My dad rolled his eyes. “Clara, give me a break.”
“It’s true! Tell them, Mr. Sinclair!” I twisted around to look at him in the corner.
He cleared his throat. “Well, it does seem like Rose started the fight.”
Mrs. Carver stared at Rose. “Is this true?”
Rose looked straight ahead at a spot on the wall and nodded without saying anything.
“Yeah, youknowit’s true,” I said. “She literally tried to take this stupid crown off my head and then we ended up… I dunno, fighting and stuff.”
Mrs. Carver looked at me. “Can you clarify that?” Dang, no wonder Rose was always so precise in her language. And even though I tried to remain cool, being the object of Mrs. Carver’s attention was like having the Eye of Freaking Sauron on you.
“We fought.”
“Physically?” she asked, her voice a little more high-pitched this time.
“Yup. Your daughter sure knows how to fight dirty.”
My dad poked me. “Watch it.” He looked over at Rose’s parents, his face a mask of deep shame for having me as a child. “Listen, I’m sure it was all Clara’s fault. She pulled thatCarriestunt to provoke people, which is exactly what happened. She can take full responsibility.”
“What!” I exclaimed.
But Mrs. Carver was already shaking her head. “No, Rose is to blame, too, for losing her cool.” She turned to Rose again. “We’re having a littlediscussionlater.”
Principal Sepulveda raised her hands. “Bothof the girls are at fault here. Clara, you pulled another crazy stunt that was not only… disturbing, but dangerous, with the fake blood. Which happened to beflammable.” My dad dropped his head and shook it. Principal Sepulveda looked over at Rose. “Rose, you started a fight. And all those things added up to almostburning down the cafeteria. You are both suspended for a week.”
“Suspended?” Rose cried, jumping out of her seat. “I cannotbe suspended! This is ridiculous!”
“YOU. STARTED. A. FIRE!”
Principal Sepulveda’s booming voice startled us, and I let out an involuntary nervous laugh. Everyone’s heads swiveled toward me.
My dad stared at me with an unrecognizable stony expression. Something had transformed since he walked in—his typical loose, relaxed demeanor had solidified into something tougher, more stern. “This one isn’t going to learn anything from another suspension,” he said calmly.
Pardon?This one?!I opened my mouth to respond, but he held up a hand. “Quiet. Not another word. You’re going to pay back the damages for the cafeteria. And you’re going to do it by working the KoBra.All summer.”
“WHAT!” This time it wasmyturn to jump out of my seat. “There’s no freakingway. What about Tulum?” I sputtered to my dad, standing directly in front of him.
But Pai shook his head, resolute. “This is what apunishmentis. All your wages from this summer will go toward paying back the school.”
Before I could respond, Mr. Carver snapped his fingers together, the sound reverberating through the room like a firecracker. “Wait! The KoBra? You mean the Brazilian Korean food truck?”
My dad blinked. “Yeah. That’s the one.”
“Are you the owner?” Mr. Carver asked, excitement propelling him as he stepped across the room toward us.
“Yeah, hi. Adrian Shin,” my dad said, holding out a hand. Mr. Carver shook it firmly. He was so tall that my dad looked twelve next to him.
Mr. Carver couldn’t stop grinning. “Jonathan Carver. Call me Jon. Amazing! Man, I love your food. I used to work downtown, at the bank building on Sixth, where you’d come by.”
My dad’s face lit up. “Oh wait! Yes, I recognize you. Kimchi pastel?”
“You got it!” The two laughed like old golf buddies.
I made a face. “Can we bromance later?”
Mr. Carver looked at me, and then a shrewd expression came over his features. “Adrian. Do you think Clara will need an extra hand this summer?”
