She gave up first and said, “Let me tell you this: It doesn’t show a very healthy sense of self-worth for you to cover for someone who’d do something like this to you.”

I’d meant to be silent for the rest of this meeting, but I broke down and said, “No one did anything to me. He didn’t give me an outdated test on purpose.” (Oops.)

“He!” Mr. Principal cheered. “Now we’re getting somewhere!”

But we weren’t. I shut back up, and after a few more really lame attempts on their part to get me to name names, they finally gave up.

Chen called my mother again, and I was back out on the bench waiting.

Jake

At the beginning of homeroom, the principal’s voice came over the intercom, summoning Sarah to his lair. I watched her gather up her things and walk out of the room as if she were marching to the guillotine. She didn’t look to either side. She certainly didn’t look at me. I wonder if she even knew I was there.

As soon as the door closed behind her, the room began to buzz. Mrs. Pintar tried unsuccessfully to regain order.

I heard someone whisper that Sarah wasn’t supposed to come back to school until she told Mr. Chen where she’d gotten the answers she’d cheated with last week.

If that was true, then the fact that she had returned must mean she’d decided to tell. My name was probably dropping out of her mouth, onto Chen’s desk, right this second. I braced myself, every cell in my body on alert, expecting to hear my name—but the intercom was silent. Why?

Maybe everyone knew. Every student, every teacher…And they were all pretending not to, just to see what I’d do. Just to watch me crumble. The anticipation was surreal.

When I walked down the hall between classes, everyone acted normal in front of me. But I could feel—or at least imagine—thousands of eyes on me, watching, waiting, probably hissing and pointing behind my back. I pictured them all filling their pockets with rocks to throw at me later. Stoning me to death for…what? What did I do? Nothing. But no one would want to hear my side. It was Sarah’s word against mine.

Picture this: Beautiful, popular Sarah Collier, goddess of eighth grade, on one side. Me on the other. How fair a trial do you suppose I’d get?

I sat in my next class, so tense that my muscles began to twitch. Still nothing. What was taking our fearless leader so long to call me down to his office? Was he calling in the National Guard for backup in case I went crazy?