Riley

25

"Principal Bright," Riley composed began, "a letter is more than a rectangular piece of paper with ink on it; it represents the materiality of a relationship between two people. For example, the love of two people, the friendship between two strangers whose lives have become intertwined; finally, there is ours: the high office of the school and the base of the pyramid, that is, the students.

"You had his reasons for giving me and my friends this punishment. I was the first to say that I found it unfair, but all in all, it was not as bad as I thought. It was a special experience, but at the same time instructive. Everyone says you never stop learning, now I am beginning to understand the meaning of that phrase: actions have consequences.

"I apologize for acting that way that day. Calling you and your colleagues that way did not make me feel as good as I had hoped, it made me feel even worse. I made a fool of myself in front of my parents, my friends, their parents, and last but not least, you Mr. Principal. Please accept this letter of apology from me."

A long silence followed. Riley watched the principal with circumspection: one of his two eyebrows lowered and then systematically came back up, his gaze vague toward the penholder and his lower lip being pressed by the white teeth of his upper palate. Then he leaned both elbows on the desk and put his hands together. He seemed at odds with himself.

She had read her letter perfectly, never making a mispronunciation or unintentionally mispronouncing a word. Her handwriting was clean and easy to read; if Mr. Bright had had to read it, he would have had no problem.

She turned a glance toward Theo on her left and smiled at him. His response was a thumbs-up; her letter of apology had hit the mark.

Luz sought her attention with a tap on his shoulder. Once she got it, she whispered to her in a contented voice, "Nice letter, Riley."

Gerald Bright stood tall and professional, clearing his voice elegantly before speaking. "Put your letters here."

The four kids obeyed and then returned to their seats. The principal and parents watched without a word.

He resumed speaking, his voice was touched. "I was impressed by your manner of manner, your use of words and, most importantly, your tone. I accept all your apologies, as long as you accept mine. In the week that has just passed, I had a chance to put the pieces of the puzzle back together, and I admit that I made a stupid, sneaky mistake that only a person guided by instinct could make: looking at the wrong side of the coin."

His interlocutors assumed an interdicted look, but none of them — including kids — had the courage to ask which medal he was talking about. Obviously, he was referring to what had happened with those eighth-grade bullies.

"For years," Principal Bright continued apologetically, "we let bullies do whatever they wanted. Do you accept, then, my apology?"

They said in chorus, "Yes, we accept your apology, Mr. Bright."

The man looked at the parents, thanked them and dismissed them, telling the kids to go back to their class.

As they headed for the their classroom, Riley and Theo glanced at the group of parents. There were only theirs and Luz's talking in front of the secretary's office, while Mr. and Mrs. Glenn — Ferg's parents — walked briskly toward the exit. Were they in a hurry to get back to work, or did they not want to stay a second longer at that school?

"What must they be saying to each other?" asked Theo. "I hope they don't speak ill of us."

"Badmouth us?" gasped Riley puzzled. "We spent half an hour talking about what's right and what's wrong, read our letters to the principal, and walked out of that hole of a room. To speak ill of us seems out of place!"