a million different things I could have done that day

Chapter 18

Carson

I wasn't like those other kids who had their parents' undivided attention. At the age of one, I stopped sleeping on my mother or father's arm. Just in case they got paged to the hospital. It may seem cruel, but it wasn't. If anything, it contributed to my independency. I wasn't one of those kids who cried on the first day of kindergarten. I didn't cling to my father's leg, in hopes that he won't leave me in this horrible place for the next four hours. I didn't trouble my nannies. I didn't ever wonder why my parents left me, because in my mind they, as surgeons, were the saviors of the human race. I was that kid.

Krystelle

When the stupid history teacher refused to let me enter her class without a note, I was forced to go to the principal's office once again. Even though I'd already told her that Principal Florence had been informed of my late arrival, but no, she needed 'signed proof.' So I had to walk all the way to the administrative building-again! - simply because she didn't like me. Me. Me! I'm Krystelle Yale for god's sake; teachers love me; I've never broken a rule ever; I've never even rebelled against anything I was told to learn.

What was wrong with this woman? I wasn't even a bad kid. A bit unconvinced by justifications for decisions that were made in the past sure, but I had good reason. Why would anyone in their right mind support the decisions made by old men who were against feminism and basic human rights.

Ever since that meeting I'd had with the Principal, I paid attention in class, I contributed, I spent hours trying to understand until I finally did. I did anything and everything I was expected to do in order to achieve excellence, yet she still hated me.

All of these thoughts ran through my head as I opened the door to the administrative building, and noticed Carson sitting in Principal Florence's office. From all the way over here, I could not tell exactly what they were discussing. However, it was obvious to any onlooker that it was quite the heated conversation. Carson sat slumped in a chair staring out the window, whilst the Principal stood staring down at him with fiery eyes from across the desk. That especially drew my attention.

I'd seen Carson talking to Principal Florence before on multiple occasions. I know it wasn't my place to say anything, but I'm certain Carson went on more dinners with him that he did with his own father. Even though Dad and I had never really had much of shaky relationship, even during the divorce, I knew what it was like to have a parent who was never really there yet somehow, always everywhere.

Carson and I didn't talk about his dad or my mom much; we'd never been to each other's houses for dinner. We had this bit of an understanding, you see. It wasn't apparent to everyone, but anyone who knew us could tell. There were no such things as awkward silences when his mother accidently came up in conversation. We let what we were feeling out, and if we didn't, the other accepted that and moved on. 

Principal Florence was a neither an angry, hot-tempered man, nor a person who believed that the best way to knock sense into a child was to scream at them. I'd first figured that out when I'd seen a quote hanging on his wall: "The pen is mightier than the sword." I know, I know, it's really cliché for something like that to be hanging in a Principal's office, but it really explained his whole technique when dealing with us.

He  would try to hear out every side of the story, ours included, and then work out a compromise. He  was the type of man who understood that we weren't idiotic pieces of garbage that were thrown into this institution because nobody wanted us. Trust me, sometimes the way teachers treat you is a lot like the way paupers were treated in the olden days.

Principal's unusual behavior is what really made me fear for Carson. What could he possibly have done to deserve a wrath like that?

Carson finally walked out with an unconcerned look on his face. His hazel eyes stared off into a distance as though he really was someplace else. His jet black hair was kept as uneven as ever, looking wrecked and kinda hot all at the same time. I always wondered how guys could pull that look off. Not all guys of course, just some. But still, it was baffling. If a girl walked around looking like that, hair destroyed and eyes unfocused, it would look as if she'd just risen from bed. Carson though, could definitely pull that look off.

I realized that my strange sleeping schedules and fatigue were finally getting the best of me and causing me to start staring at someone I'd never stared at so closely before.

I realized that Carson hadn't noticed me yet and decided that was probably for the best. Once he had left, I saw Principal Florence beckoning me into his office. The poor man's cheeks were flushed and I could tell his hands were shaking as he put some horridly yellow shorts into his drawer with a sign of frustration.

Then, he smiled and said, "Yes, Krystelle, what can I do for you?"

"Ms. Norma wouldn't let me enter the history classroom without a signed note from you."

"But I gave you permission a while back."

"I'm sorry, sir, but she wants to see it written down."

He  gave me a look of pure exasperation and his eyebrows went up as if to say, seriously?

I nodded. For some reason, that made him smile.

That night I finally applied to all the Fine Arts schools in the country. I don't care what mom said or believed. I was not going to base my entire future on what she thought was acceptable. I was going to do what I wanted and I was going to be great at it. Because the only way to be great, is to be great because of yourself.