my name is aaron (ftm)

5

They call me into the principal's office.
At Camington Middle we have three principals, one for 6th, one for 7th, and one for 8th.
The one for eighth grade, which is my principal, is the one I hate the most.
His name is Mr. G (short for something that starts with G... I think it's Swedish?) and when I enter his small office, it's covered in ducks.
No kidding.
Ducks.
Everywhere.
Wooden ducks on his shelves and on his desk, origami ducks hanging on thread from the ceiling, duck pens and pencils in a duck mug on his desk, ducks, ducks, ducks.
What the duck.
"Have a seat!" He says way too cheerfully, gesturing to an uncomfortable looking seat which is thankfully not duck themed.
I sit down. I avoid eye contact, like I do with everyone.
"How was your summer vacation?" He asks.
Why the fuck do you care?
I punched a guy in the nose.
Focus, man.
I shrug. "Fine."
It sucked ass.
"That's wonderful. How has your first day back been so far? Glad to see all your friends?" He laughs.
I have no friends.
Also.
Why the heck are you making small talk?
Dumbass.
"Yeah." I mumble, faking a small smile.
I've been faking smiles for years. I can't remember the last time I smiled because I was genuinely happy.
"Great. Okay, well, Arona."
Aaron.
It's Aaron you absolute piece of shit.
Please die.
"It has come to my attention that this morning you physically injured Johnathon Crean. Is this correct?" Mr G. Asks.
I want to slam my head on a table.
This is so dumb.
"Well, it was sort of self defense?" I say uncertainly.
He nods, like he completely understands.
Which, I know he doesn't. Not at all.
Not in the slightest.
"That was another contributing factor, yes." He says. He looks through a couple of papers on his desk. "I had a few bystanders come in and confirm some things you said."
I knew that rape thing would catch their attention.
"However, I also consulted John, and he denied actually partaking in the types of actions you had accused him of."
My jaw would've dropped if I wasn't so used to keeping my mouth glued shut all the time.
"What do you mean?" I ask as calmly as possible. I want to grab one of Mr. G's dumbass duck figurines and shove it right up John Crean's assho-
Mr. G clears his throat. "Well, from what I have heard from the bystander students, you accused him of raping you."
I nod.
"However, the definition of rape is being forced into sexual interactions without consent." He explains.
The hell, I know this stuff.
Where's the confusion?
"According to John, you were completely consensual." Mr. G says.
I want to strangle John.
I want to strangle Mr. G.
I want to strangle someone, anyone.
I want to fucking throw the chair I'm sitting in across the room.
"No," I say, "I didn't agree to anything he did to me. Nothing."
"Well, in John's words, you asked him to do it." He replies.
Who is the psychopathic God that decided to do this to me?
Oh, right, I don't believe in God.
I do believe that John is a bastard, though.
I clench my sweating palms and glue them to my sides so that I don't start punching things.
My ears are ringing with furious anger.
"I did nothing of the sort." I state in a firm voice.
I'm suddenly overflowing with memories of that night.

The seventh grade end of the year dance.
I had begged my mom to go with the people I had stupidly called my friends.
Dark gym, sweaty preteens, too-loud music playing stupid pop songs I don't like.
And then John. John's stupid stupid hands on me and dragging me away to the locker rooms.
My "friends" had just watched.
Doing.
Nothing.
As.
He.
Dragged.
Me.
Away.

"Well, then," Mr. G. says, dragging me back to the present and snapping me out of my flashback, "Now that you've confirmed that, I did receive some messages from a student who confirmed that they actually witnessed Johnathon touching you in appropriately and that you were disapproving of his actions."
Wait.
What?
Someone... Saw it?
Was it one of my so-called friends from that night?
"T-touching? Or.. The actual raping?" I ask nervously.
He glances at his papers. "Uh, it's not specified."
I can feel my stomach spinning like a washing machine.
If they saw him raping me... That's impossible.
No one else was there.
But... It couldn't have been one of my former friends from the night of the dance.
They all hate me.
Why would they have told the principal that if they knew it could probably help me?
If it was even one of them at all.