Suspended

By Andrew Carmitchel

Eighteen-year-old Frank Krane is the kind of kid who fits in at school and yet roams the edges of high school cliques. After a football injury stunts his football career and his parents divorce, he finds himself rebellious and adrift.

When Frank is suspended from school for impertinence, a series of unfortunate events are set in motion. After sharing breakfast with a known troublemaker, Frank wanders around town aimlessly. When he attends a party later that night, Frank meets April, a very attractive young woman. Frank immediately senses something is troubling this beautiful newcomer, but even an intimate chat doesn't compel April to share what has her distressed.

Come morning, Frank discovers he's the last known person to see April alive-her family has reported her missing. When the police place him under house arrest, Frank knows he must do something to help both himself and April. After escaping, Frank works with April's friend Belinda to piece together possible scenarios of where she might be.

As Frank and Belinda pursue leads, they walk into something much more sinister and frightening than they bargained for. Frank knows he must save April-and himself-before it's too late.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: May 29, 2008
• ISBN: 9780595611515

Andrew Carmitchel

Andrew Carmitchel is a recently retired educator who spent over 30 years in education. This is one of two books written for his grandchildren. A Wizard on Oak Street is a book for anyone who loves mystery, magic and adventure. Mr. Carmitchel continues writing every day in Highland, Illinois.

Book preview

1 

Sometimes things just build up until it’s all too much. I got suspended from school faster than anybody in history, and then all hell broke loose. That’s the short version.

I’ll tell you one thing to start off with, there’s a part of me that wants to just leave it right there, and go on with my life from here, and not look back. But, in another way, this is a story that needs to be told. So much happened; so many unbelievable things happened, that it needs retelling. As bad as it turned out, it needs to be retold.

You need to hear about this, and I think I need to tell it. I think Ido.

It all started in such a ridiculous way. It wasn’t like I planned on getting suspended that morning. It just came up, and happened fast. I mean it was the first day of school, for God’s sake. The first few minutes of school of my senior year in high school. Don’t get me wrong, I was definitely headed for trouble that day, and way before that really. I’d had a chip on my shoulder for a long time. It’s easy to see that now, looking back. It wasn’t so easy to see then.

Five minutes into the first class on the first day of school old Mrs. Beasley was on a roll, being all Hitler on us about everything, firing out rules to the class that I knew she wouldn’t enforce in a million years. I know teachers feel like they have to do that, but I’d heard it all too many times before, and I just wasn’t buying into it again. In fact, I was irritated as hell, to tell you the truth. I didn’t want to be there, or anywhere, where people were telling me what to do. It was like a burning feeling that had been building up inside me for a long time. It’s hard to explain.

Anyway, there she was up there clucking and scolding us like a mother hen squawking at her empty-headed chicks, trying to condition us. It was all baloney. You see, I’d had her for European History as a sophomore, and I knew how she ran her class. She was really OK, but here she was now, Wicked Bitch of the West trying to scare the crap out of everybody. Maybe it was just my breaking point, because what I did doesn’t make much sense when I look back on it. I don’t know why, but I went a little nuts.

… and if you ever turn in a paper two days late, don’t bother turning it in, because you will have failed, she was saying when I jumped in.

That’s not true, I blurted out. I didn’t even realize I’d said it out loud at first, but once I did, I didn’t care. That’s how screwed up I was.

Mrs. Beasley stopped on a dime and whirled my way. She was way into her rap on rules, and she was probably on edge with the first day jitters anyway. She wasn’t going to tolerate interruption. You couldn’t blame her.

Did you say something Frank Krane? Were you addressing me? She glared at me. The thing you should know though, is she’s really a nice person, and what she was doing right then was an act, and it was phony as hell. Basically, I was to the point where I’d had it with all the acting I could stomach. That’s the best way I can put where I was then right then.

Just like any other high school kid, I knew what I was supposed to do here. The choice was one of two simple things that would easily get me out of this. I could deny that I said anything, then look down like a submissive member of the pack while the she-wolf growled her warning at me, or, if I thought for sure that she had me nailed, I could have started apologizing like crazy, in hopes that I would only get a detention after class. You do one of those two things, you live to go to school another day. Simple. But I wasn’t into that. Not that morning.

I said, ‘that’s not true,’ I answered instead. I made myself look her right in the eye, which wasn’t easy. After all those years of slithering around sucking up to everybody, it felt exhilarating and scary at the same time. I could feel my heart beating.

She wasn’t expecting this. She hesitated, then put that sarcastic smile on that said I’ve seen it all before, while at the same time, I’m sure, frantically going over all options in her head. She could’ve tossed me out right there, and she probably should have. Deep down she was too decent for that though.

Suppose you tell the class just what it is that’s ‘not true,’ Frank, she said as she turned away, trying to be as nonchalant as possible. She was trying to give me time. This was a mistake, but she had no way of knowing that. She’d known me for a long time, and she was trying in her way to give me the benefit of the doubt. On this day though, it was a mistake. I was pissed off at everything that moved, and I didn’t care.

It’s not true that you flunk kids just because a paper’s a little late. You cut us breaks all the time. And it’s not true that we have to raise our hands to talk or we’ll get a detention. You never do that. Most of the stuff you’re saying now isn’t true Mrs. Beasley. It’s a bunch of bull. Your class is better than that.

Nice, huh?

There was stunned silence, as you could imagine. Five to ten seconds must have gone by as the class waited tensely to see what my fate would be. I looked at Mrs. Beasley, and a part of me, the part under that burning anger, sort of felt sorry for her, to tell you the truth. Here was this nice grey-haired old teacher, just trying to do her job, and I was wrecking her day. And it really wasn’t even about her. I didn’t know what it was about. Not really.

Some kid in the back of the room belched, and another one giggled. I knew poor Mrs. Beasley would have to go ahead with the execution now. She had no choice, because if she didn’t, kids like that moron in the back of the room would soon take over the classroom, and then the rest of the world. That’s the way some teachers see things. There’s no choice for them, when they’re trying to control 25 to 30 potential monsters.

OK Frank. Go to the office, she said. She seemed a little resigned and sad about it, even though her face was red. I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but I’m not going to tolerate it. Then she turned and went back to her notes, waiting for me to go.

I got up and put on my book bag, which was pretty light since this was my first class and I only had the one book. I took one look around the class before I left. Some of the kids were obviously shocked, some were just smiling. I felt anger boiling in me. At that moment I didn’t give a damn about what happened to me, or about any of them. I walked out.

The halls were empty, except for some helpless freshmen and a few other geeks that couldn’t find their first class.

I walked toward the office, taking my time, and kind of trying to absorb what had just happened. To be honest, I felt bad about Mrs. Beasley more than anything. Like I said, it wasn’t like I planned for it to happen, and I certainly had no way of knowing the kind of serious trouble that this would somehow lead to, was out there waiting for me, just ahead.

2 

As far as my story goes, high school has broken into two clean halves. My freshman and sophomore years were like everybody else’s, or at least it seemed like it to me. I was into sports (especially football), girls, and even school itself, to some extent. I liked reading books, of all things, and I was into stuff like student council and all that stuff for a while. I was an honor student, I was proud of it, and my parents got a real bang out of it. Everything seemed to go along normally until the summer and fall of my junior year. That’s when I started seeing things differently. It was a gradual thing. It was like my mind was changing, and I couldn’t stop it. Yes, there were a few big things that happened during those months. I admit that. But it’s not like my goofy counselor thinks; that it was all caused by those traumatic events. Not at all. Those things helped push me along, maybe, but I was already headed in a different direction. I ought to know.

To make a long boring story short: my parents got divorced, I broke my leg in football, and I broke up with my girlfriend. There. Now you’ve got it. If you’re into psycho-analyzing people, feel free to go crazy at this point. But believe me, this stuff happens to about 90 per cent of kids out there these days. I just happened to hit the trifecta right then. No big deal.

The point is, I was starting to get interested in other things, and beginning to ask myself why I was doing certain things, even before that all happened. That’s the truth. But enough on that for now.

I walked toward the office feeling both this weird anger, and regret at the same time. I know that sounds screwed up; and it is, but it wasn’t the first time lately that I’d done something that made me feel that way. It seemed like every time I stood up and said what I really felt; every time I finally had the courage to say something was phony, I ended up hurting somebody’s feelings. Usually it was an adult too, like my mother, or someone who just happened to get in the way, like poor old Mrs. Beasley. I didn’t like that part of it. It really bothered me. It still does.

Anyway, the office was packed when I got there. None of the other people ahead of me were in trouble though. It was too soon for that. I had to be the only idiot in history who got in trouble so fast. All the kids were there waiting for their schedules. They were almost all upperclassmen, like me, and they hadn’t bothered to pick up their schedules until then on purpose. It was one of their little ways of showing how cool they were, and how they weren’t worried about anything, thank you very much. It happened every year, and it was like the school could never figure out what to do about it. That’s why I didn’t do it, because everybody else did. I guess I was just going straight to getting kicked out of classes instead.

Four secretaries, a couple of counselors and an assistant principal were all frantically going through stacks of reprinted schedules, trying to find the right one for whichever lost kid was standing in front of them at the moment. I stood at the back of the mob and watched, waiting my turn. Willie Higgens, a burn-out who ran with a crowd of burn-outs I sometimes hung out with, was the person in line ahead of me. Willie had the dirty haired metal fan look about him. He worked at that look. He never wore anything but a black t-shirt and jeans with holes in them. It was his crowds’ uniform, only they would never see it that way. Every group in high school has a uniform, you ever notice that? The more rebellious; the stricter the dress code. Anyway, in the mood I was in, I really didn’t want to talk to him that morning, but sure enough, after a couple of minutes he turned around and saw me.

Hey man! What’s Frankie doin’ here man? I saw right away that he was very stoned. Anybody that really looked at him would see it. His group sometimes got high before school started, and I’m sure thefirst day of the new year meant that they hit it harder than usual. He really reeked.

I’m here to get disciplined. I got in trouble, I told him.

It took him a minute to absorb this. You could almost see his brain working, trying to register what I’d said. I noticed he was drooling as he concentrated. Suddenly, his retarded neural sensors kicked in. COOL! he said, way too loud. A few other kids turned and looked at us. One of the secretaries arched a now suspicious eyebrow. I grabbed Willie’s arm and leaned into his ear.

You’re way too high man, I whispered. You better just leave. They’ll bust you man! I tried to put as much alarm in my voice as possible.

I stepped back and looked at him. He was still bent slightly toward me with a glazed look on his face, trying to comprehend what I’d just said. Poor Willie. My message had been delivered, but no one was home.

Finally, after way too long, he straightened up and smiled. He pushed his long hair out of his eyes and said, I’m here to get my schedule man! Gonna start school man! Again, this was way too loud. This guy was toast. At least I had tried.

Sure enough, a few minutes later when we finally got up to the counter, Mrs. Crenshaw (the oldest and meanest secretary) took one look at Willie and called to Mr. Stillwell. Stillwell seemed to come out of his Vice Principal’s office reluctantly. He rarely look happy about anything, ever, and now here he was, with his summer gone, and with nothing to look forward to but another long year of busting kids. It was like he wasn’t really made for the job, but he had adapted. He gave a depressed glance at Willie, sighed, then waved his arm in a deliberate sweeping motion from where Willie was standing toward his office. He was like a tired umpire throwing someone out of a ballgame.

Willie just stared. It took Stillwell a few seconds to realize that his signal had been missed. So he used his Intimidator voice. COME INTO MY OFFICE WILLIE! he thundered.

Willie heard that one, as did all the rest of us in the office, along with all those scared freshmen wandering in the halls, and for that matter probably any previously deaf people who lived within 5 miles of the high school. Everybody involuntarily jumped. Then it got deathly quiet, and we all watched poor Willie stumble toward Still-well’s dungeon. The door quickly closed, and Willie was gone.

I was next. Mrs. Crenshaw was ready to wait on me, with a rare smile creasing her wrinkled face. She looked happy to be back in school; back in her element. She was probably also very pleased with herself for starting her year by busting that low-life Willie Higgens.

"Do you need your schedule then, Mr. Krane?’ she asked as she starting sorting through the box to get to the K’s. Mrs. Crenshaw prided herself on how many of the kids she knew by name. She had all the seniors and most of the juniors down pat. There were over 250 kids in each class, so she must have spent a lot of time matching pictures with names at home. I found this kind of depressing.

No, I got in trouble in Mrs. Beasley’s class. I guess I need to see one of the assistant principals, I said.

Her head jerked up to look at me. This didn’t fit for her, and she looked confused. I was a senior and I had never been in any real trouble before. She plainly didn’t know what to make of it.

Were you late for class or something? she asked. She was also nosy.

I’d rather not say. I wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction. Please let me talk to one of the administrators.

She didn’t like that answer at all. She gave me a long look, and I thought she was going to rip into me, but she didn’t. Maybe it was the look on my face, or maybe