Ninety-Eight Days Before

ONE OF THE UNIQUE aspects of Culver Creek was the Jury. Each semester, the faculty elected twelve students—three from each class—to serve on the Jury. The Jury was responsible for punishing non-expellable offenses, such as staying out past curfew or smoking. Typically, the offenses were smoking or being in a girl’s room after seven. You’d go to the Jury, present your case, and they’d decide your punishment. The Eagle acted as the judge and could overturn the Jury’s decision (just like in the real American court system), but he rarely did.

I headed to Classroom 4 right after my last class—forty minutes early, just to be safe. I settled against the wall and read my American history textbook (which was pretty remedial for me) until Alaska arrived and took a seat next to me. She was chewing on her bottom lip, so I asked if she was nervous.

“Well, yeah. Listen, just sit tight and don’t talk,” she advised. “You don’t need to be nervous. But this is the seventh time I’ve been caught smoking. I just don’t want—whatever. I don’t want to upset my dad.”

“Does your mom smoke or something?” I asked.

“Not anymore,” Alaska replied. “It’s fine. You’ll be fine.”

I didn’t start to worry until 4:50, when the Colonel and Takumi were still missing. The Jury members filed in one by one, walking past us without making eye contact, which made me feel even more uneasy. I counted all twelve by 4:56, plus the Eagle.

At 4:58, the Colonel and Takumi finally rounded the corner toward the classrooms.

I had never seen anything like it. Takumi was dressed in a starched white shirt with a red tie featuring a black paisley print, while the Colonel sported a wrinkled pink button-down and a flamingo tie. They walked in step, heads held high and shoulders back, like something out of an action movie.

I heard Alaska sigh. “The Colonel’s doing his Napoleon walk.”

“It’s all good,” the Colonel assured me. “Just don’t say anything.”

We entered—two of us in ties and two of us in ratty T-shirts—and the Eagle banged a genuine gavel against the podium in front of him. The Jury sat in a line behind a rectangular table. At the front of the room, near the blackboard, were four chairs. We took our seats, and the Colonel began explaining what happened.

“Alaska and I were smoking down by the lake. We usually go off campus, but we forgot. We’re sorry. It won’t happen again.”

I had no idea what was going on, but I knew my role: sit tight and keep quiet. One of the Jury members looked at Takumi and asked, “What about you and Halter?”

“We were keeping them company,” Takumi replied calmly.

The Jury member then turned to the Eagle and asked, “Did you see anyone smoking?”

“I only saw Alaska, but Chip ran away, which struck me as cowardly, as does Miles and Takumi’s aw-shucks routine,” the Eagle said, giving me a stern look. I didn’t want to seem guilty, but I couldn’t hold his gaze, so I looked down at my hands.

The Colonel gritted his teeth, as if it pained him to lie. “It is the truth, sir.”

The Eagle asked if anyone wanted to say anything, then if there were any more questions, and finally sent us outside.

“What the hell was that?” I asked Takumi once we were outside. “Just sit tight, Pudge.”

Why have Alaska confess when she’d already been in trouble so many times? Why the Colonel, who could ill afford serious trouble? Why not me? I’d never been caught for anything and had the least to lose. After a few minutes, the Eagle came out and motioned for us to return inside.

“Alaska and Chip,” a Jury member announced, “you get ten work hours—doing dishes in the cafeteria—and you’re both officially one problem away from a phone call home. Takumi and Miles, there’s nothing in the rules about watching someone smoke, but the Jury will remember your story if you break the rules again. Fair?”

“Fair,” Alaska said quickly, clearly relieved. As I was leaving, the Eagle pulled me aside. “Don’t abuse your privileges at this school, young man, or you will regret it.” I nodded.