The Impact

Chapter 35

I rub my head. it's starting to hurt for some reason. I can honestly say I'm glad I forgot eleven years of this circus.

"Hey get otta my way!!"

"Whassup freak boy?"

I think they are talking to me. I know now why I didn't talk before. Okay no I don't. It doesn't make sense I didn't talk to my family. they love me. I wish these people would all drown in the toilets they so want to shove my head in. They tried once I got away on principal oh look they're going to try again. Thankfully I don't actually breath and I like the water so I come up hitting when they think I should be delirious from lack of oxygen.

"Ian, I understand why you did what you did but you do know that we here at St. Michaels have a no tolerance policy for fighting?" the AP Tucker asks. I don't know why he's called an AP nobody's explained it to me mostly because I haven't asked because I don't care that much.

I shrug.

"Did they say something about Parker?" he asks.

I look down at my feet. I haven't let these people know I talk because I don't want to talk to them.

"I'm going to have to send you home for today, which one of your dads do you want me to call, or do you have a car?" he asks.

I shrug. He can call whichever dad he wants they won't be mad. As I suspect, they are not.

"You have anything to do with those two assholes holding ice packs to their stupid bruised faces?" the AP Tucker looks upset with his choice of dad. I suspect he chose a number at random because he doesn't know the difference. 

"Your son hit them through a bathroom stall," the AP Tucker says.

"Wow, really?" my dad is suitably impressed.

"Their heads were stuck through it," I say, nodding.

"Cool---I mean---what, were they talking smack about you and Parker or what?" my dad asks.

"Pushing my head in a toilet again," I say.

"He----he talks?" the AP Tucker is staring at me.

"Yeah, he talks, and he protects himself from bullies he could have DIED with his head underwater like that look at him, he's still soaked. And I will not take my son out of school for protecting himself when those assholes get to walk around bullying other people who might not be able to fight back," my dad says. He's scary when he wants to be. He wants to be to other people.

"That's okay I'd rather go home with you," I say.

"I know, you're staying in school," my dad says.

"Mr. Sloan----"

"Do I need to call your superior? Or should I just have my husband who is not illiterate write on the facebook page how bullies are defended here at St. Michaels?" my dad asks, cocking his head.

"He put their heads through the stall wall, specialists had to be brought in to remove them," the AP Tucker sputters.

"That is not funny," my dad says, looking at me as I barely suppress laughter.

"it was incredibly funny," I correct him.

"So you're saying because they actually got what is coming to them for literally waterboarding my son---oh that'll make a nice headline, St. Michaels encourages water boarding---"

"All right. He can stay in school. In in house suspension."

"Done," my dad says.

"What?! I wanted to come home," I growl.

"I know, have a good day. Love you," he said, rubbing my wet hair. I glare at him.

"You're lucky you're still going with Dashiell tonight," he says.

"I am?" I ask, hopefully. I was thinking that would be off defending myself against bullies or not.

"If your father and I don't get another call, be good," he says, leaving. His occupation as a 'meth dealer' gives him more time to respond to school calls than my other dad, for some reason.