The Doves that Strut

11

"Will Peaceman." The classroom's speaker rang as the voice of Ms. Acharya, Scott's secretary, rose. "Principal Scott needs to see you now. Please come to his office straight away," she pattered, untangled with emotions, which spoiled that I was in trouble.

I didn't have to look up to know everyone was staring at me (I mean, we were having a logarithm test, so I was positive that my classmates would accept any forms of entertainment they could take), but I wasn't ready to leave yet. I was only two questions away from finishing my test (or should I say nailing it?)—or maybe I was only stalling.

"Will," Mrs. Hunch said after a light hem. "I believe you're being called upon."

"I just need a few more minutes," I answered, eyes set on the equation, fingers knocking on the keys of my calculator. We all knew what I was doing.

"I don't think that's the luxury you can have, Will," she commented, and I hit the keys even harder, the noise as blaring as her voice and the whispers of my peers. "Will? Will? Will!"

"Okay," I muttered. I dropped my pen and hastened to her desk with my question paper and answer sheet clipped together.

"You can come to me after school to continue this if you want," she deadpanned, unexpectantly as she settled my materials on the other side of her desk, still holding a grudge against my Ferris Bueller's Day Off—no, my Ferris Bueller's Days Off. "Though I assume you already know the solution of the last question." It didn't sound like a compliment to me.

"Thank you," I nodded, and stole a glance at the room. Perturbed, they seemed.

I plodded out of the room, down the hallway, and took a right turn into Scott's office thirty feet away from the gym. Outside his room, there was this white semicircular reception table, behind which sat Ms. Acharya, talking to the telephone. "Just a moment, please," she spoke into the phone after noticing me, and covered up the receiver with her palm. "Will Peaceman?" she asked, one side of her brows lifted, but nowhere close to Claire. I nodded. She pointed at the door beside the table. "Principal Scott and your father are inside."

"My father?" I sputtered.

"Yes, he just got here five minutes ago," she said, fumbling over the files in front of her.

"Oh, I see," I smiled out of courtesy and walked up.

As I wrapped my fingers around the door handle, "Hey!" Ms. Acharya whispered. I looked back at her, puzzled. "I've been in the protests as well, and I was in the hall yesterday. It was very brave of you, doing something no one else dared," she grinned at me in liveliness.

I hesitated for seconds, surprised. "Thanks," I nodded, encouraged to actually smile.

"Good luck in there, Will."

"Okay."

After a deep breath, I pulled down the handle. They were inside as I had been told, Scott and Dad scowling at me the moment I stepped in.

"Sit down, Will," Mr. Scott said behind his sandalwood desk, pointing at the chair next to Dad's.

I complied. The first thing I noticed in Scott's room was this golden-framed certificate of his master's degree in social science hung high on the wall behind him. There were no clocks, just a certificate instead.

"It doesn't matter that he has a degree when he has no enthusiasm for our society," I could hear Claire groan, see her roll her eyes. "It just means that he had the patience to stay in uni for years for the certificate she needs to earn her paychecks doing something she has no passion for."

And the second thing I noticed was about the chair I was sitting on—how shitty its design was. Different from the ones we had in class, its seatback was completely flat, which was extremely unfriendly to my vertebra. Plus, the chair was covered up with a thin layer of rough cushion that made me feel like I was leaning against a bag of coarse sand. Facing the owner of the room, I wondered if he'd deliberately introduced this type of chairs to his office so that he could make sure every troublemaker that winded up here wouldn't have an easy time. A narcissistic asshole, I concluded.