FIVE YEARS EARLIER
Principal Castillo rocks slowly back and forth in his chair, his hands interlocked over his stomach, his eyes never leaving me. His lips are pressed together into a thin line of both disapproval and disappointment. I’ve never been in his office before. There was never any reason to be here until now. We are sitting in silence, listening to the clock on the wall tick on by, and I am sitting on the opposite side of the desk. Principal Castillo is usually nice, but everyone knows that he can be strict, and he doesn’t tolerate bad behavior, especially fighting, within his school. That’s how I know I’m in a lot trouble, and both my parents have been called. It’s just a matter of which one shows up first, and I am praying with everything in me that it won’t be Dad.
I glance down at the ice pack in my hand. My lip is cut open and my jaw ever-so-slightly aches, but it’s nothing too new to me. That’s why, instead of holding the ice pack to my mouth, I only turn it over in my hands repeatedly, trying to distract myself from the tension in this office. I’m not only going to be in trouble at school, but at home too.
“I’m . . . I’m sorry, Principal Castillo,” I mumble, glancing up at him again. We have already been over this. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“You don’t just do something like that for no reason,” Principal Castillo says. His eyes search mine, but I quickly look down at my lap and shrug. There’s no way I can tell him that I threw a punch at Blake Montgomery because I was really imagining him to be my dad.
“Blake said something I didn’t like,” I lie. “I overreacted. It won’t happen again, Principal Castillo. I’m really sorry.”
As soon as the words leave my lips, there is a quick knock at the door before it swings open. I crane my neck, looking back over my shoulder. Officer Brown steps into the office first, followed by Dad. My heart sinks into my stomach and I swear that for a second, I stop breathing entirely. He doesn’t look at me.
“Thanks for getting here so quickly,” Principal Castillo says. He stands up and stretches over the desk, shaking Dad’s hand firmly, while nodding to Officer Brown, who leaves the room again, clicking the door shut behind him. “Please, take a seat.”
Principal Castillo sits back down, and Dad sinks into the chair next to me. He sits forward, his foot anxiously tapping the floor, his knee shaking. “What is this about?” he asks, but I can hear the quaver in his voice. He’s nervous. Not mad. Not yet. He doesn’t know why he’s been called here. Does he think . . . Does he think they know? Does he think I’ve told them the truth? The truth about him?
“Tyler was involved in a fist fight during lunch period,” Principal Castillo states. He fires me another scolding glance. He probably didn’t even know my name until today. I’ve always been a good kid, always flown under the radar.
Dad inhales a sharp intake of breath. I think he is relieved at first, but only for the briefest of moments. Then, the outrage sets in and he abruptly straightens up in his chair, narrowing his eyes across the desk at Principal Castillo. He still doesn’t look at me. “A fight? Tyler was fighting?” he asks in disbelief.
I’ve never hit anyone in my entire life before. Except maybe my brothers when we were younger and would fight over action figures and the Game Boy. But that doesn’t count. This is the first time I’ve hit someone with every intention of hurting them, and I still don’t know why I did it. I lost control, just like Dad does. Blake Montgomery just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. It wasn’t his fault, but it’s never mine, either.
“Unfortunately so, Mr. Grayson,” Principal Castillo says. The wrinkles around his eyes are deep-rooted and his expression is so solemn that it makes him look even older. “During lunch period in the cafeteria. Officer Brown stepped in and pulled Tyler away before it got any worse, but there’s no place for any violence whatsoever on this campus. I have no choice but to suspend Tyler for the rest of today, tomorrow and next week.”
Dad’s jaw hits the floor. “Suspended?” he splutters, his eyes bulging straight out of their sockets. I thought I was only going to get detention, not a suspension . . . There’s no going back from this now. Dad is going to lose it. “Is the other kid getting suspended too?”
Principal Castillo shakes his head. He sits forward, resting his elbows on his desk as his thick eyebrows knit together. “When I say that Tyler was involved in a fight, Mr. Grayson, what I really mean is that he beat up one of our eighth-grade students. It was completely unprovoked, so no, Blake Montgomery won’t be suspended. Tyler, you’ll talk about this with Mr. Hayes when you return to school.”
Dad stares blankly at Principal Castillo. Then, so slowly, he turns his head toward me. His fierce green eyes lock onto mine and I can see the rage brimming in them. He doesn’t even blink. His jaw is clenched tight, his nostrils are flaring. “Thank you, Principal Castillo. Let’s go, Tyler,” he says through stiff lips. He stands up and I don’t dare to dither, so I quickly scramble to my feet.
“I’ll be in touch,” Principal Castillo calls after us, but Dad has already guided me through the door and into the hallway. Didn’t he see? Didn’t he notice the anger in Dad’s eyes and the fear in mine? Maybe only I can see it, because maybe I’m the only one who knows what to look for.
It’s fifth period and everyone is in class, so the hallways are empty and silent as Dad marches toward the main entrance. He is speed-walking, his strides wide, and I have to almost break out into a jog in order to keep up with him. He isn’t saying anything. That’s how I can tell that his anger is growing within him, building and building, because he can’t even open his mouth to say anything. His hand is balled into a fist by his side and his breathing deepens until we are outside and off campus.
“What the FUCK were you thinking, Tyler?” Dad yells, his voice a rumbling growl, and he throws me against his car. There goes those bruises again. A sharp pain flares up where my body bashes against the metal. He grabs me, both hands pulling at my hoodie, dragging me closer toward him. “You just got suspended! SUSPENDED!” He shakes me around, throws me back against the car again. I can see the veins in his forehead, defined and popping, his eyes engulfed by the fury that he can’t control. “You beat up a kid!”
“You do that too,” I whisper.
And I shouldn’t have said it. I shouldn’t have challenged him, because a new anger explodes inside of him as his glare becomes venomous. He stares at me in silence for a few seconds, registering my words, his chest heaving.
“Get in the car, Tyler,” he orders, his voice low and seething. He barges me out of the way as he walks around the car to the driver’s side, and as he opens the door and steps one foot inside, his glare sharpens across the roof of the vehicle at me when he realizes I haven’t moved yet. “Get in the fucking car!” he yells.
I’ve accepted my fate at this point. It is too late now to change the outcome. There is no going back from this, no calming Dad’s rage. Not after fighting, not after getting suspended, not after that remark. As I swallow hard and slide into the passenger seat, I am already trying to focus on something else. I am willing the numbness to set in, to save me, but it doesn’t arrive soon enough.
As soon as I pull the car door shut, Dad’s fist pummels into my face, and I feel every ounce of pain that comes with it.