I'm not saying my plan is good. In fact, it is incredibly stupid. Not only that: if I get caught, Mom will definitely remember to take my phone and ground me maybe forever. The plan is simple: wait until Mom is asleep, sneak out of the house, and then go to Thatcher's shed. For some reason, I have a feeling he is there, waiting for me. If he is, I will be able to figure out what's going on, but if he isn't, I'll sneak back home.

It won't be easy. Our house is old and creaky, and my mom is crazy and suspicious. But I have to try, right?

I run through the plan over and over until I'm sure my mom has to be sleeping and it's past midnight. But then I wonder if Thatcher would wait in his shed for me all that time—I wouldn't if I were him. I wasn't even planning to wait. There's no way he's still there, so what would I be risking for nothing? My freedom, my phone.

The plan is stupid, I think, so I lay down and go to bed; but that doesn't stop me from playing out what I'll say to Thatcher when I see him second period tomorrow: "What happened? Are we okay? How much trouble are you in? Do you still want to be with me?"

I prep myself for the answer I'm anticipating. It was good while it lasted.

***

First period math drags on and on and on and on, like it always does. I have no idea what Mr. Buford is trying to show us on the board, nor do I care. The best I can do is sit still and quiet as the minutes march toward the end of class. I think at one point Layla tries to taunt me again, but honestly, I don't have any energy left to worry about her or Gina or the plays. I can only stand to worry about one thing at a time, and right now, it's Thatcher.

Class gets out at 8:52, but at 8:47, a call comes through, breaking me from my trance and sending Mr. Buford's eyes into the most exaggerated roll I've seen in my life.

"Mr. Buford," he answers. Then his eyes dart to me. "Yeah, she's here. Yep, I'll send her. Okay. Okay, bye."

He hangs up.

"Janie, they need you in the office, take your stuff. Okay, now back to what I was talking about. So, polynomials."

I zone out again as I pack my papers back into my binder and head toward the door. Layla says something about me being a trouble maker under her breath, but I just keep walking. Now I have even less room in my brain to worry about her. Why am I being called to the office?

As I make my way down the hall to the office, my head spins, spiraling my thoughts.

What if the police told the school about what the loitering?

Wait, why would the school care?

Why would the police take time to make sure our principal knew?

It's probably just about my 504 plan.

Maybe Alice is here to give me more tests.

Maybe they discovered another good thing about me, like my high intelligence. Maybe that will help my mom get over the anger she feels toward me right now.

But when I finally make my way into the office, I immediately hear the reason why I've been called down. The principal Dr. Howard's door has been left open, and just that crack lets out enough of the conversation to send chills through my body.

"I can assure you, Thatcher Gorsky has had a clean record here at school. I can't imagine him being a bad influence to anyone, Ms. Myers," Dr. Howard protests in his somewhat monotone voice.

"Well, I can assure you that he has been, and I don't want my daughter anywhere near him," my mom says. She's here to take me up on my challenge of keeping me and Thatcher apart.

The secretary behind the welcome desk sees me staring at the principal's door, so she gestures me to come closer and steps out from behind the desk to announce my arrival.

"Janie is here now," she says as she opens the door for me.

As I float in, outside of my body, frozen in horror, I see Dr. Howard behind his desk, the profile of my mom's face across from him (because she still isn't talking to me apparently), and Mrs. Thomas leaning against the a hip-level bookcase along the far wall. She looks exhausted and beaten. Dr. Howard seems frustrated too, and sighs deeply as I sit in the chair beside my mom.

"Janie," he starts, "I understand you got into a bit of trouble outside of school after the dance."

"A bit, yeah," I say, barely audibly. I wish I had the nerve to be louder. "Not much though."

Mom scoffs. "Trouble is trouble, Janie. That's what I keep trying to tell you, but you won't listen."

Dr. Howard holds his hand up to her as if to say I've got this, and continues to address me. "Your mom is right, trouble is trouble, and we don't condone our students getting into trouble after dances. I'll be calling down Thatcher as well, but I'm suspending both of you from our next school dance in the fall for your actions."

The shock and anger thaws me out of my frozen horror. "What? How is that fair?"

"We can't have Riverside students misbehaving out in the community after dances. We have a social responsibility to the town to ensure our students know what to do, and the two of you have demonstrated that you don't."

"This has all been blown way out of proportion. We were just parked to watch a movie."

Mrs. Thomas chimes in, lightly, the confidence swept out of her: "Janie, please."

Dr. Howard continues, "Your mother has also requested a schedule change to keep you and Thatcher away from each other and to avoid any more future incidents."

So, in A Call from Midnight, there's this character, one of Midnight's employees named Raven, who bursts into tears at the drop of a hat. She'll hear about a girl who has been bullied and will just lose it, and even though it's supposed to be because her character was relentlessly bullied as a kid, it always seemed laughable to me. To the point where Gina and I would literally laugh out loud when it would happen, and any time we'd have a heart to heart that caused either of us to cry, we'd wipe the tears away and say, "Ugh, let's not pull a Raven."

Here in this moment, hearing that I'm being pulled from theater, I pull a massive Raven. The tears suddenly and violently explode from me and I can't seem to make them stop. "No," I wail. "Please, no. Let me stay in theater."

Mrs. Thomas pushes herself up to stand. "See? I just don't feel as though this is the right move. She is thriving with this new class, and she seems much more confident and happy as a theater student."

I cover my face, doing my best not to seem too vulnerable in front of these adults, but I continue listening to their debate about my life.

My mom: "I personally don't think Janie's change in attitude and academics has anything to do with theater. It's impossible to say it does, because at the same time she started the class, she was also diagnosed with dyslexia and began receiving supports for her disability."

Mrs. Thomas: "It's amazing what a little confidence from theater can do for a person."

My mom: "Yes, it is. It can transform a perfectly sweet girl into a law breaker. I want her away from that boy. He and his whole family are toxic, and Janie doesn't need that sort of energy in her formative years."

Dr. Howard: "Like I said, I do not see this in Thatcher, but I don't often see what our students do outside of this building. I am very hesitant about pulling a student from a class she so clearly loves in the middle of a quarter as well."

My mom: "She doesn't love the class, she loves the boy. They are always texting and talking, and she needs to focus more on her studies and on continuing to pull up her grades. Besides, she is still a minor, and you have a parent in front of her with a social concern regarding criminal activity. I thought this school promoted good choices and social responsibility."

The bell rings for second period to begin, and all I can think about is how my group is probably freaking out about me not being there. I can't go the rest of the quarter, the rest of my life, knowing that I'm not exactly where I'm supposed to be. No, where I'm meant to be.

I lift my head. "I have absolutely found myself in theater class, Dr. Howard. Please don't move me. I have spent most of my life being awkward and quiet, but when I'm with my group of misfits—that's what we call ourselves," I say with a little smile, "I feel like I can finally be myself. And the real me is silly and helpful and happy. I've been so happy with my new friends. And yes, Thatcher and I like each other, but we are both so awkward that we would never push any boundaries, you know? We just wanted a place to watch a movie, and that place happened to be somewhere we weren't allowed to be, but we didn't do it on purpose. We aren't criminals. We are just two people who are trying to be ourselves together. And he isn't my only friend in that class. I'm also friends with Patti Weiner, who is the most dedicated, focused person I've ever met, and Timothy Boone, who has shown me that I don't have to worry about what anyone else thinks. Taking me away from them won't teach me any lesson except that in life, you can't make any mistakes, big or small, without judgement. But don't you grown-ups always say making mistakes is the best way to learn?"

Mrs. Thomas speaks while Dr. Howard thinks about my monologue: "I've never heard her speak that much. That is what theater can do."

"Making mistakes is the best way to learn," Mom says. "This time you're going to learn that you can't do whatever you want without consequences."

Dr. Howard places his palms on his desk to deliver his sentence for me. "I believe the best course of action here is to move you from theater into another elective course for the remainder of the quarter. We can come together again and reassess the situation before the fourth quarter begins, but I find myself agreeing with your mother. This mistake must teach you that there are consequences, but I also understand Mrs. Thomas's perspective, which is why we aren't closing the door forever for theater. Can we all agree to that?"

"I can," Mom says.

"Yeah," Mrs. Thomas says, leaning back against the bookcase.

"No," I protest. "Don't I get a say in this?"

"I'm sorry, Janie. We are going to try this out for the rest of the quarter," Dr. Howard reiterates.

"There should still be a spot left for her in sewing class," Mom says.

I spring up from my chair. "I hate you," I shout at her, and then I march out of the office. Screw sewing, I'm not taking that. As soon as I've cleared the office, I start into a run toward the theater wing. Never mind that I left my binder in the office. Never mind that I'm breaking the rules. When the rules keep you from being your happiest self, why follow them anyway?

My legs are tiring—yikes, I'm out of shape—but I don't give up. I'm sure campus security will probably be on their way to retrieve me and bring me to my newly re-assigned class, a class I chose for myself when I hated myself, so I can't slow down.

I turn the corner into the theater wing, past the library, and down into the belly of the theater. Mrs. Permala is on the phone, presumably with the office, because she says, "Yes, actually, she just arrived," as I pass. "Ms. Myers," she calls after me, but I don't dare stop. I keep running straight to my group in our regular place at the back of the stage.

"Janie, where have you been? Have you been crying?" Patti asks.

"Yo, Thatcher told us about what happened last night," Moth says.

Thatcher's face is painted with humiliation and fear. "I'm so sorry, Janie. The fine came in the mail. I couldn't stop him from seeing it. And then he took away my phone."

I shake my head, loosening a few of the tears from my eyes, and pull him by the collar of his shirt toward me. "I forgive you," I say before pulling him in for a kiss. I kiss him as if I'll never see him again, because, well, I don't know if I will. Maybe around the halls, but things will go back to how they used to be. I'll be invisible to everyone, and Thatcher will just be a memory of a person who once moved me to want to be more than who I am.

"I'm sorry," I whisper to Thatcher when we finally break away.

"What for?"

I back up and face the entire group. "My mom just made Dr. Howard change my schedule. I'm not going to be a misfit anymore. He said maybe in the fourth quarter I can come back, but that won't help you now. I'm so sorry. I've really let you down with the play."

Patti pulls a Raven. "Janie, who cares about the play, we won't have you anymore," she says through her tears. "You're my best friend."

I begin to cry again too. "You're mine too, but... my mom is set on keeping me away from Thatcher now. Not to blame you, Thatcher. It's my fault. I told her she couldn't keep us apart, and this is how she's going to prove me wrong. It's all my fault. I don't want any of you blaming yourselves. I just... I wish I could perform with you and stay in the class."

Gina runs up behind me and puts her arm around my shoulder. "What's going on? Why are you crying?"

Why do you care now? I want to ask, but I don't have enough energy left to be passive aggressive. It's nice enough that she's checking in.

"My mom is pulling me from the class."

Mrs. Permala's voice booms over the theater. "Janie Myers."

Maybe it's just my heightened sensitivity to drama right now, but I swear, everyone in the class stops. I turn to the back of the theater.

Mrs. Permala stands at the top of the audience with one of the campus security guards at her side. The guard speaks something into his walkie talkie.

"Come on, Janie," Mrs. Permala instructs.

I can't run anymore. There's nothing I can do to fight this, I've already tried. I start towards Mrs. Permala and the guard, but not before giving the misfits one last hug each. Thatcher kisses my forehead, but I can't bring myself to look at him. It is already too painful.

I climb the stairs, making my ascent back into a world where I'm just that weird quiet girl with dyslexia again, a world I'm more than familiar with by now. I can't bring myself to feel anything but sadness. Even my body feels limb, and it's almost too heavy to pull up the stairs; but I make it.

"You're always welcome back to the theater, my dear thespian," Mrs. Permala says as I walk past her, the guard following me out the door.

"Time to get you back to sewing class," the guard says behind me.

Yep, it is, I think.

Like all of this was just some strange, dream-like detour on the way there from the beginning. Maybe it was. It was all just a little too good to be true.