Chapter 6 - The Digital Trap
The automatic zero on my midterm dropped my overall grade into a catastrophic freefall.
I was now facing the very real possibility of failing sophomore year and having to repeat the entire grade.
I met Jake behind the bleachers again, absolutely frantic and on the verge of tears.
"Physical evidence is too easy for her to destroy or deny," Jake reasoned, pacing back and forth on the wet grass.
He insisted that if we couldn't steal the ledger, we had to capture her true, venomous nature on tape.
It was the late nineties, so cell phones with recording capabilities were completely out of the question.
However, Jake's father was a local journalist who owned a high-end, digital voice recorder.
The device was incredibly small, black, and capable of recording hours of crystal-clear audio.
The plan was incredibly simple but required flawless execution and nerves of steel.
I was going to hide the recorder in the mesh pocket of my backpack, leaving the microphone slightly exposed.
Then, I was going to intentionally bait Mrs. Keller into one of her most abusive, degrading rants while no one else was around.
The next afternoon, I intentionally stayed behind after the final bell rang.
The classroom emptied out quickly, leaving just me and my tormentor in the suffocating silence.
I walked up to her desk with a complicated homework assignment, the digital recorder silently capturing every second.
I purposely asked her the most basic, foolish question I could muster, pretending to be hopelessly confused.
She took the bait instantly, her face twisting into a mask of pure, unfiltered disgust.
She launched into a vile tirade, openly calling me a pathetic waste of school resources and bragging about how untouchable she was.
She even admitted, in her arrogant rage, that she threw my midterm exam straight into the shredder because she despised me.
My heart soared as I realized we finally had the smoking gun we desperately needed.
I carefully took a step back, ready to retreat with the ultimate prize secured in my bag.
Suddenly, a loud, piercing electronic beep echoed from the mesh pocket of my backpack.
The dying battery alarm of the digital recorder cut through the silence of the room like a siren.
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Mrs. Keller stopped mid-sentence, her eyes locking onto my bag with a terrifying intensity.
"What is that noise?" she demanded, aggressively lunging forward and grabbing the straps of my backpack.
