An administrator gestured for me to get up. I craned my neck but I couldn’t see him as they led him out the door. “Come on, son,” the man said. He led me down the hall in the direction of the principal’s office.
44.
“I’m in the middle of a meeting,” Principal Oliver said gently. “Go wait outside, please.”
To my surprise, Jess was at the door, peering in, her face flushed and sweaty. A secretary was clucking at her from behind.
“I’m sorry, sir, she just barged on in.” The secretary had one manicured hand pressed against the door, trying to prevent Jess from opening it any further.
But Jess was relentless. “Is Jack in there?” She craned her neck around and broke into a sad smile when she saw me. “Jack!”
I wanted the ugly green carpet to swallow me up. I wanted to disappear forever. I looked down at my dirty sneakers.
“Please, Miss Velez,” Principal Oliver said. “I can speak with you when I’m finished.”
“He didn’t do anything wrong,” Jess said. “Toby called him a f—a name. A really terrible name. Everyone heard it. Connor was just defending him.”
I thought about swimming out into the ocean so far that the current pulled me under. I thought about how long it would take to hitchhike to Santa Cruz.
“Tell him, Jack! Tell him what he said to you! Isn’t there a policy against hate speech in this state? How can you let that go unpunished?”
Principal Oliver sighed like one might when a toddler is causing a ruckus.
“Come inside,” he said, motioning for her to sit. “I’ll give you five minutes to say your peace, and then I need to speak to Mr. Burns.” The secretary scoffed and left us there, the door shutting with a bang.
Principal Oliver really was doing his best, all things considered. He was in his mid-forties, but he looked like he was pushing sixty—white whiskers, a deeply receding hairline. He probably didn’t sleep or get out much. I wondered if he ever went home at night and thought about just ending it all.
He put his palms up, as if asking us what we wanted him to do. “As I was just explaining to Mr. Burns, assault is prohibited at this school, and that includes verbal and physical. There is no excuse for hitting someone in the face, and as a school we will not tolerate that behavior. This has been quite a problem this year, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, and we are cracking down on it.”
“But—”
“Jessica, please let me finish. As I said, there is no excuse for what happened today. A student of mine was injured, and this was not the first time Mr. Orellana has engaged in unacceptable behaviors on this campus. That being said, that discussion does not concern either of you. And neither of you are in trouble right now. I need to get a clear timeline of what happened. Is what Jessica said true, Jack? Did Toby provoke you?”
I blinked at him. What did he want me to say? Did he really want me to repeat the word, to reveal why Connor had reacted the way he did?
“I was a witness,” Jess said.
Principal Oliver nodded. “Alright. But I’d like to hear from Jack now.”
I shrugged.
“Jack? Is there anything you’d like to say?” Principal Oliver pressed.
Jess rose from her seat. “Jack! If you won’t tell him, I will!”
I finally met her frantic eyes. “Sit down, Jess,” I said, and it came out meaner than I’d intended. “Just stay out of this.”
“Please Jack,” she pleaded. “I might be mad at you, but you’re my best friend. I can help. I love you.”
Part of me ached for her, even after all of this time apart. It was like a reflex. I wanted to reach out and hug her, and reassure her, and wipe the smudged eyeliner from her cheek and tell her that it was going to be fine. But I didn’t have it in me anymore. I was tired, so damn tired.
So I turned to Principal Oliver and said: “I’m not comfortable discussing this right now. I’m sorry.” Without waiting for a reply, I swung my backpack over my shoulder, strode out of the room, and left her there.
45.
The living room was wrecked. The stench of beer was everywhere, infusing the room with its sickly, sour odor. Dad sat in his La-Z-Boy amid a smashed lamp, broken bottles, torn papers, and documents. The coffee table was overturned. The remains of the ceramic pig I had painted for Mom for her thirty-fourth birthday lay in ruins in a corner. I spotted a pink snout and a hoof.
Mom wasn’t here. I knew that before I walked in. Her car had vanished from its customary spot next to the sycamore. And he just sat there, bloated and bleary-eyed in his stained white t-shirt and acid-washed jeans, head in his hands. Maybe he was expecting her to come home once she’d cooled off or expecting me to stay here and clean up the mess he’d made, once again.
“Where’s Mom?” I demanded.
Dad stared down at a beer stain on the carpet. “She’s gone.”
“Where, Dad? I asked where!”
“She’s staying at the Castle Motel for a while.”
“Oh, that’s just fucking great!” I threw my backpack to the floor, knocking over another bottle. Fuck it. Fuck him. “Did you hit her, huh? Did you threaten to? You broke all this shit, didn’t you?” I kicked at the smashed ceramic pig snout. Gunther barked at me from across the room.
“She broke it all, son,” Dad said quietly to the floor.
“Oh bullshit, Dad!” I could feel it, all of the rage
