Manuel, Part 4

This story is part of a story that I wrote as an assignment for a MOOC Class I took at University of IOWA.

The class was called, Power of the Pen: Identities and Social Issues in Fiction and Nonfiction. The classes are taught online and people from all over the world participate. This was the second time I participated, and again I learned a lot.

Here you can read the beginning of the story, Part 1, 2 and 3…

… (Read Part 1 here, Part 2 here, and Part 3 here )

Manuel Part 4

…

After it stops ringing I pick it up, shove it in my pocket and start running again. I need to talk to Sheila. Find out what happened.
I run towards her neighborhood. A mile later I come to my senses. Even if Sheila is at home, I can’t talk to her. Her father will be there and who knows what he’ll do. I decide to wait until tomorrow.
I pass a little league ball park, sit on the bleachers and watch the players for a while. I’ll wait here until my mother leaves for her second job at 7pm. She is working an additional night shift this week.

Most of the night I lay awake, obsessing over and over the same questions. What happened, what are we gonna do, what will my mother say … I can’t sleep for a long time, tossing and wondering what to expect the next day.
In the morning, I leave before my mother gets back home.
When I open my school locker someone puts a hand on my shoulder. I jerk around expecting to see David or one of his goons, but it’s Trish.
“Manuel, … ahem … I just wanted to say, the other day, … my sister doesn’t have anything against you. She is … grew up in a Russian orphanage …”
“Why are you telling me this. I don’t care …” I groan. As if I didn’t have enough problems.
“Well, I … she’s new …” Trish holds up her hands in a helpless gesture, “I just wanted … You know what, forget it, forget that I said anything. I already regret that I defended you after you left…” Walking away, she collides with my counselor, Mr. Greg, who jogs towards me, waving.
“Trish,” I yell and when she turns back to me I continue, “I’m sorry, I have a lot on my plate right now…”
“I know, I heard the rumors. Sheila’s father is…”
Before she can finish Mr. Greg, steps between us, “Manuel, you need to come with me. The principal wants to see you.”
“Me? Why?”
“You’ll see. Come on.” Mr. Greg grabs my arm and pulls me with him through the never-ending stream of students walking to or from class. David Goldman leans on a pillar, a smirk on his face.

The principal’s office is cold. When we enter, Mr. Blackstone sits behind a huge desk filled with books in all shapes and colors. Behind him looms an impressive book shelf that expands across the whole wall. All the furniture is made from dark polished wood.
Our principal is a burly, bald man. Rumor goes that he once was an actor, but nobody ever saw a movie he played in. His black suit and white shirt always remind me of ‘Men in Black’, with only the sunglasses missing.
“Manuel, sit down.” Mr. Blackstone’s face is serious. He and Mr. Greg exchange glances. The two small, wooden chairs in front of the desk look uncomfortable. Balancing on the edge of the chair I feel the cold seat. I shiver.
“Am I in trouble?” I ask cautiously.
“Yes, you could say that.”
Sheila. Is this the problem she talked about? I wriggle on my seat.
Mr. Blackstone takes a deep breath, “It has come to my attention, that you have files on your phone that are not appropriate.”
“What? What do you mean?” Despite the coolness in the room, my cheeks are on fire. Mr. Greg is no help, he is focused on his nails.
“I’m talking about child pornography.” Mr. Blackstone folds his hands in front of his broad chest and leans towards me.
“Child … what? That’s ridiculous. I don’t do porn, I don’t watch that crap.” I say, relieved that this is not about Sheila.
“Give me your phone, Manuel.” Mr. Blackstone extends his hand toward me.
“No.” I jerk back. I put my hand over my pocket.
“Mr. Williams told me that you made a movie while having sex with his underage daughter. He found the movie on his daughter’s phone.”
I stare at the ground searching for a place to dig a hole I can hide in, “That’s not pornography.”
“What would you call it then?” Mr. Blackstone’s words are as cold as the room.
“That’s … that’s private.”
“It is not private, if you show it around.”
“I haven’t shown it around. And it is not porn, it’s private.”
“Here, listen: All printed or visual material containing explicit display of sexual activity, intended to stimulate erotic rather than aesthetic or emotional feelings is called pornography. Now, give me your phone, so I can check if Mr. Williams’ claim is true or not.”
If only I had deleted the file.
“I would highly recommend you cooperate, Manuel,” Mr. Greg’s grave voice sends another shiver down my spine.
“But … this was just for us… David Goldman stole it…”
“Doesn’t matter if it was intended to be private or not, son. And what has Goldman to do with this?” He says and touches my arm. Electrified, I jerk back.
Mr. Blackstone sighs. “Daniel, please call the school lawyer, we have to do some damage control.”
When Mr. Greg leaves the room, the temperature seems to fall even more. My brain is a mess of disaster scenarios. What do I do now? How is Sheila and where is she? Did she know about this? Was this why she called me? Why didn’t she try again, maybe they took away her phone? Shit, what did her father do to her? I have to talk to Sheila, see how she is doing…
“Can I go now?”
“I’m still waiting for you to hand over your phone. I have to call the police and I would like to be able to tell them, that you cooperated.” Mr. Blackstone’s eyes are dark and hard. “You could go to jail if Mr. Williams presses charges.”
“What? No!” This is not happening. I can’t go to jail. Not now, not ever. My mother will kill me, or even worse, this will kill her. What have I done?
Mr. Blackstone’s seat squeaks. The sound reminds me of the pigs that are lugged to the butcher down the street every now and then.
“You can think about your cooperation until I get back. I’m going to call your mother.”
“No, you can’t. She can’t know about this.”
“I have no choice! And Manuel, think twice about what you are going to do – for once,” He says before closing the door.
I can hardly breathe. Hell, what am I going to do? I pull out my phone. My hands tremble as I dial Sheila’s number.
“We are sorry, you have reached a number that has been disconnected or is no longer in service. If you feel you have reached this recording in error …” I hang up. Error. Error. All this is an error.
I need to get out of here. I can’t just sit here and wait.
The huge desk blocks the bay window, but I can open it and squeeze through. Hanging onto the window sill I calculate the drop. Maybe 10 feet. It’s manageable and I don’t have another choice anyway. My hands are so wet that I couldn’t hold onto much longer. I let go.
Urgh, I land awkwardly, my left knee gives way and I tumble over. I jump up and limp towards the street.
What am I gonna do? My mother is mad at me, Sheila is disappointed, I could go to jail, be doomed as a sex offender …
Is there anything else left to do?
They’ll all be better off without me …

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Please, leave a comment if you like the story, Part 5 is coming soon.