- AHMED -

Tuesday morning, fifteen minutes before the start of homeroom, a man in a blue-and-black polo shirt stood outside EdgeWay speaking to two of the policemen still patrolling the area. The man held up a thin white ID card, and one of the cops examined it for a few moments before letting him inside.

As the man carried a massive cart inside the building, I heard Irina walk up behind me next to my locker.

"Hey. How's it going?"

She did her best to smile as I turned to her, shrugging.

"I brought you coffee," she said lowly, raising a tall paper cup. "I figured if you've gotten as much sleep as I have these past few days, you could use it."

I half-smiled. "Sounds about right." I took the coffee and sipped, warming the base of my tongue. "Thanks. It's really good."

She nodded.

I turned back to the EdgeWay's entrance, where the man from earlier had left his first cart and stacked more on top of it.

"Hey, Irina?" I asked. "Who's that guy?"

"Oh, that's Mr. Chester," she said. "He drops off the paper every Tuesday and Thursday." She paused. "Well, he drops off the 'paper.'" She scrunched her fingers into air quotes and gave a sly look.

I paused. "Why do you say it like that?"

"Oh, come on," Irina giggled. "It's the The EdgeWay Press, not USA Today. That paper's mostly just garbage anyway."

My eyes widened. "Wait, The EdgeWay Press? Isn't that the one Madam Caroline writes for?"

"Well, yeah, but—"

I turned my back to her instantly and burst into a sprint, speeding down the hallway to meet Mr. Chester and ask for a copy of the paper.

"How much are they?" My words came out more like an order than a question.

"They're complimentary," Mr. Chester replied. "All students get a free copy." He reached inside the top cart and pulled out a paper to give to me. "Here you go, kid."

I nodded my thanks, then hurried back up the hall to where Irina was. Opening it in front of her, I frantically flipped open the pages, eyes darting across xeroxed photos and the black print that framed them. I skimmed the sea of words, the multitude of names, in search of my own.

As I folded over the third crinkling sheet, Irina gasped from beside me. "Oh, my gosh!" she shrieked, pointing to the article at the bottom of the fourth page, one titled 'Terror in Paradise.'

A picture of me sinking a layup at the first basketball game was cropped collage-style and placed side-by-side with a photo taken of me months earlier at the adoption agency.

"No!" I raged, my voice rising. "No, no, no! This isn't...she can't do this!" I didn't even bother reading the words. I hurled the paper to the floor and stomped it underfoot, crunching it angrily with my tennis shoes.

"Ahmed," Irina tried, "Hey, calm down." She placed her hand on my arm.

"Well, well, well. Would you look at that?"

Irina and I whirled simultaneously to face Steven, who stood sneeringly behind us with his very own copy of The EdgeWay Press tucked crookedly under his arm.

"If it isn't the Jihad and the Ji-whore." He unruffled the paper and spread it wide, chuckling as he did. "You know, I'm gonna have to thank Madam Caroline myself. I must say, this is one fine piece of work."

"Steven, I'm not in the mood," I spoke through my teeth.

"Oh, no!" he trilled, shaking the pages he held. "Don't sic your psycho bed buddy on me again! What's she gonna do this time, paint my shoelaces pink?" He laughed, looking around with pleasure as more students began to file through the hallway, some stopping to witness our battle of wills.

Irina glared at him. "More like paint your face black and blue, you self-righteous prick!"

"I'm quaking," he retorted, then angled his head at me. "You know, I'm no Bible scholar, but I'm pretty sure your girlfriend isn't supposed to be the one fighting all your battles."

"Steven, get a clue," Irina snapped. "I'm not his girlfriend. But even if I was, I'm pretty sure that'd still make us more relevant than you and Grace...oh, wait, you two aren't a thing anymore, are you?"

Steven's face erupted in red.

"That's what I thought," she refused to let up. "You're honestly pathetic. You sneaked out to this school in the dead of the night to set up your stupid prank and dragged the girl you claim to like along with you. And instead of apologizing like any decent guy would, you're spending all your time going after a freshman who's literally been here less than two weeks. I'd tell you to get a freaking life, but I'm pretty sure you're a lost cause at this point."

Steven flinched.

"Oh, and I've got news for you," Irina carried on. "Every last piece of your bright and sparkling world is about to come crashing down. I hope you brought a winter coat; an avalanche is coming, and it's going to slaughter you." She whipped her head to the side and turned to leave.

Not knowing what else to do, I followed quickly behind her, leaving Steven to spend the last minutes before homeroom adrift in the ever-growing wave of students fluxing through the hallway.

****

"I still can't believe she actually did it," I said once Irina and I sat down for lunch. I'd managed to find a fresh copy of The EdgeWay Press, and I'd spread it out on the table in front of my food tray.

"Ahmed," Irina begged, "will you stop looking at that?"

"I can't, Irina! Don't you know what this is going to do? To me, to my parents..."

"It's just one stupid article..."

"Yeah—a stupid article that everyone is going to read!"

"But they don't matter..."

"Yes, Irina! Yes, they do!" I palmed my face with my hands, exhaling my grief.

Irina hesitated. "...Ahmed, listen. Sulking isn't going to do anything. If this whole thing really means that much to you...then let's go pay her a visit."

I gulped. "Huh?"

"You heard me." She stared intently into my eyes. "And you're right. Madam Caroline shouldn't keep getting away with saying things like this about people."

"S-seriously?"

"Seriously." She smiled somewhat dolefully at me. "Let's go right after school. We can take my car."

"Or we can take mine," came a deep and familiar voice from behind us.

"Sam!?" Irina squeaked, her eyes popping wide as she turned to face him. "What are you doing here!? I thought the cops stopped letting visitors in."

"Guess I'm just connected," he joked, smiling and moving closer to wrap Irina in a hug. "So what exactly's happening after school? I kinda came in at the tail end of your convo, but it sounds like you two're planning to go on an adventure."

"It's not exactly an adventure," Irina sighed, her voice lowering again. "Madam Caroline's up to her old tricks."

"Yeah," I sighed, opening the newspaper to page four and handing it to him. "Read this."

"Oh, no." Sam's eyebrows furrowed as he scanned the page. "Dude, this sucks. I can't believe she wrote this."

"Yeah, well, that's what she does," Irina added matter-of-factly. "She takes a normal situation and twists it into a tabloid-drama for the ages."

"Yeah," Sam stared off into space for a moment, "she really does."

Stillness hung in the air, Sam's suddenly wistful mood chilling the atmosphere.

I shifted uncomfortably. "Sam...is everything okay, man?"

His eyes fluttered, snapping back to attention. "What? Oh, sorry. My bad. I was just...just thinking is all." He turned back to me and Irina. "So, after school, then?"

"W—what?" I sputtered.

"After school. We're going by Caroline's office, right?"

****

"Hi, Mrs. Crabtree," Sam greeted the receptionist, who was typing at her personal computer. "Is Madam Caroline in?"

Her eyes didn't leave her screen. "Do you have an appointment?"

"No, this is a walk-in."

"Then I'm going to have to ask you to wait for a moment while I inform Madam Caroline of your arrival." She lifted the telephone at the top right corner of her desk and placed a call.

Several rings of the dial tone were followed by the faint and feminine voice of Madam Caroline:

"Hello?" Her words were fuzzy; I could barely make out what was being said on her end.

"Caroline, it's Carla. Some kids are here to see you."

"I'm booked all afternoon. Do they have an appointment?"

"Well, no, but..."

"But what, Carla? You read my schedule this morning. I'm a very busy woman."

"It's him, Caroline. The adopted boy you wrote about. And it looks like he brought friends." She looked up from the phone to glance at the three of us, then her eyes darted quickly away.

A moment of silence on the other end. "Very well. Send him in."

Carla looked up from her conversation, staring directly at me, Irina, and Sam. "Madam Caroline will see you now." She stepped from behind her desk and held open the door directly adjacent to her station. "Right this way."

Sam was the first to enter, storming through the archway with me and Irina at his heels. Madam Caroline's office was at the end of the hall of cream-colored walls. Fists balled and propelled on swift strides, Sam closed the distance in mere moments before pounding sharply against the door.

Seconds passed before the knob clicked and its lock twisted in the metallic frame. "And just what do you want?" Madam Caroline demanded as she opened up, an incredulous frown wrinkling her face. "Can't you see that I'm busy?"

"Busy, huh?" Sam shot back. "Then let's keep this plain and simple." He held up the EdgeWay Press article and shook it in her face. "Recognize this?"

She laughed. "Of course, dear. My memory may not be what it once was, but I think I'd recognize the article I wrote just last week." She sauntered back over to her desk and picked up the cup off coffee situated on its edge, sipping lightly. "What I just can't seem to figure out is why it's any of your concern."

"It's my concern because Ahmed's my friend. And I'm not just going to sit by and watch you peddle your garbage!"

Madam Caroline took another sip of her coffee, her free hand resting against the side of her desk as she stood staring back at us with narrowed, defiant eyes.

"This is someone's life," Sam raged. "Do you even get that!?"

She laughed again. "Oh, Sam. You never get tired of playing the hero, do you?"

Sam's face flushed. "How did you know my name?"

"Darling, it hasn't been that long ago. Surely you didn't think I'd forgotten who you were so quickly." She pried her eyes away from him and turned to Irina. "Though, I do question the wisdom of bringing your kindergarten buddy along for moral support."

Kindergarten buddy? I puzzled to myself. What's she talking ab—?

"He didn't 'bring me along,' you chattering witch," Irina spat. "I wanted to come. In fact, it was my idea in the first place."

Madam Caroline raised her right eyebrow. "Oh? And why was that? I never wrote anything in my article about you. Unless..." Her eyes popped wide with sinister delight; she placed her coffee swiftly back on the desk, then pointed her two index fingers giddily ahead at us. "You two! Oh, how obvious—literally right in front of my face! Just wait until the Press gets a hold of this! I can see the headlines now: 'Hardened-Muslim-Turned-Christian Practices Safe Sex With Graduating Senior!' My my my, it's almost too good to be true!"

"Madam Caroline, stop it!" I finally screamed. "We're not having—"

"Oh, come now, Ahmed," she cut me off, smiling mischievously. "I'd have to be blind to miss the spark between you two." She scurried behind the desk and plopped into her seat, then opened her laptop and began to type.

But as her bright-pink fingernails clattered across the keys, Sam stomped forward and slammed the computer top down, nearly smashing her hands flat. "THAT'S ENOUGH, CAROLINE!" he screamed as she yanked her fingers away in terror.

Eyes popping wide, she sprang to her feet, sneering arrogance morphing into livid rage. "HOW DARE YOU!?"

"How dare I?" Sam retorted. "How dare you!? How dare you bash my friend because he's different! You think he chose this, asked for all this crap in his life? You think you can say anything you want and just get away with it? Well, screw you, Caroline! And screw all of your stupid articles!"

She scowled, an angry comment just moments from escaping her mouth when, suddenly, her eyes shifted, some new and dreadful thought drifting into her head. "I...I can't believe this." Her words shuddered as she spoke. "I...can't believe I never saw it before."

Huh?

"This isn't about Ahmed at all," she continued knowingly. "This is about redemption, isn't it?"

Sam froze.

"Sweetheart, you needn't be ashamed of it."

"Sam," Irina interjected, "what's she talking about?"

"It's nothing," Sam mused, then looked Madam Caroline in the eye. "Nothing at all."

"I don't understand..." Irina began.

"It's in the past, dear," Madam Caroline cut in. "It's in the past, and it's no good to any of us now." Her face darkened, growing grave for only an instant—some dark and unfathomable presence darting into view for the briefest of moments before fleeting away, before her eyes narrowed and that arrogant smile returned. "And if there's one thing I can't stand, it's old news."

Sam glared at her, his eyes dark. "For your sake, you'd better hope that's all it is."

Their eyes locked, scowls deepening.

I stepped back slowly, felt my hands shudder against my thighs.

"Go, Samuel," Madam Caroline finally spoke. "All three of you need to go." She looked off into the air. "Leave my office. I've wasted enough time on this nonsense, and I need to prepare for my next appointment." She waved her hand and retook the seat at her desk.

"Fine," Sam relented, his voice almost a whisper. "We'll go." He paused. "But you should know something."

She held her silence.

"It took me almost a decade to finally get over what happened." Pain, pure and unquestionable pain leaked from his voice. "And I just can't understand how you're still writing for EdgeWay's paper."

She hesitated at his words. "It's all I can do." Her voice was trembling. "Surely you can understand that." She reached down and grasped the top of her computer, flipping it open again. "Now, go. All of you."

The three of us left the room, Sam in front yet again, blurring past the monochrome walls of soft cream—but this time pacing quickly away.

"Sam, wait!" Irina called to him as he sped down the hall, bolting after him.

As he marched past Ms. Crabtree's desk, Irina caught his elbow. "Sam, please. Just talk to me. What the heck just happened in there?"

"It's a long story, Irina," he sighed. "Look, I'm really not in the mood right now."

"What do you mean? What's a long story? Why are you—?"

"IRINA, JUST STOP!" He screamed, his thunderous words echoing through the office building and reverberating off the walls. "WILL YOU JUST QUIT WHINING AT ME FOR FIVE SECONDS!?"

Irina drew back. "O-okay," she whimpered.

He growled and shut his eyes briefly, then turned to go, trudging across the final stretch of carpet between Ms. Crabtree's desk and the bright but chilly outdoors. He shoved his way into the parking lot, disappearing in the whistle of the wind as Irina and I looked off from him, our glances finding one another.

"It's a good thing I brought my car," Irina addressed me in a small voice. "I think Sam's is full."

I nodded, my thoughts suddenly overtaken at once by the utter silence in the office. Mrs. Crabtree sat at her desk, and even the movement of her fingers across her keyboard as she typed seemed to make no noise.

To this day, I can't explain it, but as we were leaving that office, I could feel something—something dark, evil; something lurking in the thick shadows cast by the high-back chairs situated along the walls; something hiding beneath the bright-red leaves of the poinsettias decorating the reception desk and adjoining coffee table; something slithering beneath the spotless, silvery carpet that lined the floors. It was deep and unforgiving, whispering hints of remembered wrongs.

And then I heard it—the faintest, ever-so-subtle weeping. To the imperceptive ear, it would have been nothing, the low hum of the air conditioner perhaps. But that sound wasn't merely the air; I knew it was more.

Tears.

Those were real and unmistakable tears.

Madam Caroline's tears.