The Thief

By Sarah Collins

Standing before the school board, my stomach was tight as if I’d recently completed 100 sit-ups. I never thought something like this would happen to me. I wasn’t the girl to find trouble. My momma raised me to be honest and kind and to never tell a lie. The act of lying made me want to vomit when I was a child. That version of me seemed distant. I am an accused thief and by definition a liar. 

 My peers who once admired me now avoid eye contact at every turn. When Mr. Beekman, the school’s headmaster, hired me, he said I had so much potential to become a shining teacher here at Cheshire Prep. He said the school had strict honesty and morality policies that aligned with my values. But now, I don’t “fit” into those policies anymore. 

Mr. Beekman teetered behind the podium, with a single sheet of paper clutched in his hands. His voice steady, as he read: “Odette Richardson stands accused of theft. She is now being placed on suspension pending further investigation. Cheshire Prep will not tolerate stealing. Her final hearing is scheduled next Tuesday. If found guilty, the board and I will have no choice but to fire her.” 

The words hung in the air casting a darkness over me. I wanted to scream, “This isn’t right. I’m innocent. You’ve got the wrong girl. I would never steal from anyone, much less a student.” But I held my tongue, standing there in silence, my gaze fixed on the floor. I knew the situation was bleak, but I was determined to clear my name. I wasn’t ready to give up my life here just yet. I was good, I was pure. Someone had to know that.    

A spring breeze blew through my ash-blonde hair as I shuffled outside and to my campus housing. Working at a boarding school had its perks, like being given a cottage to live in on the outskirts of campus. The two-bedroom, 900 square feet lodging wasn’t much, but I was 25, and it worked for me. The white picket fence outlined the property’s borders and reminded me of a storybook. 

I walked through the front door’s a-frame and threw my cherry red windbreaker onto the couch. I wondered if I would lose this house. If I were fired, then, of course, I’d have to leave. But I’d have nowhere to go except my mom’s. My momma is my hero. She raised me by herself in low-income housing. 

She named me after Odette in Swan Lake. When I was born, she thought I was innocent like a doe, and capable of creating magic, like the character. My mom said that I was destined for greatness and put me in the best schools. She thought I could make a difference in the world. I graduated from Yale University a few years ago, majoring in History and English. Shortly after, I received the job here at Cheshire Prep. 

Receiving my job here was a dream. Cheshire Prep is the place where teachers’ careers are made. It’s the oldest and most prestigious boarding school in Connecticut. It’s isolated, surrounded by farmland. Cheshire’s colonial history can be seen in its architectural columns and brick buildings. The grass is verdant green in the warmer months, and the snow blankets the trees in the winter. The school produces some of the brightest young minds in the country who go on to attend Ivy League schools. The teachers here become anecdotes for future political candidates; they are of the utmost caliber, and I thought I was one of them.     

Everything began to unravel a few weeks ago. It came about accidentally. I was grading my 10th graders’ papers on the Ancient Roman Empire. I asked my students to write an informative essay based on Julius Caesar’s work. Anything went. 

Being with these students daily and reading their work gives me insights into what to expect from them. I expect some students to excel, and others to not. So, I was surprised when one of my worst students, Beau Hansen, wrote an excellent paper filled with vocabulary that exceeded even some of the staff’s vernacular.

At first, I was thrilled by his efforts. But when I read that he had written, “Julius Caesar was filled with ire,” I became suspicious of Beau’s paper. It was a strange phrase for a teenage boy to use. So, I typed it into Google and found a link to an article. The article matched Beau’s paper word for word. He had plagiarized. 

Beau Hansen had the potential to excel, but he chose not to. Instead of applying himself, he directed his efforts towards Lacrosse. His father, Alex Hansen, a prominent defense lawyer who defended the uber-wealthy, was also a significant alumnus who generously funded our current library. 

***

The next Monday, I ended class with my signature: “Those who don’t learn history are doomed to repeat it.” As the students filtered out, I needed to talk to Beau. “Beau Hansen, please stay,” I said. 

Beau eyed his yellow-gold watch, which must have cost thousands. “This better be good, Ms. Richardson. I have practice,” he said. 

I glided my walnut desk drawer open and pulled out his paper. I slid it over to him, hoping he’d confess, take the failing grade, and learn from his mistake. I wasn’t going to report him. 

“Your paper,” I said, expecting him to grab it. He didn’t, but I continued, “It’s plagiarized.”

“It’s what?” he pointed to the top of the page. “You haven’t even graded it yet. Have you read it? It’s some of my best work.” 

“Beau, this is an F.” 

“What? But Ms. Richardson, I can’t fail an assignment. If I fail, I can’t play in my game this weekend.”

I didn’t want to punish him. But copying someone else’s work was unacceptable. I couldn’t let him slide just because of who his family was. He needed to take accountability for his actions. “I’m sorry, but my decision is final.” 

Beau stormed out huffing. I thought nothing of the incident, until the next morning when I found Beau, his parents, and Mr. Beekman in my classroom. Beau’s gold watch had gone missing the day before. It was found in my desk drawer. Within a week, my initial hearing was scheduled.

***

My brain was scattered like a million puzzle pieces in the days leading to my final hearing. How would I clear my name? I had no access to school security, and there were no witnesses to interview. Logic told me the only way to fix things was to talk to Mr. Beekman. Mr. Beekman was reasonable. He’d believe in my innocence once we talked. 

I went to his office and thought I’d have difficulty seeing him, but the receptionist let me in right away. 

I sat in the plush chair across from him, “Mr. Beekman, I’m sorry to bother you, but my hearing is tomorrow,” I said.

He placed a stack of papers onto his desk, “Odette, I’ve been expecting you.”

“You were?” I said, breathing out. Maybe he knew I was innocent.

“I knew you’d want to plead your case.”

“You know I would never steal Beau’s watch, right?”

Mr. Beekman shook his head, “Odette, I’m afraid my hands are tied. You know how much we value you at this school. But the Hansens insist on pressing forward with the hearing. You have no alibi, and the watch was found in your locked desk drawer.” 

“But… but. I’m innocent.” 

Mr. Beekman leaned back in his swivel chair, “Then how did the watch get into your drawer?” 

“I don’t know but it wasn’t me.”

Mr. Beekman tossed his gold-rimmed glasses onto the desk, “Okay, Ms. Richardson, I think we’re done here. We are simply going in circles.”

“Please,” I said. “My whole life I’ve always done the right thing. Please, I would never do this.” 

Mr. Beekman called for his secretary, “Show Odette out.”

I wiggled, attempting to push the secretary off, “Mr. Beekman this isn’t right.” 

“Life isn’t fair or right, Odette,” he said, his tone final. “Now please, leave.”

With the resounding slam of his office door, the finality of my situation hit me. My reputation was tarnished. It didn’t matter what I said. Mr. Beekman would find me guilty at my hearing the following day.

That evening, there was a knock at my door. I wasn’t expecting anyone.

I opened the door, and there stood Beau Hansen, his grass-stained Lacrosse uniform a stark contrast against the evening light. 

“Ms. Richardson,” he said. 

“Beau, are you okay?” I asked, trying to wipe my tear stains away with my cream cardigan. 

“Ms. Richardson. I need to talk to you. It’s about tomorrow.”  

“Okay,” I said, allowing him inside. I lead him to the dining table, dodging the cardboard moving boxes.  

“Wait, are you leaving?” Beau said, pointing to a stack of boxes.

“I am. After tomorrow I won’t work here, and I don’t get to stay,” I said.

“I…I didn’t mean for any of this to happen, Ms. Richardson. I swear.” Tears welled in his eyes as he plopped onto my wooden stool. “I only put the watch so you wouldn’t fail me or tell on me. Lacrosse is the only thing I’m good at. I couldn’t lose it. So, I put the watch in your drawer. But I didn’t think they’d fire you. I just wanted to play.”

He continued, “I’ll tell them everything. I will tell my parents, and they’ll fix it.” 

My lips parted. Beau was going to tell the truth. “But what will you tell them? That you planted the watch?”

Beau stood from the dining table, “I don’t know. I guess I will.” His words carried a hint of determination, a promise of potential redemption. 

The next morning, Mr. Beekman called me and asked me to meet at his office. The truth would prevail, and everything would be right again. My universe would be restored, and all of this would become a silly story talked about at the next Christmas party. 

I sat on the other side of Mr. Beekman’s desk, envisioning myself back at the front of my classroom teaching behind a podium.     

Mr. Beekman swiveled in his chair across from me, smiling, “Well, Odette, thank you for coming in this morning.”

This was it. Beau had taken accountability, and the truth would be revealed. 

Mr. Beekman continued, “Beau’s parents contacted me this morning, informing me of the misunderstanding. They apologize for any distress they might have caused you. The charges have been dropped. We ask that you issue a statement in the newspaper, explaining the whole thing as a misunderstanding.”

His words struck me like a fork scratching against a ceramic plate. This wasn’t a misunderstanding. Beau had intentionally planted the watch in my drawer. “You want me to explain this as a misunderstanding? What did Beau’s parents say, exactly?” I asked.

“That Beau asked you to hold onto his watch, and that he forgot about it.”

I was simmering like an electric kettle. “So, you want me to lie for the Hansens? But that’s not what happened. Beau planted his watch there so I couldn’t fail him for plagiarism.”

“May I remind you that the Hansens paid for our library. They are prominent alumni in this school,” Mr. Beekman said. “We must think about the boy’s reputation.”

“So, Beau can accuse me of something and admit to lying, and he gets a slap on the wrist? I don’t want any harm to Beau but letting him off without consequences will only lead him to do something like this again. He can’t go around accusing people of things.”

“Sure, the boy may be a little troubled. But he is his parents’ responsibility. Not ours. We aren’t raising children.”

“But these kids need guidance. Beau needs guidance.” 

“Odette, you got what you wanted. Did you not want to be exonerated?”

“Yes, I did. But not like this,” I said. “I wanted the Hansens to take accountability, I wanted them to take responsibility. My whole life I’ve always thought playing by the rules meant something. I got straight A’s in high school and went to Yale by doing my best and being who I was. I didn’t lie, cheat, or steal to get ahead. What about the school’s honesty policy? Doesn’t that matter?”  

“Odette, your naivety astounds me. If you’re going to make it here, you must fall in line. You understand, right? People like the Hansens matter. They don’t have to play by your rules. Darling, they make the rules.”

I stood strong, and tall. The Hansens weren’t going to make my rules. “You know I thought this place was so great. But I don’t want a job if it means I have to lie and play by the rules to keep it. My integrity is not for sale. Mr. Beekman, I don’t think Cheshire Prep is the right place for me.”

Mr. Beekman’s eyebrows arched so high I thought they’d crawl off his face. “Ms. Richardson, people don’t quit Cheshire Prep. We are a fine institution. But have it as you wish, I won’t beg you to stay.”

I stood in the doorway with my back towards him, “I wish Beau the best, tell him, please.”

Stepping outside into the courtyard I once admired, the familiar spring air hit me in the chest. I was taller, my insides felt like steel. I knew who I was, and I didn’t compromise. There was a job out there for me. I knew it. And that gave me hope. I still had a future; it just wasn’t here.    

Sarah is a writer and part-time graduate student. She lives in a small town outside Portland, Oregon, with her husband and three dogs.