Mila Santos Is (Not) Dead

ix: no son of mine

(trigger warning: violent homophobia, homophobic slurs, child abuse)

MALACHI WAS USHERED TO THE NURSE. He had Malachi tilt his head forward with a washcloth pressed against his nose. When the bleeding stopped, he gave him an ice pack. By that point, Malachi's parents had arrived. The nurse told them to take Malachi to the ER when he'd given his statement, as his nose was likely broken. Then his parents led him to the principal's office, the ice pack pressed against his nose.

In the principal's office, Drew slumped in the middle chair, nursing his bandaged hand. His dad stood behind him in a suit like he'd just came from work, his hair disheveled like he'd ran the whole way. He shot dirty looks at Malachi's parents. Aisha sat beside Drew, staring at her lap, her mom petting her hair behind her. Principal Gorecki stood behind her desk, her hands pressed together at her lips. Her glasses perched on the edge of her small nose, and her black hair was pulled back in a slick low bun. The top of her head glistened with hair gel.

"Please," she said. "Have a seat, Malachi."

Malachi sat in the last armchair. His parents flanked him, his dad's grip on his shoulder like iron.

Principal Gorecki plopped down in her desk chair. "I understand you three were involved in an... altercation at recess today. Can you tell me what happened, Drew?"

Drew shrugged. All his cockiness and righteous anger had drained out of him. "Malachi was cheating on me with Aisha. I confronted him. He called me a mean word—"

Malachi's face burned. His father's grip on his shoulder tightened. Malachi stared at the bottom of Principal Gorecki's desk, trying to cool his face, trying to give off no discernable reaction. All he ended up doing was making his blush deepen and redden.

"He gaslighted you," Mr. Holland interrupted.

Malachi's ears heated. He didn't know what that word meant, but it didn't sound good. It sounded like he'd set Drew on fire and watched him burn.

"Please," Principal Gorecki responded, "I'd like to hear it from Drew. Save your comments for later, Mr. Holland."

Drew looked up at his father, who gave him a stern nod. "He said I was crazy. And it made me feel crazy. So I—the next thing I knew, he was on the ground with a bloody nose. And my knuckles really hurt."

"Interesting." Principal Gorecki nodded. "Do you have anything else you'd like to add?"

"I'm sorry," Drew mumbled to his feet.

"Louder," his dad insisted. "Say it like you mean it, Andrew. And you're not apologizing to your shoes."

Drew looked over at Malachi. "I'm sorry," he repeated, louder. Malachi refused to look back at him.

"Malachi, would you like to respond?" Principal Gorecki asked.

Malachi shrugged.

"Thank you for that, Drew. Now, Malachi, would you like to walk me through the events?"

Malachi slouched in his seat and crossed his arms over his chest. He shrugged again.

"Speak, son," his dad said. "Use your words. Be a man."

Malachi's face got redder by the minute. He pulled at the collar of his sweater, wishing he could disappear. "Drew was jealous I was hanging out with Aisha instead of him. He started yelling at me, and then he just snapped or whatever. And then he punched me."