Confessions of a Murder Suspect

69

I had looked up to Mr. Thibodaux since I was four years old. I immediately felt the sting of his rejection, but I honestly didn’t understand what he had just said to me.

I said stupidly, “I beg your pardon?”

“You can’t kick us out!” Hugo said, balling his fists.

Harry looked like he’d been slapped.

“This decision isn’t open to discussion, children,” Mr. Thibodaux snapped. “You are suspects in the murders of your parents. We wish you the best, of course, but you cannot be here. It would be far too much of a distraction for the rest of the students and staff.”

“But the police haven’t charged us with murder.”

“This is a private school. This whole media circus is not only disruptive; it could seriously taint our reputation—”

Mr. Thibodaux broke off in mid-sentence as Harry stepped up to him, his jaw thrust forward.

Harry spoke in a hardened tone I hadn’t heard from him before. “We’re not guilty of anything, sir,” he said. “You can’t speak to us that way.”

Mr. Thibodaux looked surprised. “You’re out of line, Mr. Angel.”

“We’re out of line?” Harry said. “All Saints has been paid for our attendance for the full term, sir. We have every right to be here.”

One of our classmates, Gabrielle Harvey, was sitting close enough that I could see her roll her eyes dramatically toward another student, Colin Baxter, who was approaching Harry from behind.

I yelled, “Harry, watch out!”

Colin slowly cocked his fist, and Harry spun around just as Colin let his punch fly, hitting Harry square on the jaw. Harry went down, and Colin stood over him, shouting, “Get out of here, you crybaby creep! Get out of our school, mother killer!”

That’s when Hugo stepped in.

He growled, lowered his head, and butted Colin Baxter right in the belly. Colin sucked at the air and went down hard. He couldn’t catch his breath, and I thought maybe his gut had ruptured.

And that’s when things got extremely out of hand.

As Colin got his wind back, he began to wail—which resulted in a bunch of kids screaming for no reason, like they thought someone had just pulled out a lethal weapon or something.

In a sense, I guess we had: Hugo.

As Harry struggled to his feet Hugo ran whooping around the loft as though he’d just scored a touchdown at the Meadowlands.

“Everyone, please stop!” Mr. Thibodaux yelled.

But no one did.

I had never loved my brothers more.

Mr. Thibodaux was digging in his breast pocket for his phone. “Make no mistake—you will be charged with assault!” he shouted at Hugo.

“We’re cutting class today,” I said to our formerly esteemed headmaster. “Thank you for your help and your concern, Mr. Thibodaux. It’s been a comfort to us in our time of need.”