I’m kind of scared.
I don’t really know why—maybe I don’t need to be, but I am.
It’s like hard to swallow. And I keep getting nervous and looking at my watch, and I don’t know what the time has to do with it, but like *Fuddruckers!* I just have this feeling that something is wrong and someone is going to come get me for ratting.
Even though I didn’t say much. And I kind of didn’t tell the whole truth.
Maybe that’s why I’m worried. I’ve never lied to a police officer before. I mean, I’ve never really had to talk to a police officer for anything official, so I wouldn’t have had a chance to lie until today.
And it wasn’t a big lie either, and the only reason I did lie is because I think they would think I was lying if I told them what I really thought.
I just gave a description of what ‘the suspect’ was wearing, and his hair, and the forehead bumps–and even the swooping in of the boy in white. But I didn’t mention the fangs, and I didn’t say vampire.
Maybe I would have if I hadn’t been so startled. But how else was I supposed to react to finding out that I was called out of class to talk to the cops?
At first I didn’t even connect it! I knew that Jill didn’t show up today—which totally makes sense; what kind of crazy person goes to class the day after she gets assaulted?—but Jill never told me she was actually going to report it. As in police report. As in corroborating witness.
*By the way, I didn’t even know what corroborating meant before this afternoon, but I heard it like five times while I was being questioned.
And, yeah, it felt like an interrogation, like maybe I’d done something wrong! (Had I?) But at least he told me what Jill said in her report before asking for my story. I was really worried that I’d have to like the separated prisoner thing where they try to catch one of us in a lie. Big takeaway from today: reporting something traumatizing to the police only adds more trauma, and they should really work on that. I mean, one of the guys seemed like he would have been really nice, but he was always stepping out of the room to talk on his pager or whatever you call them; the one who was doing the talking—Officer Kemp—he was robotic! Like he could’ve showed up on an episode of Star Trek and Data would have been shocked by his lack of emotion.
I wanted to tell him that too, but I didn’t.
It was all pretty quick—like ten minutes—and they just asked their questions in one of the counselors’ office. And of course the school counselor came in after they left, and she asked even more questions, and I really just wanted her to SHUT UP! I hardly told her anything. And I couldn’t cry—if I had cried, she would’ve stopped asking questions. They don’t badger you when you cry. (Besides, I have a home shrink and she doesn’t badger me at all.)
So I took the lifeline; I asked to go home early. They wrote me a pass and had me call my parents, and I just left a message on the home machine—because Dad and Lisa were at work anyway, and I didn’t know what to tell them. (I’ll have to talk to them when they get home though—see Dread.)
As a mini cherry on this sundae, the cops themselves gave me a ride home. School’s not far, but still, they wanted to help, which made it look like—the to the people who saw it—like I was being escorted out by the police. I mean, I was. Just not in that way.
When they dropped me off, the nice one (he had a Mexican name) told me to call the station if I see either of the suspects again. It wasn’t until half a bowl of cereal later that I realized he called the boy in white—my white knight, as it were—a suspect.
That kind of ticks me off. I think being POed is better than being scared though.