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and meticulously placed the pot inside the cassette tape case. Just as I was about to return the case to my backpack I noticed a raggedy-looking kid with a mop of curly brown hair wearing glasses. He was staring right at me for God only knows how long. I was so fixated on hiding the weed that I didn’t even notice him, but he must’ve seen the whole thing go down. Still, I shrugged it off, figuring there was no way he was going to rat me out.
    The morning rolled by. A couple of hours had passed since the incident in the hallway, and it already seemed like a distant memory. By third period I was sitting in the back of English class, flirting with a cute girl. I was hardly paying attention to whatever the teacher was talking about when one of the school administrators materialized at the classroom door. After whispering in the teacher’s ear, she made her way to the back of the classroom and stopped right in front of my desk. “Jesse Schenker,” she said in a detached drawl, “take your things and come with me.”
    I immediately knew what had happened. That kid had ratted me out. But rather than feeling scared, I actually felt special in a strange way. I had no idea what was going to happen to me, but things were definitely about to get interesting. We arrived at the principal’s office, and the administrator slowly opened the door. Standing next to the principal was a cop. “Jesse, hand over your backpack,” the principal demanded.
    The cop started rummaging through my backpack. All I could do was sit there and watch. Moments later he pulled out the tape. He knew exactly what he was looking for. “Jesse, take a seat,” the principal said and then proceeded to call my parents. As always, I was concerned about my dad’s reaction, but I knew that nothing was really going to happen to me. My dad knew how to work the system even better than I did. No matter where we went, we never waited on line. My dad would tip the maître d’ at a hot restaurant or the security guard at a concert and we’d walk right in. He knew how the world worked, and greasing the wheels had a lot to do with it. I don’t know what he said to that cop, but the charges against me were dropped. All I had to do was write a letter of apology. My parents were more concerned about the fact that the principal wanted to expel me, but after several hours of begging I ended up with only a week’s suspension.
    My parents were both visibly upset when we got home. I wondered if they regretted ignoring Alan Braunstein’s advice after our first appointment and would now take it more seriously. The three of us sat down, and right on cue I cried a few tears and told my parents how sorry I was and all the usual bullshit. No one was better at faking remorse than me, and they bought it hook, line, and sinker. I ended up serving my week of suspension on a family vacation in Aspen.
    Years later a therapist asked me what I learned from that experience. I never answered his question, but to me it was obvious. I learned that I could get away with anything. My grandfather used to say that my sister and I were the only kids he knew who got rewarded for what they didn’t do.

Roulade
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    Roulade : Originating from the French rouler , meaning “to roll,” a roulade is a dish consisting of a slice of meat or other protein rolled around a filling, such as cheese, vegetables, or other meats.
    C ate was tall and slim, and she had mesmerizing big blue eyes. She was quirky and kind of offbeat, but damn if she couldn’t make me laugh. By freshman year of high school we were inseparable. By then I’d also been smoking pot nonstop for two years, and the need for a constant supply consumed me. All day, every day, I searched for weed. Luckily, Cate had a neighbor named Simon with a steady supply. Most days after school I went straight from the school bus to Simon’s and then to Cate’s house, where