Breaking Point

The Truth

            “Alright, quiet… QUIET!” Mr. Dobbs, the assistant vice principal of the school, was trying (and failing) to silence the class of seven hundred and fifty-odd sophomores that were crammed into the auditorium. His head pounded with frustration; these damn kids and their modern technology, they probably knew more than he or any of the authorities did. And whatever they knew, they were sharing it amongst themselves, but certainly not him. At the end of his rope, he turned on his heels and walked across the stage to the ancient black microphone in the front center, adjusting it to accommodate his shortness.

            “I’m going to count to ten,” he announced with a false calmness. “Anyone still talking or out of their seat after that will have credit denial.” He raised his right arm and held the tiny cubic zirconium plate between two fingers. It didn’t really pay to be a teacher, even if you were assistant vice principal. But amazingly, his ultimatum worked. There were hardly any students still up by the time seven seconds had passed. Good enough, Dobbs decided.

            “Now, I think you all know about what just happened about-“ he checked the watch. “-a half hour ago in the boys’ locker room. For those of you who don’t, a boy was severely beaten by several other boys, most of whom have been taken to the office. The identity of the boy under attack is being kept private-“

            “KYLE FAGGOT SUMMERS!” A loud male voice shouted over the assistant vice.

            “Who said that!?” He snapped. Already another teacher, a plump middle-aged blonde with wiry glasses, had the lanky boy by the arm and was escorting him from the room.

            “Anyone else want to add a comment?” Dobbs was furious by now. These kids were out of control. “I thought so. Anyone involved in this horrific accident will lessen the severity of their punishment by stepping forward. In other words, instead of being expelled you might just get credit denial for all your classes for the entire year. Anyone else with information is being asked to step forward immediately. You can also email me what you know.”

            At that point, a young, black-haired woman with her hair tied and rectangular glasses stepped onto the stage, clutching a manila folder. She hurried towards Dobbs, who stood frowning as he waited. She whispered something in his ear, pulled out a small rectangular paper from the folder, and handed it to him. Dobbs scanned it and thanked her. She nodded and left.

            He held up the slip. “I’ve just received a list of names of the people who were involved,” he said above the noise, which had restarted during his short pause. As soon as he said those words, silence fell over the kids. They were frozen in anticipation, waiting for the list to be  read. Dobbs lowered it and removed his glasses.

            “I’m asking for Matthew Hanks, Sean Diaz, Dustin Aries, Rudy Morrison, Leo Daman, Anthony Kirk, Greg McCurtis, and Drew Dior please come forward now. If you are not all on this stage in the next fifteen seconds, your punishment will be far worse.”

            They were all in the same spot, in the far back corner of the auditorium. For a moment there was a pause. Many of the kids were staring at them. Greg was saying something; Leo pointed towards the door; Sean shook his head. In the end, the boys got up and headed for the stage. All except for Leo, who made an attempt to get to the nearest exit. An elderly janitor stopped him. The panic on Leo’s face was almost laughable as he headed after the other guys, who looked back at him in disgust.

            “Tell me your names,” he said, counting heads as he placed the microphone back in its stand. “There are only five of you; I got a list of eight. Where are the other three?”