorts of things did you do, when you hung out?”

Hanging my head, I avoid the principal's eyes and say, “You know, smoke a little weed. Talk, stuff.”

It’s weird to be admitting to shit I never did but I have this desperate need to throw them off the trail. Which is really stupid because whether or not I actually did drugs is irrelevant.

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