Dave finally showed up at our table in the cafe before the first bell, a strange little smirk on his face.
“Where have you been?” I asked. “You didn’t have any breakfast.”
He plopped his backpack down but remained standing. “Lady and gentleman. Some scuttlebutt for you. The police are here.”
Both Onion and I hardly reacted to the news. The police had shown up at The Big Brown Box almost too many times to count for all kinds of reasons, either to conduct some random search or in response to an altercation of some kind.
“So what?” Onion said. “That’s not scuttlebutt.”
The little smirk remained on Dave’s face.
“Ah, but it involves one of our most prominent students, none other than Crystal Lee. You know, Miss Wholesome Popularity, whose thorough wholesomeness actually makes my spine tingle.” Dave wiggled a bit as if his spine was tingling right then.
Onion and I looked at each other.
“Wow,” Onion said. “I take it back. That is scuttlebutt.”
If anyone was “Miss Wholesome Popularity” at The Big Brown Box, it was Crystal Lee. Besides movie-star attractiveness, she had an uncanny knack for always being at the right place at the right time to garner all the attention. She was elected Homecoming Queen by a landslide both times she ran for the honor, and nearly every issue of the school paper had at least one picture of her in it somewhere. That was probably because she was on the editorial staff, not to mention editor of the yearbook, co-captain of the girls’ volleyball team, co-founder of the recycling committee, drama club treasurer, assistant to the after-school coordinator, student activities vice president, and the secretary of the student government association.
She was such an endless flurry of activity, she made the rest of us look lethargic by comparison. How she found time to go to class and do homework I had no idea.
The one time I ever spoke to her, I realized what everybody meant when they said that conversations with her were mainly one-sided. I had just won a surprise award for “Best School Library Patron,” one of those annual “feel good” awards that really didn’t mean anything but was appreciated nonetheless. There had been an announcement over the intercom asking me to report to the library, no reason given. Naturally, I assumed I had done something wrong and went immediately, only to be pleasantly surprised (and relieved) when the library staff surrounded me and broke the good news.
No sooner did they hand me the award than Crystal appeared by my side out of nowhere as my picture was being taken for the school paper. She wore a smile so wide I thought her face had to hurt. I didn’t think facial muscles could stretch that far.
“Congratulations!” she said, shaking my hand as the photo was snapped of the two of us together, as if she had either given me the award or was receiving it herself. “I won this award two years ago!”
“Oh! So, we have something in common,” I said.
While her bright, eager expression didn’t falter, I could see from her non-comprehending eyes in the brief moment she looked at me that we actually had nothing in common.
She turned away to face the small but appreciative crowd. “I think our library staff is the just the best ever, don’t you agree? Woo-hoo!” She made a little fist and waved it around in a circle. The library staff and the few others in attendance tittered in approval and applauded.
I noticed that she kept her eyes on the audience as if to make sure everyone understood what she had to say was all that really mattered, as if I were no longer there.
“Just as a reminder, I’m trying to collect enough recycling materials to buy more library books soon, so keep on recycling, people! Woo!”
Everyone applauded again. Now that she had their full attention, Crystal wandered off a bit, distancing herself even further from me. I wondered if I should take my award and slink away since I had apparently been dismissed.
“I would also like to take this opportunity to invite everyone to tomorrow’s night home volleyball game. If we win, we’re in the playoffs, so let’s have a real good turnout, okay? Woo!”
More applause.
“Thank you, everyone! See you tomorrow night in the gym! Thank you!”
As she left, a small crowd of admirers formed around her and she took them with her out the door.
Nearly alone with my award, I did slink away, wondering what had just happened yet knowing the answer.
Crystal happened.
“You know, I’m not convinced she’s actually a student,” Onion said. “I think she’s here just to be popular.”
“So what did she do that the police had to show up?” I asked Dave. “Kill somebody more popular than her?”
Dave laughed. “Nope. Some other sort of scandal. Besides, there’s nobody more popular than her. She’ll tell you that herself.”
Onion’s eyes widened. “Ooh, give us all the juicy details. Don’t stop now.”
Dave shrugged. “Unfortunately, that’s all I know.”
Onion slumped back in her chair. “Well, you’re no use. You can’t announce something like that and not have more information.”
Dave sat down heavily as if dejected. “Sorry. Guess I’m not a very good sleuth.” His face suddenly brightened. “Hey! We could always start a few nasty rumors about her and all that, see how far they’ll spread. That’s lots of fun.”
Onion tossed a sugar pack at him. “You’re not only useless, you’re despicable.”
Dave feigned a bright smile. “Why, thank you. That’s my middle name.” He yawned and stretched, but it sure didn’t look authentic. “Never mind, then. I’m sure there’s a perfectly good reason why the FBI showed up, too.”
Onion and I looked at each other and then at him in shock.
“The FBI?” Onion finally said. “You didn’t say anything about the FBI. What did they want?”
Dave shrugged. “Haven’t the foggiest. I saw a bunch of them in Morgan’s office with the police. They just left.”
“How do you know they were the FBI?” I asked.
He gave me a scornful look. “Gosh, I’m not sure. Was it because they were wearing jackets with tall yellow ‘FBI’ letters written on the back? Yeah, that must be it.”
Onion’s gaze grew distant, as if she were contemplating that. “Weird,” she said. “Maybe somebody is harassing or stalking her,” I suggested.
“Could be,” Dave replied. “Maybe her life is in danger.”
Onion’s eyes widened. “Whoa. Intriguing.”
And with that, the first bell rang and our speculation ended. It wasn’t until later that morning that news about the FBI visit spread, along with all kinds of expected and not-so-expected rumors about what they wanted with Crystal.
Dave laughed at one he overheard in a hallway. “Somehow, I just can’t picture her robbing a bank,” he said. “Besides, her parents are super rich. They give her everything her little heart desires. She’s their precious little spine-tingling princess, you know.” He wiggled a bit again.
Usually rumors like that would run out of steam and die the death they deserved. But for some reason, they grew in intensity, with people going out of their way to ask each other what was happening, if there was any fresh news. Freshmen, seniors, it didn’t matter—the buzz was constant and heavy.
“It’s like everyone’s holding their breath, waiting for some big, official announcement,” Dave observed at our next break in the cafe. “You can cut the suspense with a knife.”
“Yeah,” Onion agreed. “Somebody knows something, but they’re barely talking.”
When a police car pulled up to the front door at lunch hour and a cop in uniform and an FBI agent wearing a jacket just as Dave described hurried to Morgan’s office, a small crowd drifted by from the cafe to catch a glimpse through his office window to see what was happening. Sad to say, that crowd included Dave, Onion, and me. Most of the girls stood with sour expressions like there was a bad smell in the air, as if expecting to hear the worst.
Morgan came out to put a stop to our gawking.
“Move along, everyone. Nothing to see here.”
And he returned to talk to his visitors.
I followed Dave and Onion back to the cafe. To our surprise, coming down the hallway straight toward us was Crystal, head bowed with her hands shading her face, being escorted by two teachers as if they had been assigned as her bodyguards. I couldn’t tell if she had been crying, but she sure seemed upset as she went by.
The teachers escorted her directly to Morgan’s office then turned around and left once she was safely inside. Morgan sure didn’t look too happy to see her. Neither did the cop or the FBI agent. Crystal stood there subdued, head still bowed, not at all her usual extroverted self. We could tell she was getting a few harsh words from Morgan even though we couldn’t hear a word behind the closed door.
“Strange,” Onion said. “I wonder what that’s all about.”
As if to explain, Morgan opened the door and let the cop and the agent escort Crystal back down the hall.
“Come on,” Dave said. “Let’s go the long way to see where they’re taking her.”
We hurried around the cafe like the three unabashed curiosity-seekers we were. Since it was lunch, all the hall monitors were in the cafe, making our sleuthing easier.
As we peered around the corner, we saw Crystal standing in front of her locker, her escorts on either side as if expecting her to try to escape. Standing nearby was one of the school’s maintenance men with an enormous pair of bolt cutters. Crystal defiantly crossed her arms. The FBI agent whispered something to her and she firmly shook her head, refusing to even look at him.
The agent then nodded to the maintenance worker. “Cut it open on my authority,” he said.
The maintenance worker clipped the combination lock off the locker as if it were made of wax. The cut lock fell to the floor, and the maintenance man gave it a little kick out of the way.
The agent opened the locker and began pulling everything out. He stuffed it all into a large plastic garbage bag the maintenance man handed him. The agent’s expression was stony, as if the task were distasteful. I saw he was wearing clear vinyl gloves like the ones we wore in biology lab, as if Crystal’s stuff was dangerous or contaminated somehow.
“Really weird,” Onion said. “This just gets stranger and stranger.”
We saw a small group of girls walking slowly down the hall from the other direction, approaching cautiously. One of them I recognized as a friend of Crystal’s. She was talking in a low tone, her lips pursed as if reluctant to say anything.
Onion marched over to join them. The group stopped in a circle a respectful distance away from the peculiar scene by the locker. When Crystal’s friend finished whispering, there were a few faint cries and the girls quickly flew apart, almost as if something appalling had appeared right in the middle of them and they had to get away.
Onion walked back to us, her expression dark.
“Uh oh,” Dave said. “This can’t be good, whatever it is.”
Onion didn’t say a word. Instead, she stared with concern at the filled garbage bag as the FBI agent tied it shut.
“Well?” Dave finally asked. “Say something, will you? Don’t leave us floundering like this.”
Onion hesitated. Before she could answer, the FBI agent ushered Crystal toward the exit next to us. I finally noticed the squad car with the lights flashing by the doors. As they approached, I saw Crystal’s hands shaking as she held them up in a kind of weak, scared surrender. For some reason I couldn’t take my eyes off them.
This time I didn’t shrink away like I had at Homecoming when I saw Sam’s trembling hands. Instead, I boldly stepped forward and grabbed her right hand with both of mine. The FBI agent and policemen gave me cold gazes but didn’t shoo me away.
“Whatever this is all about, you’ll get through it just fine. I know you will, Crystal.”
She stared at me with wide doe eyes, as if seeing me for the first time. To my surprise, her hands stopped shaking. I was glad about that.
“Thank you,” she said. The words were soft, but it was the most sincere thank you I had ever heard.
I nodded and let her hand go, sensing that was what the FBI agent was about to order me to do. She stared back at me a few seconds as they continued on their way, her look of amazement still there.
I returned to where Dave and Onion stood with somber faces.
“Why did you do that?” Onion asked. “I thought you didn’t even like her.”
There was no way I could begin to explain it since I didn’t quite understand it myself.
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I thought she could use some encouragement.”
Onion nodded but still seemed puzzled.
Dave shook his head and gave a little huff in exasperation as if none of that mattered. “So what’s going on already? Talk.”
Once again Onion hesitated.
“It’s about . . . sexting.”
“Sexting?” David said. He staggered back in apparent disbelief. “Little Miss Wholesome was sexting?”
Onion looked at Dave with a humorless expression. “Yes. For years. And for a price.”
Dave gasped.
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“She had clients. Older men, mostly. Some out of state. They paid her to pose. The cops took her stuff looking for evidence.”
“Why would she do that? She couldn’t have needed the money,” Dave said.
Onion took a deep breath. “I don’t think it was about the money.”
“For the thrill?” I suggested.
“That or maybe the sugar daddy money was really good,” Dave replied. “I mean, really good.”
“No,” Onion said. “You’re both wrong. It was to be popular.”
There was a moment of silence. Unfortunately, I realized Onion was right. This was all about being popular.
“So why was the FBI involved?” I asked.
“George, Crystal just turned eighteen.”
“So?”
She gave me an incredulous look. So did Dave.
“She was a minor. Underage. Don’t you get it?”
It finally dawned on me. “So this was all about . . .” I couldn’t say the words.
“Right,” Dave said. “Child porn. Manufacturing and distributing across state lines for a price. She’s in big, big trouble.”
“Yes, indeed,” Onion said. “But like you said, her parents are rich. I’m sure they’ll pay for a top-notch lawyer to defend her.”
“Yeah, but even if she goes scot-free, her reputation is totally shot,” Dave said. “We’ll never see her around here again.”
“Are you sure?” I said. “People forgive and move on.”
I wasn’t exactly rooting for her since I hardly knew her—it was just that it would be strange not having her around to hog all the limelight.
Onion looked at me. “Dave’s right. She won’t be back. With someone like her, popularity isn’t everything—it’s the only thing. She’ll never enjoy the same level of popularity she once did, not after this.”
Dave went over and picked up the discarded, now useless lock. He looked at the cleanly cut shank, shook his head, and tossed the lock into a trashcan. Then he went and gently closed the still-open locker.
“Goodbye, Crystal. Turns out we hardly knew ya. Hope you really can recover from this someday,” he said.
“Oh, how the mighty have fallen,” Onion said.
I said nothing as we stared at the locker door. The only thing I could think was that their words were my own thoughts exactly.