Teacher’s Pet, Suspended
If my words mean something to you, and you’re in a position to give, it means a lot. Your kindness helps me keep showing up to create.Names have been changed. It’s my choice to tell this story, not theirs.
In the fall of 2009, my high school staged Oklahoma! for the annual musical. I practiced for weeks to audition for Ado Annie, and made the callbacks. But I was a sophomore, up against the electric stage chemistry between Chaz and Courtney.
Yeah, no—it was cast properly.
I was Gertie Cummings: the loud-laughing town flirt.
Anyways.
One night during rehearsal, about three weeks before opening, my friend Hannah pulled me and my friend Hunter aside. She played Aunt Eller, so the little wooden “house” set piece was, in effect, her domain. She led us behind it, pulled out a massive water bottle, and held it toward us.
“Try it,” she said.
“What is it?”
“Just try it.”
It was weird, but good. Hunter agreed.
“Wow, okay... what is it?”
“Don’t tell anyone. It’s jungle juice.”
“What’s jungle juice?”
“It’s... a mix of a bunch of things.”
“Like what?”
She and Hunter laughed. “Do you really not know what jungle juice is?”
“No?”
“There’s a lot of alcohol in it,” she said. “I stole it all from my parents’ cabinet.”
WHAT.
You’re telling me I just had my first sip of alcohol?
“Why wouldn’t you tell me what was in it?”
“Because you wouldn’t have tried it if I did. You two can come back anytime to have a sip.”
I felt untethered from my body. What had I just done?
But then, of course, I got that sick little rush I always got from breaking the rules. My parents weren’t there. No one was going to find out… So I went back behind the house a few more times and took a few more sips. Before I knew it, I was buzzed. I remember texting my mom to pick me up later than planned, just so she wouldn’t notice anything off.
Eventually, word got out, and the assistant director went to tell the director. Lucas—God, I was so mad at him for snitching. You’re seriously gonna narc like that? But if I were in his shoes, I would’ve done the same thing.
Three days later, I was sitting in Spanish class when someone from the vice principal’s office came to get me. My stomach dropped. I knew exactly what this was about. For all the times I’d broken the rules, I had never gotten away with anything in my life. You’d think I’d learn eventually…
I sat across from the vice principal. He told me alcohol had been served on school grounds during a school-sanctioned event—a detail I hadn’t even considered until that moment—and to explain in my own words what happened. My face went hot. My chest tightened. I couldn’t believe how stupid I’d been.
So, I lied.
Well, half-lied. I told him the truth up to a point: that I tried it, that Hannah told me what it was, and that I spit it out. End of story. I went back to class.
The next day, I was called in again. Same time. Same office. Damnit.
The vice principal looked at me and said, “We have people saying you went back multiple times. That you didn’t spit it out.”
I deflected with every question I could think of. “Did they actually see me? Or are they assuming? Do you have proof? You’re just going to take someone else’s word for it?” I was scrambling. Every tactic I’d ever used collided head-on with an unstoppable force. I was the immovable object and something had to break.
I started crying. There was no way out. He looked at me—soft eyes, firm voice.
“I’m sorry. But we’re going to have to suspend you. For a week.”
I lost it.
“WHAT? Do you have any idea who I AM? I’m ALEXA REDICK. I don’t get suspended. How could you do this to me?”
So, along with Hunter, I was suspended for a week. We spent it together, studying for exams. Hannah, I believe, got a month.
Why did I do it?
Honestly, I don’t know.
I loved that someone wanted to share a secret with me. I liked the thrill of breaking the rules. I tried alcohol for the first time, and to my surprise, I liked it. I truly believed no one would ever find out.
But in the end, the choices of three teenagers nearly brought down the entire show. The director had to beg the administration not to cancel it. And thank God, they didn’t. That whole cast, crew, and orchestra might never have known it (or maybe they did), but they have me, in part, to thank for the near collapse of our production.
That guilt followed me for years.
To anyone affected by my decisions, especially the seniors, I am truly sorry. After getting my own dream role senior year, I can’t imagine what it would have felt like to almost lose it because of an irresponsible sophomore.
I never knew who found out about my suspension. Maybe everyone knew and just chose not to say anything. But I was humiliated. Furious with myself for being so stupid and careless.
But don't worry, the punishment at home made sure I never forgot how much shame I was supposed to feel.
When I began the healing process last year, I started to notice a pattern in my life.
People saw something in me. Something bright, or promising. And they chose to help. They gave me grace and compassion, even when I hadn’t earned it. Take my suspension, for example. It was never entered on my official record. As the vice principal put it, “You aren’t the kind of kid who does this.”
I got another chance. But how many other kids didn’t? How many were never given the opportunity to pass GO and collect $200?
Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if the adults in my life had let me fail faster. If they had just let the consequences play out instead of stepping in to save me every time.
Bet you didn’t know your little teacher’s pet was one of the only kids in our graduating class who ever got suspended.
It’s fascinating how little we really know about each other…
