The Fifth Circle (18 page)

On the way home, I complained to my mom and Alex about the cost. My mom remained silent, but Alex, as usual, had to run her mouth.

“It’s worth the money to have someone on your side who knows the legal system,” she said.

“Have you ever been to court?” I snapped. She shook her head. “Then you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

As we pulled into my driveway, I glanced
over at Alex’s house and cursed. Her father was already home and he’d start looking for her soon. Damn it! I needed her with me. She started to open her mouth to tell me she needed to go home, but I stared her down until she looked away. She followed me into my house and straight down the hallway to my bedroom. When I opened my arms, she stepped into my embrace. Within minutes, she was undressed and I was inside her, taking the only comfort from her that meant anything—the oblivion of pleasure.

Later, after Alex had gone home for the night, I succumbed to the oblivion of another sort—my online game. Long into the night, I played Tales of Andrometis, slashing and burning my way to another world—a world without
criminal charges and financial woes. A world with clear boundaries, where there were no gray areas to navigate, no cloudy haze of confusion, no overlap of right and wrong.

***

Alex annoyed the shit out of me when she whined. “Sean, we’re gonna be late for school. Were you up all night again?”

How dare she scold me? It was none of her business. When I told her that, she teared up and began sniffling in the passenger seat of my truck.

“Shut up,” I muttered, peeling out of the neighborhood. I didn’t see the light change to red until it was almost too late. Slamming on my brakes, I barely missed crashing into the car in front of me.

“Stupid son of a…” I yelled, pounding my fist into the steering wheel. Pain shot from my wrist to my shoulder.

“Thanks a lot, Alex,” I screamed.

“Wh…what…” Her stuttering pissed me off even more.

“Your stupid fucking whimpering almost got us killed. Stop acting like a goddamned baby and shut the hell up!”

She started crying even louder. I lifted my hand to side-swipe her, but the light had turned green and someone honked their horn, distracting me.

We pulled into the school parking lot with just seconds to spare before the bell rang. Alex threw the truck door open and frigid air blasted into the cab. She grabbed her backpack and bolted. She made it halfway across the parking lot before I caught up with her. I grasped the back of her jacket and heard fabric rip.

“Leave me alone,” she sobbed. I was so done with her melodramatic bullshit.

“Don’t you ever walk away from me,” I hissed, pulling her toward me.

“Let go.”

“No. Not until you apologize.” Spittle flew from my lips.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. She sounded scared, but not truly apologetic. Her fear just fed my anger, added fuel to my rage.

“What’s going on?” A stern voice called across the parking lot, causing me to release my grip on Alex. Vice Principal Long stood at the top of the steps leading to the front entrance to the school.

“Nothing,” I said, catching Alex’s eye and willing her to keep her mouth shut.

“Come to my office—both of you,” he said, turning away and walking into the building.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered as we entered the silent hallway. Every classroom door we passed was already closed, signaling the start of the school day.

Alex glared at me over her shoulder, but didn’t say a word. When we entered the office, the secretary and student aides stared at us. Maybe it was Alex’s swollen, tear-streaked face that caught their attention, or maybe I still wore a look of wrath. Whatever the case, it was none of their fucking business.

“Have a seat,” Mr. Long said, closing his office door behind us. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing. We were just running late for school,” I said.

“Um hm. It looked like you had a slight altercation,” he said.
“Alexandra?”

I was surprised he knew her name
. School administrators always knew the popular, athletic students. They always knew the student council kids too. They knew the trouble-makers, or the troubled. Unfortunately, I’d made a name for myself when I’d threatened to kill myself. I was Sean Droste, the mental case, the loser.

Alex was invisible. Or, so I’d thought. How did Mr. Long know her by name? Out of two-thousand students, how did
she
come to stand out? What the hell had she been up to? I looked at her with suspicion.

“Nothing happened,” Alex said, with a shrug.

Mr. Long stared at her for a moment before he sighed and said, “Okay. Why don’t you get a late pass and go to class?”

I stood up, but he motioned for me to sit back down. “Stay here, Sean. I need to have a talk with you.”

Alex gave me one parting, pitying glance before scurrying out the door. Traitorous bitch. When the door shut behind her with a decisive click, Mr. Long opened up a file folder on his desktop.

“Mrs. Cleary was concerned about a paper you wrote for her class. Do you remember writing this?”

He slid a piece of paper toward me, and I glanced at it without even touching it. Of course I remembered writing it. I wasn’t senile. We were supposed to write our own version of a fable. I wrote a story based on the Three Little Pigs, but mine was called The Three Fat Hogs. It was sort of a reverse of the original story. Instead of the Wolf being the bad guy who torments the three innocent pigs, the Wolf was the good guy who was picked on by the three Hogs. Of course, the Wolf ends up turning the tables on the Hogs.

“I think your mother should come in for a conference. I’m concerned about this paper—and I’m concerned about you,” he said, tapping his pen on the desk. He lifted the receiver and made the call. I could only hear his end of the conversation, but from what I gathered, my mom was on her way in.

“Sean, why don’t you wait outside my office? Your mom should be here in about forty-five minutes.”

High
school was completely disconnected from the real world. In the rest of the world, I was old enough to vote, serve in the armed forces, or serve hard time in jail, but in high school, legal adulthood meant nothing. They still called mommy when I got in trouble. Too bad the criminal justice system didn’t work the same way—then I could have had my mom write a note excusing me from court instead of having to spend my life savings on a lawyer.

A row of chairs lined the wall outside the
Principal’s office and I chose one. I rummaged through my backpack to avoid meeting the curious stares of the student aides. Retrieving my notebook and a pen, I focused on working out a plan for later—Tales of Andrometis always took my mind to a better place. I became so absorbed in strategy, I didn’t hear my mother walk in. I jerked my head up when she touched my shoulder.

“Sorry you had to come all the way over here. It’s bullshit,” I said.

“Quiet, Sean,” she whispered, looking around to make sure no one heard my foul language. As if anyone cared. High school hallways boasted the latest and greatest in obscenities.

Mr. Long greeted my mother, then ushered the two of us into his office. He offered
my English story to my mother for her reading pleasure. Her face twitched as she read it. At last, she placed the paper on the desk and looked at me. Her expression was unreadable.

“As you can see, this is an incredibly violent
story. What concerns me are the names Sean chose for his
characters
.”

My three Hogs were named after the biggest assholes in school—guys who’d tortured me for years. I thought the story was fitting.
It was just fiction—wishful thinking. The first Hog was named Tyler. He came to an untimely death when the Wolf huffed and puffed and blew his house down, causing a large piece of splintered wood to pierce his heart. Tragic. Austin, the second Hog, was killed when the Wolf lit his straw house on fire. Hog number three, Darren, met his end when the Wolf slid down the chimney and slit his chinny-chin-chin with a jagged piece of glass. I’ll admit—I got a little caught up in the action parts of the story and let the moral of the story fall by the wayside, but overall, I thought it was a good tale. It had a solid, but subtle anti-bullying message in my opinion.

Mrs. Meeker, my guidance counselor, slipped through the door and took a seat. I loathed the manufactured look of concern on her fat face. Stupid bitch never seemed concerned when I’d come into her office crying in ninth grade. She didn’t give a shit that Darren made my life a living hell. But,
now
she was concerned.

Surprisingly, my mother echoed my sentiments. “With all due respect, some of these boys have tormented my son since middle school and nothing was ever done, but you want to suspend Sean because of a fictional story he wrote?”

For once in your life, please don’t back down
, I thought.

“Mrs. Droste, this story could be perceived as a threat. Had he used different names…” Mr. Long trailed off, waving his hand ineffectively.
“This school district has a strict policy against threats and violence.”

“Since when?” my mother asked. “When I called the school a couple of years ago because Sean’s property was being defaced, nothing was done. When the kids told m
y son they were going to kick his ass, nothing was done. Now all of a sudden, the school is cracking down on bullying?”

Good for you, mom.

“Mrs. Droste, I can’t speak for the previous administration. I’m sorry Sean had such a tough time, but I can’t excuse his behavior just because nothing was done in the past. If the boys continue to harass Sean, I can certainly call them in here and assign an appropriate punishment, but right now, we need to discuss the matter at hand.”

Appropriate punishment? Did that mean he was going to slam Darren into a locker, or tip over his lunch tray? Would he call him a fruit faggot in front his whole class? That’s what Darren and his friends used to do to me. Maybe he could slit his throat—just like the
Wolf did to the Hog in my story. Now,
that
would be a case of letting the punishment fit the crime.

“So, is this considered a
n actual threat?” my mother asked, gesturing toward the paper in front of her. “It’s just a story.”

“A story that mentions some students by name.”

“The names he used are common. There aren’t any last names. You can’t prove he meant anything against any specific student,” my mom pressed.

I was so proud of her.
She never took up for me. She never even took up for herself, always bowing down to whoever happened to be angry at her at the moment. She never even stood up to
me—
that’s how I got away with as much as I did.

Principal Long and Mrs. Meeker exchanged a glance. Finally, Mr. Long broke the growing silence. “I’m giving Sean a two day suspension for
using inappropriate language.”

I won. Well, kind of.
They weren’t suspending me for making threats, but I was still in trouble. It was bullshit. Inappropriate language? There might have been a few obscenities in the story, but this was America, for Christ’s sake. What about freedom of speech?

“That sounds fair,” my mom said, leaning back in her seat. Apparently, she was happy with our ‘victory,’ but I wasn’t. Not that I didn’t appreciate a couple of days out of school, but it was the principle of the thing.

“What kind of bullshit is this?” I stood up so fast, my chair fell backwards.

“Sean!” Mom’s face reddened.

“Settle down, now,” Mr. Long said.

“Sean, what can we do to help you?” Mrs. Meeker asked, her voice soft
and ultra-calm, as if she were talking to a small child or a lunatic. Her tone just pissed me off more than I already was.

“I don’t need your help. Stop acting like you care. None of you do,” I said, glaring at my mom. My jaw felt tight, and I could hardly get the words out. My eyes burned in their sockets.
Every muscle in my body twitched with building tension. I gritted my teeth to keep from screaming.

“Sean,” my mom said. “That isn’t true. We’re trying to do what’s best. We have to abide by school rules. I think two days suspension is a good compromise. It’ll give you some time to rest up. You’ve been through a lot lately.”

Leave it to my mom to try to play for both teams at the same time. She validated Team High School’s case for suspension, while catering to Team Sean and trying to make the punishment out to be a good thing.

“Can you tell us a little about what’s been going on?” Mrs. Meeker asked, seizing on the opportunity to meddle in my business.

Tough time…why the hell did my mom have to mention that?

“Sean got into a little fight at work,” my mom said. “A couple of punches were thrown…”

Yeah,
I
threw the punches.
I
kicked some serious ass.

“…
some equipment was accidentally damaged…”

Accidental? I guess.
Had I thought it out ahead of time, I would have tossed Darren through the window and made “misdemeanor property damage” count for something. Now, that would have been hilarious.