Confess

By Sherry Schwarcz

New student Davis Jensen is a bully. Unhappy with his lot in life as a foster child, he’s gone out of his way to make everyone around him miserable. He has a reputation for cutting class, smoking on and off campus, and vandalizing school property. Naturally when something tragic happens at Pleasantown Middle School, everybody believes he’s behind it. After all, he was seen leaving the scene of the crime. Only this time he isn’t guilty!

Davis has an inspired idea...disguise himself, go back to school as someone else, get close to the real culprit, and make him confess. But how? Davis has few allies and no real plan, only the victim’s journal, a couple of Jesus Freaks, and the truth on his side. Can he really prove he didn’t do it—this time? Will his conscience allow him use every rotten trick in the book to pull it off? And can he learn the true meaning of forgiveness and grace?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sherry Schwarcz
• Release date: Dec 31, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311383518

Sherry Schwarcz

Sherry Schwarcz presently lives in Austria with her diplomat husband. She holds a BS in Secondary Education from UNLV and a MA English from CSUH. For over 18 years, Sherry taught teens in the United States and Germany. She presently teaches online while raising two rare Taigan sighthounds when she isn't writing. Sherry blogs about her dog at www.dashadiary.weebly.com, which has hosted hundreds of curious visitors.After a sermon when the pastor asked congregants what they would do if they knew they couldn't fail because it was for the glory of God, Confess was conceived and drawn from experience. Intrigued by the secular and Christian definitions of confession, witness, and testify, Sherry has written a teaching guide to accompany the novel complete with vocabulary, discussion topics and final projects. She has also compiled a 40-day Bible study based on the leading Bible passages at the beginning of each chapter.

Book preview

So do not worry about tomorrow; for tomorrow will care for itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own. Matthew 6:34

This school bites, thought Davis to himself as he walked down the empty hallway of Pleasantown Middle School. It was technically third period, but Davis hadn't made it to his English class since his second day of school. He knew that his scatter-brained teacher, Mrs. Patterson, didn't even miss him. She was too busy trying to keep the kids quiet long enough to take attendance.

Davis had only been in this school a few weeks. His new foster parents were nice enough. They were a pair of Jesus freaks who thought he could have a fresh start in a new town, so they moved him from LA to this lame town in central California. He still hadn't found himself some homies to hang with, but he figured that the boys' bathroom between classes was a good place to start. This was Davis' sixth middle school in just three years, so he knew the score. Why would this time be any different?

He skulked down the hallway thinking how this school was so like the many others he attended through the years. The lockers were in long, neat rows along the halls. Various kinds of locks hung from them. Davis thought to himself how easy it would be to get around them with the goods they were supposed to be protecting. Not that Davis would steal; he just took great pride in the fact that he could.

Panther Pride posters hung neatly along the walls. School spirit. This seemed nonsensical to Davis who thought that the school would have to be dead in order to rally around it. And if that were the case, why would people bother to support it? Naw, school spirit was for band geeks and losers!

He passed the trophy case in the main hallway. Glancing at it, he saw its shelves lined with trophies from various sports. He never did get to participate in any clubs or teams. Why bother? Davis never got to stick around in one place long enough to care. There he saw his own frowning face reflected in the glass. He had to be careful; he was spitting distance from the main office.

Davis heard some voices around the corner, and he was sure it was Big Bertha and her side-kick, Crazy Connie scouring the school for kids without their hall passes. A few more feet, and Davis would reach the sanctuary of the restroom. Whew. Made it. There was no school made that could suppress him.

Davis reached into his pocket and pulled out his pack of cigarettes. He kept his matches between the clear plastic and the box that contained them. He took out a cigarette, lit it, and deeply inhaled the smoke. Ahhh!!! Just what I needed. He thought about his new home, new school, old life. They all bite, he said aloud. His foster parents were a couple of do-gooders, computer geeks who thought a fancy house, sporty new clothes and Sunday school could solve all the abuses he'd suffered in the past. But all the prayers and money in the world couldn't erase his poor school record of fights and truancies Davis acquired as a result of living with his own parents' fighting and drinking. It all followed him like a puppy dog who still trailed its owner even though it'd been kicked around a few times.

These thoughts were running around in his head as he locked himself in a stall and climbed on top of the toilet seat in a squat position. He then proceeded to finish smoking his cigarette. He took out his black ink pen and began to write This School Bites all over the inside wall of the stall. Just as he was about to write why, he heard the door to the restroom squeak open. He hurriedly tossed his smoke in the toilet to extinguish it. Psssst. It hit the water below him.

Get in here, said a low threatening voice. Do you hear me?

Y-y-y-esss, said a squeaky voice. P-Please don't hurt me. I'll give you whatever you want.

Davis peered through the crackdown one side of the stall door, still in his squatting position atop the toilet. He could see a bigger kid with baggy jeans and an oversized T-shirt which bragged the slogan no fear across the back. The kid had blonde hair that hung down into his eyes and a part down the middle. He wore VANS on his feet and a mean sort of expression on his face. This looks like my kind of people, Davis thought to himself. He’d make a point to search out this guy to see if they could hang out together some time. Although he had been there a few weeks, he hadn’t met anyone to hang with. The school buddy they’d paired him up with looked like the kind of kid he used to hassle.

Davis looked at the little kid. He had short brown hair that was neatly combed. He was wearing shorts and a new shirt, and glasses. Davis thought he looked like someone from his foster parents’ church. Figures, thought Davis to himself. Poor Geek. Clean cut School Boy must have carried his whole locker in the green backpack that was lying on the ground next to him, forgotten in the scuffle between himself and the tough kid.

Three-fifty? That all you got? Last time it was nearly ten bucks. What's'a matter, you didn't take out the trash like you was supposed to? The tough kid had grasped the little guy by the scruff of his collar. The little guy's eyes bulged outside of his head.

S-s-sorry, that's all I got.

Stupid. Next time I come for you, you had better have more than a couple of bucks. I’m a growing boy. I need to eat. He shoved the little guy against the wall. The little guy's head glanced off of the wall behind him. Then he pitched forward and struck his head on the bathroom sink. Clunk. He hit the floor with a thud. Tough guy left.

Well, maybe he isn't my kind of guy after all, thought Davis to himself. Though he hassled kids, he only hurt someone who came after him first! He waited for the little guy to pick himself up off of the floor. He seemed to be waiting for a long time. Davis looked at his cell phone, two minutes before the bell rings, then half the school would come in to take care of business. Man, I gotta get out of here.

Tentatively, Davis pushed open the door of the stall. Psst. Hey kid, you okay? No answer. Hey man, get up, you're gonna get trampled in a minute. Still no answer. Davis crept towards the little guy. He noticed that the kid was deathly pale, and he didn't seem to be breathing.

With a trembling hand, Davis reached out and tried to shake the kid. No use. He just lay there. Davis noticed that he felt cold to the touch. Davis shook him again, this time a little harder. Oh my gosh, he's dead! exclaimed Davis.

Ringgggggg.......

Davis backed away from the body. He had to get out of there. In a daze he turned towards the door and bolted out. The next thing he knew he had hit the floor. He tripped over the little guy's green backpack that had been discarded in the scuffle with the tough guy. Hurriedly, he tried to untangle it from his ankle. Kids were everywhere in the hallway now. He needed to get some air, quick. It would be moments before other students went into the bathroom and discover the little guy's body. It suddenly occurred to Davis that he might be suspect. With Davis' reputation, he had no doubt that this was plausible.

I have to get out of here! screamed Davis' mind. He was freaking out. He ran down the hallway, around the corner, smack into a girl.

Look out! she shouted at him.

S-sorry, Davis managed to get out as he was running down the hall. He didn't know where he was going, but he needed as much distance as he could from that stifling place in order to think.

CHAPTER TWO

Whoever conceals his transgressions will not prosper, but he who confesses and forsakes them will obtain mercy. Proverbs 28:13

What is it now Mrs. Arroway? Principal Black replied impatiently into the speakerphone on his desk.

There's been a situation in the boy's bathroom, near room 408.

What kind of situation? asked Black with the same testy voice he had used seconds ago.

Apparently, there is a dead student in there, replied Mrs. Arroway, Black's secretary.

Is this some kind of sick joke? Black asked.

Mrs. Arroway mumbled, No, you couldn't catch a joke with a mitt, you old curmudgeon.

Ignoring her, I'm waiting.

For what?

Are you being serious? Black asked through tightly pursed lips.

Of course I am, I wouldn't joke about something like this! she replied equally terse.

Did you call 9-1-1?

D-u-u-h, to herself. And to Black, They're on their way.

I'll be right there. Black took his feet off of the stool behind his desk. Now he was really irritated. Why did the kid have to pick his school to die in? As if he didn't have enough to worry about. Last week he had spent half of his days trying to figure out who was vandalizing the boys' restrooms, and the other half trying to stop kids from smoking in them. Now this! There'd be heck to pay at the next school board meeting.

Black left his office and headed briskly down the quieting hallway. It should be silent by now because the tardy bell had just rung, but he was sure there was probably a bunch or rubber-neckers trying to catch a glimpse of the body in the bathroom. Darn hall monitors aren't worth their salt, he mumbled to himself as he turned the corner of the hall that housed the bathroom by room 408.

As he had suspected there was a sizable crowd gathered outside of the restroom, using their contraband phones to snap photos probably to post on their social media pages. The hall monitors were ineptly shouting at them to get to class, to no avail.

Now listen here, unless you have some important information, I want you to get going! boomed the voice of the imperious Principal Black. I said get moving, or you will find yourself in Saturday detention! And if I hear about one status update, post, tweet or chirp you will land a month of Satudays! With those words, most of the kids scattered to get to their classes.

He walked into the bathroom and felt for the boy's pulse. Nothing. He checked to see if he was breathing. Nope. Now he wished he had taken that CPR class he made all the P.E. coaches take. The ambulance should be here any minute, he reassured himself.

Principal Black turned around and stared ominously into the faces of the remaining students. He turned to Bertha and Connie to interrogate them first.

What happened here? he asked Connie, who was closest to him.

Connie gave him a blank stare. He turned to Bertha and looked at all three-hundred pounds of her, thinking that big wasn't exactly the adjective he'd use to describe her. Well? he gave her a questioning look.

The bell for the end of third period rang and some boys went into the bathroom and they saw the body and they screamed and we came running then we called your secretary and were trying to get the kids back to class and then you came and I don't know what happened. How Bertha managed to get all that out in one breath was beyond Black. Already he was getting a headache.

All right now, who has something relevant to tell me? boomed Black. The kids stood there looking at each other, silently exchanging looks to decide who was going to go first. Come on now, we don't have all day. Black looked at the faces in front of him trying to figure out if any of them had been sent to see him before.

A boy stepped forward. Mr. Black, sir, the kid's name is Crandall. I have him in Mrs. Simile's English class with me this period. We usually walk to her room together. I went to his third period class, and his computer apps teacher said she gave him a pass to the bathroom and hadn't come back yet. I came here to see if he was feeling okay. That's when I noticed a crowd gathered out here. I saw him lying there. Gee, is he gonna be okay?

Sorry son, but I don't think so, Mr. Black broke it to the boy as gently as he knew how. Do you know what happened to him?

No sir, I came after he was already like that, replied the boy.

Why don't you go on back to class now? Give Bertha your name just in case the police need to contact you, said Principal Black.

The police? But I didn't do anything wrong, the boy replied worriedly.

I know son. It's just in case, said Black. Connie wrote the kid a pass and sent him on to class. The principal turned to look at the two remaining students. Well, what have you got to tell me?

A girl spoke up next. I don't know if this is important, but this kid was running down the hall in a hurry, just after the bell rang. He ran right into me, and he had this scared look on his face.

Who was he? Black asked.

"I don't know his name,