the rules.”
“Were you involved in any extracurricular activities?”
I signed permission slips and academic performance warning notices for five bucks a signature, sold records and pipes I’d shoplifted, and forged learner’s permits for the students who failed Driver’s Ed. I forged signatures on work permits and signed overtime on burger joint time cards. I did math homework for some students, charged big time to do it in their handwriting, and even more if I had to show their work. By high school I could do it, show my work, but it was a chore.
“I played basketball in a church league. Mostly I worked, though. Dad wanted me to save for college.”
“But no outside activities related to school?”
“No.”
“Was there a conflict with your working?”
“No. I wanted to be on the track and field team but I was barred from the tryouts.”
“Why is that?”
“I’d been suspended. I got caught doing pot with some friends in the parking lot during free period.”
Lots of parents overreact, but guys like the Evaluator know what’s normal for a teenager. The one positive side of smoking pot with your buddies is that it indicates you’re sociable. Loner equals sociopath. Mention sports. Plays well with others. A guy like me, not the right size for football or basketball, can say I ran track and it’s believable. If I got barred from trying out, it means that I have the skills to participate on a team although he can’t verify that participation. Team sports. Track and field. Barred from the tryouts. An infallible combination.
I read marijuana, the underline is Evaluator Code to revisit a subject when I’m not braced for it.
“Were you actually smoking marijuana, or were you just with the others?”
“No, I lost the musical chairs. I was taking a long drag right when the vice principal ripped open the van door.”
“Okay, so the school suspended you and wouldn’t let you join the track team. How did your parents react?”
“They sent me to a counselor. He was an asshole.” I’m doing post-adolescent contempt as best I can. An authority figure mandated by my parents—if I say I liked him or that we got along, the Evaluator will be certain I’m lying.
“Why was he an asshole?”
I shrug. “Just was.”
“A school counselor, then?”
“No. Somebody else. Seigelman, or something.” A school counselor would keep a record and I never attended that school. Confidential or not, the Evaluator could still verify the visit. Keep the name vague—of course I couldn’t remember—and the trail is too long and too cold to follow.
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.
