Without Sin

Chapter 3-3

The monsignor reminds Jacob of the old Obi-Wan Kenobi from the original Star Wars movie. He wears dark robes like a Jedi and sits very still behind his desk, a piece of paper in his hand that Jacob suspects came from his own file.

Without looking up from the sheet of paper, the monsignor says, “Have a seat, Mr. Smithson.” His voice is raspy and old, and he wheezes like Darth Vader after every couple words.

Jacob sinks into a plush leather chair facing the monsignor’s desk and holds his breath.

“Sister Mary Margaret,” the monsignor intones as he breathes in—more Sith than Jedi, Jacob thinks.

The nun steps forward. It’s the same sister who dragged him from the cafeteria. She doesn’t look at Jacob, either. Here in this office with its dark paneled walls and thick dark carpet, Jacob has ceased to exist.

Another breath. I am your father, Jacob thinks. He covers his mouth with one hand to hide his smile, but the monsignor notices. “Do you find this funny, young sir?”

Jacob snickers. “No.”

The monsignor looks at Jacob for the first time, ducking his head so he can peer over the top of his wire-frame glasses.

Jacob bites the insides of his cheeks to keep from grinning.

“Sister Mary Margaret,” the monsignor starts again, and when he’s sure Jacob’s not going to laugh, he turns back to the paper in his hands, “tells me that you threatened another student of ours. Is that true?”

Jacob shrugs. The monsignor glances at him. “You are quoted as saying, ‘I’ll kick your f*****g ass’, end quote.” The words sound like fossils in his voice, dry and dusty, specimens whose meaning has been lost over the years. “Did you say those words, Mr. Smithson?”

“Yes.” Because the monsignor appears to be waiting for something more, Jacob adds, “Your honor.”

“It’s ‘Monsignor.’“ He waits another minute, but when Jacob doesn’t make the correction, he sighs. “Are you going to be a troublemaker, Mr. Smithson?”

“I don’t want to be,” Jacob admits. I want to stay here, he adds silently, because there’s this boy I think is the bomb and I want to hook up with him, and I can’t if I’m not here.

But he sure as hell doesn’t say that.

Another deep Vader-esque breath, and the monsignor asks, “Why did you threaten the other student?”

Jacob pouts. “He said a friend of mine liked it up the ass.”

If he’s hoping to shock the monsignor, he fails.

The monsignor removes his glasses and sets them aside. Without the frames he looks all the more like Obi-Wan Kenobi, with his white beard and white hair, and the lines etched into his face.

Use the Force, Luke. Jacob wishes his brain would shut up so he won’t get into any more trouble.

“Fighting of any sort is not allowed on school grounds,” the monsignor tells him. Jacob nods. “Do you think we should call your parents?”

Jacob shakes his head. “No.” He doesn’t want to hear his mom cry over the phone.

For a long moment the monsignor watches him, those heavy-lidded eyes of his pinning Jacob in place like a captured butterfly.

Jacob’s afraid to meet that gaze, so he stares at his hands, twisting in his lap. He thinks of Avery. He wonders if he can find Avery after classes are over. Jacob wants to see him again.

Finally, the monsignor sighs. “Let this be a warning to you.”

Maybe it is, for most boys. Maybe it scares the fight out of them. But Jacob knows the minute he’s free, he’ll do it again if he has to. He’s scrappy like that. He doesn’t want anyone walking all over him, and he doesn’t want to hear them talking bad about Avery.

But he doesn’t say that. Instead, he nods and mumbles, “Yes, sir. Monsignor, sir.”

He watches that piece of paper disappear into his folder, which he knows will be thick as the Bible by the time he’s done at St. Thomas Aquinas.