Miles' knuckles were raw and torn. He picked off the loose tags of skin and hissed when the salt of his fingers burned at the exposed flesh underneath. With his thumb and index finger, he rolled up the strips of skin and flicked them across Principal Dempsey's office while he waited for her to interrogate him. He bounced the rolled up wads off of her furniture and even landed one well-aimed shot into her coffee mug that said, “World's Greatest Principal.”
A muted voice outside the office brought his clandestine aerial assault to an end. Trying to look innocent, Miles browsed over the familiar surroundings. The inside of her office was a testament to her lifetime of hard work and dedicated brownnosing. Miles had spent so much time in there over the years that he had memorized the unchanging landscape like it was his own room. Elegant frames filled with a myriad of objects covered the walls: staged photo ops of her glad-handing Senator Jim Webb and Dr. Patricia Wright, Virginia Superintendent of Instruction, degrees from the College of William & Mary and the University of Virginia, along with other assorted educational certificates and awards. Absent from the whole scene, however, were any pictures of friends or family. She had no husband, or children for that matter, that anyone knew of, and she became quite flustered whenever anyone referred to her as Mrs. Dempsey instead of Miss. Miles loved to push that button, especially when passing her in the hallway.
Behind Miles, the click of a door latch sounded. Through the door walked Ms. Dempsey with a very determined, calculated gate. A low rumble of thunder traveled through the floor with each movement of her thick, curvaceous body. Her hips were a good three feet across, stacked upon short, cellulite laden, triangular legs and a rear end that matched her hips in width and surpassed them in volume. The top half of her wasn't much different—thick upper arms and breasts atop a disproportionate waist. Combined, they gave her the appearance of two enormous arrowheads being stacked, point down, on top of each other. She resembled the patch arrows on a Boy Scout uniform, only jiggly. Her thick, ruddy, chubby cheeked face sat atop an equally stout neck. She had a soft, grandmotherly look to her face without the deep wrinkles and cracks of old age. Wisps of gray streaked her dark brown hair that was styled in a short bob that framed her face.
Ms. Dempsey's outfit swished as she crossed the office floor to her desk. She wore her typical administrator attire—a black skirt and business jacket over a white button-down blouse, sheer pantyhose and black flats. Taking hold of the armrests of her chair, she wedged her hips between them and settled in. Then she tossed down a referral on her desk. Her eyes scanned over the details scribbled upon it. She pursed her lips in a disgusted frown, flared her nostrils, and looked up to glare at Miles. Her hands sat clasped together on her desk
Miles attempted to return her cold glare, but she would have none of it.
Ms. Dempsey leaned forward aggressively in her chair. “You're about this close,” she pinched her fingers nearly together, “to getting an expulsion hearing before the superintendent and the board of education.”
Miles slumped back in his chair, trying to act tough and disinterested. He folded his arms and huffed, “Whatever!”
Ms. Dempsey didn't act impressed by his show of bravado. She countered by leaning back and yawning. She stared at him for a moment with through narrowed eyelids, studying him. Then she shifted forward in her seat and asked, “So you want to tell me why you attacked Jack or should we just sit here and stare at each other all day?”
“What do you want me to tell you?” he questioned sharply. “Jack's an asshole and I finally got sick of his shit.” He thought back on the foul epithets Jack threw at him in the hallway. They reverberated painfully in his mind. It wasn't bad enough he had no real family of his own, but cruel kids like Jack thought it was fair fodder for amusement. Over the years, he came to understand why kids snapped and went into schools with guns and hit lists, ready to make their tormentors pay for their transgressions. Miles wasn't that crazy, however, nor did he have a grandfather in the militia with a small arsenal from which to select his tools of destruction. And now that Miles finally fought back against the most popular kid in school, he was going to have to pay for it.
“Watch your language,” Ms. Dempsey corrected him, pointing a corrective finger his way. She shook her head and glanced down at referral and scanned it over. She shrugged her shoulders and looked back at Miles. “Well I don't know what Jack did to you but the referral says the attack was completely unprovoked.”
Miles gasped. “Unprovoked?”
“Yes. And apparently you beat him so bad that his mother had to take him to the emergency room with,” she paused and picked up a report from the school nurse. When she was finished reading, she continued, “With broken ribs and suspected internal injuries.”
Miles, unconcerned for Jack's injuries, continued his own investigation. “Who said it was unprovoked?”
“Umm,” Ms. Dempsey groaned as she looked down at the referral again, “Mr. Hannigan. He said you jumped Jack without cause or provocation and, even after he was in a prone position, you continued to hit and kick him.” She tossed the referral aside like a card dealer at a Texas Hold'em table. It was one of her many signature gestures he had become familiar with over the years. It was her way of acting aloof when she was really pissed. Miles, however, could not disguise his anger.
“What?” he protested. His voice raised several octaves out of sheer disbelief at what he just heard. “So Hannigan didn't bother to mention what Jack does to me in class every day?”
“No, he didn't.”
Miles sensed that the “good'ol boy network” was at play. Hannigan was protecting Jack. That much was certain; like the dirtbag needed any help. Miles clenched his jaw, grinding his teeth with displeasure. “Then he left out quite a bit.”
“Really?” she asked with an unmistakable air of doubt. “Like what?”
“Oh, let me see,” Miles said sarcastically, as though he needed to really think of reasons. The list seemed endless. “He jabs me in the neck with pencils, flicks my ears, kicks me, calls me a fag, loser, dirtbag, oh and his new one today was telling me that my real parents were so poor they sold me for a bowl of soup. That's just the highlight reel of course.”
Ms. Dempsey wore a doubtful smirk beneath narrowed, probing eyes. “That doesn't sound like the Jack I know.” He could feel her looking through him, trying to find an angle of attack. Her features relaxed again and she said confidently, “So why should I believe you? If that was really happening in his class, Mr. Hannigan wouldn't overlook it.”
He locked eyes with her and snapped back, “Yes he would!” Miles felt his composure slipping away. “Think about it. Hannigan's the varsity football coach and Jack's his star running back. The last thing he's going to do is write him up in-season, especially with the playoffs coming up. Instead, he goes out of his way to nail me on everything I do wrong and lets his little golden-boy get away with murder.”
Her next line of questioning completely ignored the connection that Miles attempted to make. “How many referrals have you gotten so far this year, Miles? Fifteen? Twenty?”
Miles shrugged his shoulders. “I don't know. What's your point?” He knew where this interrogation was headed; he was a troublemaker, there was no mistaking it. It was the only way he got attention from anyone. His grades sucked, he had few real friends, and his foster family was beyond lame. So he caused mischief, so what, it was the only fun he had in this world. But his mischief making had earned him a bitter reputation that now stood in the way of finding any justice. One of the fastest ways to tear down a witness or accuser was to bring their character into question. It was a perfect strategy and Miles knew it.
Ms. Dempsey unbuttoned her jacket and sat back in her chair. “My point is that you do nothing but cause trouble around here. I don't know how you can expect me to take you on your word.” She picked up her coffee mug and took a sizeable swig.
Miles cracked a wry smile. He breathed out a muted laugh through his nostrils at the whole situation, let alone his discarded flesh the principal no doubt just ingested. “I don't know. I guess I don't expect anything. But Hannigan isn't telling the whole story.”
Ms. Dempsey leaned forward and clasped both hands together. She smiled at Miles. “So you say.”
Miles looked down at the floor, despondent, shaking his head. He huffed out an exasperated breath.
“Look, without a report from Hannigan, there’s nothing I can do.”
“Bullshit!” he spat back at her.
“Watch it, Miles,” she pointed threateningly at him again. Her voice dropped several octaves. “You've got a short leash on this one.”
“Just talk to Hannigan,” Miles whined, his arms wide in an expression of exasperation. “Look into it for yourself if you don't trust me.”
“Even if you're right, which I doubt, it doesn’t excuse what you did to Jack. There are other ways to deal with bullying. Besides, I don’t think you have anything to worry about after the beating you put on him.”
“Oh yeah,” Miles scoffed, “I've got it made. Now all I have to do is worry about all his roided-out friends coming after me.”
Ms. Dempsey clapped both hands down on her desk. “Hey, all I can do is look into it. I’ll talk to Hannigan and see if he can corroborate any of your story.”
“Oh,” he replied sarcastically, “I’m sure, you’ll look into it. Just like when he pulled the fire alarm last spring or when he was caught throwing a beer bash over Christmas break. The whole school knew he was guilty, but he managed to slither out of it with a slap on the wrist.”
Dempsey gasped audibly. “Are you insinuating that I had something to do with that?”
“Who's insinuating?” Miles leaned in and pointed at her menacingly. “You let him off easy.”
“Easy? He was suspended for two weeks from school and extracurriculars once we put it all together.”
Miles rolled his eyes. “You mean when you conveniently decided to punish him during the break between basketball and baseball. God forbid something gets in the way of him getting a sports scholarship or our school being splashed across the sports page.” Miles could see he was getting the better of her. He knew he had gone too far this time and was ready to finish what he started. If he was going down, he was going down hard. He slurred the words at her with intent, with an accusation of impropriety. “Everyone knows you’re his bitch.”
“I've had about enough of you for today.”
But Miles wasn't finished. Determined to say his peace, he cast the final stone. “His parents have money, power, and influence. Everyone knows it. And he plays you like a fool.”
Ms. Dempsey launched from her chair, her hips popping though its arms, her face turning bright red. She shrieked, “That's it, Miles!” Dempsey seethed with fury, clenching her jaw. “Get out of my office. Go sit yourself out by Mrs. Clancy's desk and wait for your mother.”
“She's not my mother,” he shot back with equal intensity.
“I don't care. You can tell it all to the superintendent. Your fate's in his hands now.”
“Fine,” Miles retorted. He stood up and slammed the chair backward with a violent thrust of his hand, knocking it into the wall with a thud. “Fat bitch,” he muttered under his breath.
Dempsey glowered at Miles as he opened her door and threw it shut behind him.
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