Flames of the Heart, John Horton [read books for money .TXT] 📗
- Author: John Horton
Book online «Flames of the Heart, John Horton [read books for money .TXT] 📗». Author John Horton
you farther down into your seat. Welcome to the Principals Office. We hope you enjoyed the tour. There is no gift shop.
Mr. and Mrs. Dillon are very busy people most of the year, and when they’re not busy doing whatever important work it is they do, they take ridiculously long vacations on some other side of the planet. They don’t always leave Jake by himself, but lucky for him they did this time. So while I was being sacrificed to the gods of the educational system, Jake was dismissed back to class after a good 8 minutes of arguing to stay with me. Double Damn. He was my only witness. At least he didn’t go down without a fight.
After a terribly uneventful 15 minute wait, the school secretary finally told me I could go in to see the principal. You’d think that after I almost burned down the school she would have dragged me into her office herself the second she found me again. I guess she was too busy chewing out that Stoner who just passed me looking very, very glazed and unaware of what really happened in Principal Claudia’s office. “SMITH! STAKE! IN MY OFFICE!” She called. She sounded like she had been practicing. I think her and Mr. Wheese must be secret lovers, or at least part of a group of evil teachers that take value in practicing torture tactics for innocent students.
I had almost forgotten that Jerry was sitting right next to me in the waiting room. His father was with him, along with my father on my left. I can’t remember what he said his name was to the clerk behind the desk (Joe, or Bob, or Dickhead, or something like that), but when he introduced himself to the office staff, it sounded like someone who was trying to cover up a dead-beat life that ended after high school. Dad hadn’t said anything the entire time that the staff behind the counter tried to deter us and when Jake tried to stay with me. That’s the way Dad is: quiet, solemn, and he has always had a fantastically terrifying way of being patient with people in these situations. Dad also has quite a striking physical part of him that makes him twice as commanding: he is 6 feet tall with dark brown hair like mine, but instead of mud brown eyes he has piercing blue eyes that grow brighter when he gets angry, so bright that you can’t help but cut off mid-sentence and start back-peddling at the sight of them. I know this because I have been given that look during many arguments with Dad. I screw up. Often.
When Jerry’s dad first walked into the main office behind my own dad, I thought he was going to start a yelling match with him. Dad just gave him that cold, icy blue stare I try so hard to master to no avail. It just isn’t the same with eyes that are already muddy and dark. Jerry’s dad’s voice trailed off and then turned instead to burn his fury out on his own son.
That conversation sounded something like this:
(Jerry’s dad) “You okay?”
(Jerry) “Yeah.”
(Jerry’s dad) “That punk start it?”
(Jerry) “Yeah.”
Then they both just sat smugly in the tiny waiting room chairs that nearly broke under their immense weight. Douches, I thought to myself. Too bad Dad is right next to me or I might have “accidentally” set another fire right there in the office. So the Stakes, Dad and I all sat in the waiting room in silence, moments later entering the Principal’s actual office, with tensions rising with every breath.
Jerry’s dad opened his nasty, half-shaved mouth to no doubt accuse me of being the Spawn of Satan and try to have me deported (or at least exorcised). But before any noise could be made from any of us, Mrs. Claudia said “YOU WILL HAVE YOUR TURN TO SPEAK, MR. STAKE. And until that point I don’t want to hear a word out of you and your son. That goes for you too Mr. Smith.” Jerry’s dad’s jaw dropped. I bet he has never been talked to like that by anyone, since his son is a football star and is all-important to the fate of the school’s team. I made a mental note to laugh about that later.
“The reason why I asked all of you to be here today is because I have been monitoring your boys’ behavior during school, and I have to say I am ashamed. I am ashamed of Jerry for acting out like this for so long, and for not upholding his status as an elite athlete around other students. I am also upset because I have been forced to remove Jerry from the team’s football game this weekend (cue groan from Jerry). Jerry will be completing a week of detention to go along with his temporary team suspension after the game, since I know next week’s game will be important if we want to go to state this year.
“And as for YOU, Mr. Smith, you will be suspended for two weeks for fighting in school and starting the fire.” I couldn’t believe it. Jerry gets taken off the team for one day and gets a week of detention. I get suspended. Dad just sat there, motionless, as if he is the one being expelled from the school for two weeks. I thought my head just might explode. Sure, it could have been a lot worse. I could have been expelled for accidentally starting the fire alone. But for fighting? If I remember right, no one threw a punch and no one actually came into contact with anyone.
I jam my hands into my pockets and try to look like an uncaring badass when I feel April Cayes’ note against my leg. My heart speeds up, and suddenly I do not really care whether or not I get suspended, or even expelled for that matter. I have a note written specifically to me from a pretty girl. Who cares what else happens? I sit quietly for the rest of the meeting as Principal Claudia explains to our fathers what days Jerry will have detention, when my suspension starts (immediately), how long it will last (forever), and what we will have to do in order to get back on the sunny side of the road.
“Both boys will have to complete all work from each of their classes. Any grades not up to a minimum of B average must be brought up to par.” Principal Claudia stated. Jerry went moon-eyed. I bet he has never even seen a paper graded above a C- in his entire life. Most teachers just let the football players slide through class with whatever grade they happen to get. Anything to bring home the gold, I guess.
Jerry opened his mouth to protest, but Principal Claudia cut him off. “And if either student refuses to take part of the punishment that has been determined by the School Board, then he will be assigned a worse, more tedious punishment along with extra assignments, exams, and volunteer work.” Jerry closed his gaping maw and sat as quietly as me, defeat plain on his face. “Hah! Serves you right, you greasy bastard,” I thought smugly to myself. Jerry stares at me as Principal Claudia finishes her reaming. I wonder if my badass act is working. Maybe I should position my legs differently.
The Stakes rise(Ha-ha) and glare at me as they leave the office. I smile politely and look them both in the eye as they pass. I begin to laugh when I turn and find myself watching my dad watching me. He says nothing, still, and looks me over carefully. His eyes are a dull flame now, and I can see his mind trying to work, probably to figure out how he got stuck with a kid like me. I do not know what to say, so I don’t. He turns to leave too, and I follow suit, thinking of how likely it is that I will live through the night once mom hears what happened. The halls are empty now, quiet and eerie as we walk through the school back to the parking lot. I try to think of where the teachers might hold their malicious meetings after all the students leave, to distract myself from the ensuing silence, the bubble of dead sound that is my father. His eyes said it all, his words trapped in the vacuum of sound around him.
We ride in silence all the way home, no radio, no IPod, no conversation. Just the AC and the hum of the engine. I stare out the window the entire ride. We live on the other side of the city from where the school is, so it takes a while, stopping at every light, letting every pedestrian walk. Dad was obviously trying to take his time in getting home. But my silence can be as deafening as his, if I want it to. I watch the world spin by, breathing in the scenery, now bathed in early twilight. I steal glances at Dad, trying to read his thoughts, try to find my way through his facial expressions, except there are none. He just focuses on the road, nothing else. And so I sit, and wait, and turn away from the silence and recede into my own head until we have pulled all the way into the drive way. Dad walked into the house ahead of me, greeting Mom with flowers he bought earlier today. I find him and my mother in the kitchen, Mom cutting the ends off the flowers and carefully placing them in a vas, arranging them precisely to her liking, and Dad watching with slight interest, looking more through her than at her, and listens as she talks about her day. After a millennium of stories from Moms’ office, Dad tells her. And she stops. And she turns to look at me. I look at Dad. His eyes looked tired.
Imprint
Mr. and Mrs. Dillon are very busy people most of the year, and when they’re not busy doing whatever important work it is they do, they take ridiculously long vacations on some other side of the planet. They don’t always leave Jake by himself, but lucky for him they did this time. So while I was being sacrificed to the gods of the educational system, Jake was dismissed back to class after a good 8 minutes of arguing to stay with me. Double Damn. He was my only witness. At least he didn’t go down without a fight.
After a terribly uneventful 15 minute wait, the school secretary finally told me I could go in to see the principal. You’d think that after I almost burned down the school she would have dragged me into her office herself the second she found me again. I guess she was too busy chewing out that Stoner who just passed me looking very, very glazed and unaware of what really happened in Principal Claudia’s office. “SMITH! STAKE! IN MY OFFICE!” She called. She sounded like she had been practicing. I think her and Mr. Wheese must be secret lovers, or at least part of a group of evil teachers that take value in practicing torture tactics for innocent students.
I had almost forgotten that Jerry was sitting right next to me in the waiting room. His father was with him, along with my father on my left. I can’t remember what he said his name was to the clerk behind the desk (Joe, or Bob, or Dickhead, or something like that), but when he introduced himself to the office staff, it sounded like someone who was trying to cover up a dead-beat life that ended after high school. Dad hadn’t said anything the entire time that the staff behind the counter tried to deter us and when Jake tried to stay with me. That’s the way Dad is: quiet, solemn, and he has always had a fantastically terrifying way of being patient with people in these situations. Dad also has quite a striking physical part of him that makes him twice as commanding: he is 6 feet tall with dark brown hair like mine, but instead of mud brown eyes he has piercing blue eyes that grow brighter when he gets angry, so bright that you can’t help but cut off mid-sentence and start back-peddling at the sight of them. I know this because I have been given that look during many arguments with Dad. I screw up. Often.
When Jerry’s dad first walked into the main office behind my own dad, I thought he was going to start a yelling match with him. Dad just gave him that cold, icy blue stare I try so hard to master to no avail. It just isn’t the same with eyes that are already muddy and dark. Jerry’s dad’s voice trailed off and then turned instead to burn his fury out on his own son.
That conversation sounded something like this:
(Jerry’s dad) “You okay?”
(Jerry) “Yeah.”
(Jerry’s dad) “That punk start it?”
(Jerry) “Yeah.”
Then they both just sat smugly in the tiny waiting room chairs that nearly broke under their immense weight. Douches, I thought to myself. Too bad Dad is right next to me or I might have “accidentally” set another fire right there in the office. So the Stakes, Dad and I all sat in the waiting room in silence, moments later entering the Principal’s actual office, with tensions rising with every breath.
Jerry’s dad opened his nasty, half-shaved mouth to no doubt accuse me of being the Spawn of Satan and try to have me deported (or at least exorcised). But before any noise could be made from any of us, Mrs. Claudia said “YOU WILL HAVE YOUR TURN TO SPEAK, MR. STAKE. And until that point I don’t want to hear a word out of you and your son. That goes for you too Mr. Smith.” Jerry’s dad’s jaw dropped. I bet he has never been talked to like that by anyone, since his son is a football star and is all-important to the fate of the school’s team. I made a mental note to laugh about that later.
“The reason why I asked all of you to be here today is because I have been monitoring your boys’ behavior during school, and I have to say I am ashamed. I am ashamed of Jerry for acting out like this for so long, and for not upholding his status as an elite athlete around other students. I am also upset because I have been forced to remove Jerry from the team’s football game this weekend (cue groan from Jerry). Jerry will be completing a week of detention to go along with his temporary team suspension after the game, since I know next week’s game will be important if we want to go to state this year.
“And as for YOU, Mr. Smith, you will be suspended for two weeks for fighting in school and starting the fire.” I couldn’t believe it. Jerry gets taken off the team for one day and gets a week of detention. I get suspended. Dad just sat there, motionless, as if he is the one being expelled from the school for two weeks. I thought my head just might explode. Sure, it could have been a lot worse. I could have been expelled for accidentally starting the fire alone. But for fighting? If I remember right, no one threw a punch and no one actually came into contact with anyone.
I jam my hands into my pockets and try to look like an uncaring badass when I feel April Cayes’ note against my leg. My heart speeds up, and suddenly I do not really care whether or not I get suspended, or even expelled for that matter. I have a note written specifically to me from a pretty girl. Who cares what else happens? I sit quietly for the rest of the meeting as Principal Claudia explains to our fathers what days Jerry will have detention, when my suspension starts (immediately), how long it will last (forever), and what we will have to do in order to get back on the sunny side of the road.
“Both boys will have to complete all work from each of their classes. Any grades not up to a minimum of B average must be brought up to par.” Principal Claudia stated. Jerry went moon-eyed. I bet he has never even seen a paper graded above a C- in his entire life. Most teachers just let the football players slide through class with whatever grade they happen to get. Anything to bring home the gold, I guess.
Jerry opened his mouth to protest, but Principal Claudia cut him off. “And if either student refuses to take part of the punishment that has been determined by the School Board, then he will be assigned a worse, more tedious punishment along with extra assignments, exams, and volunteer work.” Jerry closed his gaping maw and sat as quietly as me, defeat plain on his face. “Hah! Serves you right, you greasy bastard,” I thought smugly to myself. Jerry stares at me as Principal Claudia finishes her reaming. I wonder if my badass act is working. Maybe I should position my legs differently.
The Stakes rise(Ha-ha) and glare at me as they leave the office. I smile politely and look them both in the eye as they pass. I begin to laugh when I turn and find myself watching my dad watching me. He says nothing, still, and looks me over carefully. His eyes are a dull flame now, and I can see his mind trying to work, probably to figure out how he got stuck with a kid like me. I do not know what to say, so I don’t. He turns to leave too, and I follow suit, thinking of how likely it is that I will live through the night once mom hears what happened. The halls are empty now, quiet and eerie as we walk through the school back to the parking lot. I try to think of where the teachers might hold their malicious meetings after all the students leave, to distract myself from the ensuing silence, the bubble of dead sound that is my father. His eyes said it all, his words trapped in the vacuum of sound around him.
We ride in silence all the way home, no radio, no IPod, no conversation. Just the AC and the hum of the engine. I stare out the window the entire ride. We live on the other side of the city from where the school is, so it takes a while, stopping at every light, letting every pedestrian walk. Dad was obviously trying to take his time in getting home. But my silence can be as deafening as his, if I want it to. I watch the world spin by, breathing in the scenery, now bathed in early twilight. I steal glances at Dad, trying to read his thoughts, try to find my way through his facial expressions, except there are none. He just focuses on the road, nothing else. And so I sit, and wait, and turn away from the silence and recede into my own head until we have pulled all the way into the drive way. Dad walked into the house ahead of me, greeting Mom with flowers he bought earlier today. I find him and my mother in the kitchen, Mom cutting the ends off the flowers and carefully placing them in a vas, arranging them precisely to her liking, and Dad watching with slight interest, looking more through her than at her, and listens as she talks about her day. After a millennium of stories from Moms’ office, Dad tells her. And she stops. And she turns to look at me. I look at Dad. His eyes looked tired.
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Publication Date: 11-02-2012
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