“Edwards, your consistent defilement of our school’s property can no longer be tolerated. Do you understand?”
“Yes ma’am,” I murmur, my head low.
“Spitting in the water fountain is one thing. Plenty of kids, worse than you, do that and more. But kicking a locker? Tell me, what did Christa ever do to you?”
“Who’s Christa?” I question, sincerely. My counselor looks at me with distraught exasperation. She lets out a sigh.
“Look, I don’t want to suspend you, Edwards. You’re a good student, and I can tell deep down you’re a good kid. Don’t let your background get in the way of this,” she attempts to reason. She, as well as almost every faculty member, addresses me by my last name. It is actually one of the few things I appreciate of them.
“Yes ma’am.”
“You’ll serve and in school suspension at least, do you understand?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“This Wednesday.”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Can I trust you not to desecrate any more school property today?”
“Yes ma-”
“Mrs. Ewe, I hope that I am not hearing you correctly,” Mr. Morrison, the vice principal, interrupts. My body stiffens.
“Excuse me, sir?” Mrs. Ewe asks.
“This student should be suspended, and, according to his past history, perhaps even expelled.”
“He’s a good kid, Mr. Morrison,” she reasons.
“Obviously not,” he retorts. I begin to grind my teeth as my hands clench the arms of my chair.
“Do you even know who this child is,” Mrs. Ewe hisses, lowering her volume.
“A suspended child, that’s who,” he hisses back. My eyes pierce the back of his head.
“This is Boo Edwards,” she whispers, as if I cannot hear. Mr. Morrison eyes widen as he straightens himself.
“Well, that is a different case-”
“Fuck it! I’m suspended, I’m fuckin’ suspended!” I rage, lurching out of my chair.
“Boo! Please!” Mrs. Ewe pleads.
“Call my mother. I’ll get my stuff,” I huff as I storm out of the office and into the hall. Classes have just changed and I am bombarded by crowds. On my way to the class where I had left my belongings before being sent to the office, I pass the locker I kicked, now surrounded by students.
“Ugh, some people,” a girl growls in disgust.
“Who do you think did it?” another inquires. I pause to listen. Apparently none of them are aware that I was the culprit.
“I don’t know, but it pisses me off,” a girl, assumingly Christa, growls as she slams her locker closed. She stands, swings her backpack over her red clothed shoulder, and picks her messy head up, her chameleon eyes piercing me briefly. My mouth fills with blood again, this time I swallow it back. She does not notice me, however. She only shakes a disgruntled head and departs, her once kind eyes now filled with hateful aggravation. I stagger into the classroom, overturning several desks in the process.
YOU ARE READING
The Girl in the Red Sweater
PoetryBoo has been on the brink of insanity since he was born. Unable to control his anger, he has become a threat to himself and others. That is, until he finds her. This girl has brought him back to earth and has shown him more than he ever thought poss...
