Chapter Nine

Kiev + Nose

 

My nose throbs and pulsates. “Ouch, ouch, ouch!” I touch the tip and look at my fingers—blood. What the hell? Covering my nose, I look up at Lia. “Why’d you do that?”

She stands by her desk with a vein bulging up her forehead and points a trembling finger at me, but doesn’t say a word.

Cole springs off Lia’s chair and squats by my side. “We need to take you to the hospital for some emergency surgery, Mr. Kiev Jimenez.” He looks over his shoulder at Lia, glaring. “The police will come soon and handcuff you.”

She narrows her brown eyes at him, as if wanting to punch him, too.

A blonde girl with a high ponytail and a redheaded guy step closer—classmates start to surround us. But no one speaks.

I press the bridge of my nose a little harder and address Cole, “Dude, you aren’t helping.”

He throws his hands in the air. “Just trying to help with the situation.”

“Shut up, Cole. Quit acting like an idiot.” This is the first time Lia speaks after destroying my nose.

Cole looks at me, as if asking for permission to keep his mouth shut.

I give him a nod, then inspect my hand again—lots of red. “Shit.”

Lia gestures at my face. “Is it really that bad?”

“Why’d you do that?” I show her my blood-covered hand.

She winces, her eyes widening in horror. “You … I…”

“What’s going on here?” a deep voice thunders across the classroom.

The crowd surrounding us dissipates in a second, uncovering Mr. “Dead” Walker. We call him that because he sports permanent bags under his eyes. It doesn’t help that he’s more on the skinny side.

Cole stands. “Sir, Miss Ophelia Abbie and Mr. Kiev Jimenez got into a heated discussion that ended in a blood bath.”

The lanky teacher shakes his head and marches our way with purpose.

I stand from my desk on wobbly legs and grab onto the first thing I come across. Which happens to be Lia’s shoulders. I let go instantly, but as I drop back onto my chair, I notice the blood smeared on her oversized t-shirt’s left shoulder. She sort of resembles Norman Bates or Hannibal Lecter at this moment.

Mr. Walker appears in my line of sight with a wrinkled forehead, and inspects my face. “We need to get you to the infirmary. Can you walk?”

“Yes.” I stand, but dizziness hits me.

Mr. Walker wraps an arm around my back for support. “Put your arm around my shoulder, son.”

“I can handle it, Mr. Walker.”

“Nonsense.”

This time, I listen to him because my equilibrium’s a little off.

“Can I help, sir?” Cole asks.

Mr. Walker points his chin at me. “Help me with the other side.”

Cole walks around us. “Place your limb over my shoulders, Mr. Kiev Jimenez. Don’t get any ideas, though.”

I chuckle, making my nose hurt a little more.

As the two of them force me to take baby steps toward the door, like a newborn, my classmates step aside and look at my face with wide eyes. When we reach the door, Mr. Walker looks over his shoulder. “Miss Abbie.”

I crane my neck to Lia, who straightens like a soldier.

“Wait at the principal’s office,” the teacher adds.

She gulps hard and nods.

We limp our way forward, passing guys and girls, who study my face and what’s left of my nose, I guess. After excruciating minutes of concentrating on my Vans, we arrive at the school’s closet of an infirmary.

The nurse in turn—a slim redhead in her early twenties—sets her phone on a table and stands. “What do we have here?”

Cole separates from me and shakes the nurse’s hand. “Hello, Miss Nurse. My friend here, Mr. Kiev Jimenez, has a severe case of slam-o-fist-on-the-nose … itis.”

“O-kay.” She turns her attention to me and gestures to the examination bed. “Can you sit there?”

I nod and sit on the edge of the bed while she steps to a medical cabinet and produces alcohol, gauze, and other stuff.

The teacher turns to face Cole. “Thanks for your help, son.”

Cole bows. “You’re certainly welcome, Mr. Walker.”

“You can leave now, son.” The teacher waves him off.

“If it’s not too much inconvenient for Nurse…” Cole cocks his head at her. “Pardon me, but I failed to catch your name.”

The nurse looks at him with a raised brow, medical products in hand. “I’ve never said it.”

Cole grins. “This is the perfect opportunity to inform us of your name, Miss Nurse.”

Mr. Walker clears his throat and faces Cole. “I think it’s time for you to leave.”

My friend blinks. “I’m not your son anymore?”

Even with my pulsating nose, I stifle a laugh. “Just leave, dude.”

“Actually,” the nurse says, “everybody leave. I need to check the patient’s nose.”

Cole nods at her. “Yes, Miss Nurse, whose name shall remain unknown.”

She crinkles her nose at him.

Mr. Walker takes Cole by the elbow and drags him all the way out, closing the door behind them.

The nurse sets her medical supplies on a little tray attached to the bed. “Moving on.” She grabs a cotton swab and dabs at my nose, a strong alcohol smell entering my nostrils.

“Ouch!” I flinch.

“Sorry-sorry.” She narrows her green eyes. “I have to clean this, so it’s gonna hurt a little.”

I gulp. “Is it, you know, broken?”

“I don’t know yet.” She points at my nose with her swab. “May I?”

I hold out a finger. “What if it’s broken and bone shards are lodged in my brain?”

She chuckles. “That’s an urban myth.” She turns serious. “I need to continue cleaning.”

“I’m ready.” I’m not, but it is what it is—confront it like a man.

The nurse discards the bloody cotton swab in her hands and grabs a clean one. “Here it goes.” She dabs at my nose again, but this time a bit gentler.

Several bloody swabs later, she cups my face and bobs her head. She presses the bridge of my nose gently. “Does that hurt?”

I wince. “A little.”

She applies more pressure. “What about now?”

“Not bad.” I’m not lying.

She repeats the operation, pressing here and there. And I tell her if it hurts or not.

She smiles. “Your nose isn’t broken.”

A wave of relief travels through my body. “Really?”

“Yes—the bleeding’s stopped.” She sets a hand on my shoulder. “That’s a sign of a healthy nose.”

“Are we done here, then?” I ask.

“Almost.” She grabs something that looks like a mini-tampon from the tray.

I lean back, cocking an eyebrow. “What the heck is that?”

“This?” She waggles the mini-tampon under my face. “It’s a nose plug.”

“Oh.” I relax my shoulders.

“Tilt your head back a little.”

I do as I’m told. “Like this?”

“Mmm, hmm.”

I feel the nose plug sliding inside my nostril and on instinct, I wrinkle my nose.

“Don’t move,” she says in a soothing voice.

“Right.”

She continues the torture for a moment, then tries my other nostril.

“I can’t breathe,” I say.

“Breathe through your mouth,” she says. “I’m almost done. Stay still.” She maneuvers the last nose plug in, taking eternity-long seconds to set it in place. “There. You can tilt your head down now.”

As I do that, her face slips into view.

“Thanks.” I look around. “Can I, you know, go now?”

The nurse studies my face. “The other guy must have been strong.”

I shake my head. “It wasn’t a guy.”

“Oh.” She covers her mouth for a moment. “A girl did this to you?”

I nod. “She—” I cut myself short. With all the zero tolerance rules going on at school, I don’t want either of us to get suspended or something. “It was an … an accident.” I lie.

She crosses her arms, not buying it. “All punching and kicking incidents are accidents around here.”

What can I say to that? I shrug.

“Try to stand up.” She motions down. “Go gently.”

“Okay.” I thrust myself up and immediately get a little dizzy. I take a deep breath through my mouth and try again. Although my legs feel rubbery, I manage to stand by myself.

She steps to the door and swings it open.

Cole stands outside, and when he spots me, he stretches his arms out toward me. “You survived, Mr. Kiev Jimenez.”

“That, I did, dude.” I take cautious steps outside, where I swivel my head, hoping my teacher isn’t hovering around. “Where’s Mr. Walker?”

“He had a class to teach. Government, I think.” Cole rubs his double chin. “I’m your official escort to court.”

I lean on the infirmary’s doorframe. “Court?”

“Yes, Mr. Kiev Jimenez.” He waves. “Hello, Miss Nurse of unknown mysterious name.”

She joins me and stretches a hand to Cole. “I’m Nurse Adelaide.”

He clasps it. “Adelaide is your last name?”

She nods.

“Like the Australian city.” He shakes her hand. “This is indeed a mystery, Nurse Adelaide.”

“Dude,” I say, “let her hand go.”

He does as told.

She cocks her head. “What mystery?”

“My friend here is named after the capital of Ukraine, and you have a city last name.” He looks up for a couple of seconds. “Perhaps, I should call myself Lubbock or Brazoria, in honor of West Texas.”

“Okay, then,” the nurse says.

“Thanks for everything,” I say to Nurse Adelaide and turn to Cole. “Let’s go, dude.”

“Of course.” He takes the nurse’s hand and kisses her fingers. “Enchanté, Miss Adelaide.”

She rips her hand back and wipes off Cole’s saliva on her uniform. “Um, I’m going to go back to work now. Feel better, Mr. Jimenez.” She turns around and goes back inside the infirmary.

Cole leads me through the corridor toward the principal’s office.

“Did you see her face?” he asks as we walk. “I think she’s in love with me.”

I swat a hand at him. “You’re impossible.”

“Nothing’s impossible,” he replies as we turn a corner.

“That sounds like a tennis shoes commercial.”

He stops and faces me. “Or a blue pill commercial.” He curls and uncurls a finger. “The one about old men with lazy fingers.”

“Dude.” I shove him a little, but as I do so, my nose throbs with pain. “Damn!”

He jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “We’re almost there. Do you think you can walk all the way there without dying on me, Mr. Kiev Jimenez?”

I press my nose a little, but that only intensifies the pain. “Sure.”

“Okay.” He rubs his hands together and marches down the corridor with purpose.

Soon, we find a group of people blocking our way.

“Stay out of the way, ladies and gentlemen,” Cole says to them.

They face us with raised eyebrows and wrinkled foreheads.

Cole throws them a dismissive wave. “Dead man walking!”

“Cole,” I say through gritted teeth.

But with his shouting, the group breaks away, letting us pass.

As we get closer to our destination, my heart throbs fast along with my nose.

“Mission accomplished,” Cole says as we reach the reception area outside the principal’s office.

The secretary behind the desk looks up from her computer. “Kiev Jimenez?”

I nod.

“Wait there,” she says, pointing her chin at the seating area.

I freeze as I spot Lia sitting there wearing a new shirt—a tight one. I guess she borrowed it from a friend after I messed her other shirt up with my blood. She sets her hands on her lap and looks down. The sight of her pisses me off a bit. I shouldn’t have said what I said the way I said it, but she shouldn’t have punched me in the face. I don’t know if I should apologize or ask for an apology. So confusing.

“You heard Miss Secretary.” Cole pushes me toward Lia. “Sit with the cause of your pain, Mr. Kiev Jimenez.”

Lia looks up and stares at Cole but stays silent.

He bows. “Miss Ophelia Abbie, how nice it is to see you again.”

Her stare intensifies.

Cole points to his right. “My presence is urgently needed in the infirmary.” He salutes Lia, then me. “See you later, inmates.”

Still frozen, I stand there, not knowing what to do. “Hey,” I say to Lia after several uncomfortable seconds.

Lia concentrates on my face, grimacing. She lifts up a finger and points at my nose. “That doesn’t look very good.”

I want to say that it hurts like hell. I want to ask her what caused her to punch me. Instead, I say, “Yeah.”

The secretary walks around her desk to the principal’s office, opens the door, and waves us over. “Miss Abbie and Mr. Jimenez, the principal is waiting for you,” she says, as if dictating a life sentence.

Lia stands and drags her feet to the door, and I follow close behind.

The principal, Mr. Nazari, waits for us while sitting behind his desk with his hands clasped, fingers intertwined. Although his expression is serious, his lack of wrinkles, olive skin, and slick jet-black hair make him look younger—he could easily pass for a big brother or something.

He stands and motions at the chair in front of his desk. “Please, take a seat.”

We do as we’re told, sitting side by side.

He walks with hands laced behind his back. “I heard you had an altercation.”

I concentrate on the bookshelf in the back, not wanting to look at Lia or the principal.

Heavy silence follows.

Mr. Nazari steps back to his desk, sits on his leather chair, and straightens his polo shirt. “I know it’s difficult to talk.” He gestures at the door. “No one saw or heard anything.” He points at me. “Yet, you managed to get your nose in this state.”

On instinct, I touch the tip of my nose.

He stares at us, back and forth, as if that would make us confess. He settles his dark-brown eyes on Lia. “Care to share your point of view, Miss Abbie?”

From the corner of my eye, I see her tilting down her head for a moment. She clears her throat but doesn’t say anything.

The principal leans forward. “You were saying, Miss Abbie?”

I turn my attention to her.

She sighs. “He—” She glances down. “It was my fault. I couldn’t stop myself from…“

As she pauses, my brain switches to overdrive. She wants to confess, but doing so means she’ll get expelled—or even both of us. And who knows what else.

I cannot let that happen. “She couldn’t stop her arm from moving, sir.”

The principal wrinkles his forehead. “Excuse me?”

“It was an accident,” I lie.

“An accident,” he echoes, frowning.

“Yes.” I lean forward in my seat. “My friend Cole was sitting on Lia’s—on Miss Abbie’s chair.” And then what? “She…” C’mon, brain—think fast. “She asked him to get up and at the same time I stood. She moved her arm back as I was standing, and I accidentally collided with her elbow.” I point at my nose. “Here.”

He intertwines his fingers again, his brows furrowing. “I see.” He faces Lia. “Is that what you were about to say, Miss Abbie?”

She doesn’t move any face muscles, becoming a statue.

The principal drops his shoulders. “Miss Abbie?”

No words from her, still immobile. After an eternity-long moment, she nods once.

Phew. For a moment, I thought she’d confess.

Mr. Nazari releases his fingers and leans back. “So, according to you two, this was an unfortunate accident.”

“Yes, sir,” I say.

Lia tucks her hair behind her ear. “Yes.”

He gives us a quick glance. “Good.”

I relax in my chair—this is it. He’s buying it.

The principal raises a finger. “There’s only one small problem.”

While I wait for him to tell us what that is, my stomach and my heart drop to my feet. And my damn nose pulsates with pain. Again.

Mr. Nazari taps his desk with his fingers, as if playing a piano sonata. “Mr. Walker told me a different story.”

I stifle a gasp.

Lia actually gasps.

The principal divides a stare between Lia and me. “Mr. Walker heard a classmate say Miss Abbie punched Mr. Jimenez in the nose with her fist. Which is here.” He makes a fist and pats it with his free hand. “Not here.” He touches his elbow. “Care to explain it?”

“Why would someone say such a lie?” As I say this, Cole’s face pops in my mind. He did say that. I want to beat the crap out of him.

Mr. Nazari raises a brow. “Are you implying, Mr. Jimenez, that your classmate hallucinated?”

“No, sir.” All of a sudden, my ear feels itchy. I scratch it. “People get confused all the time, sir. Ask him again?”

The principal smiles. “How’d you know it was a he? I never said it.”

I shrug. “I didn’t want to be sexist.”

His smile drops. “We asked this person again, and he changed his story. This time, he said that it happened so fast, he didn’t quite see it.”

At this, I feel as if a concrete slab was lifted from my chest. But I still want to punch Cole.

“Mr. Nazari?” Lia shoots a hand in the air, asking for permission to speak.

“Yes, Miss Abbie?”

“Can we head back to class? I don’t want to fall behind.” She glances over her shoulder at the door.

“Look, I get it.” The principal takes a deep breath. “I was in high school not long ago.” He motions at the two of us. “These things happen.” He shakes his head. “But, sorry to say, they cannot go unpunished.”

“But it was an accident,” I blurt.

Lia stays quiet.

Mr. Nazari rubs his forehead. “I’m sorry, but you leave me no other option.”

For a second, my brain cells bounce inside my skull with dramatic thoughts: We’re going to be forced to scrub toilets. We’re going to clean the streets. We’re going to get crucified.

“What kind of punishment?” Lia frowns and puts her elbows on the desk, as if saying, “Bring it on.”

Mr. Nazari motions for her to scoot back.

She leans back and crosses her arms.

“So, what’s our punishment?” I grip the chair’s armrests with both hands, as if bracing for impact.

The principal intertwines his fingers. “Community service at the Piggie Palooza festival.”

Lia wrinkles her nose in disgust.

“Er, come again?” I point at my ears. “I think I heard wrong.” I really do—this festival isn’t related to school. Besides, this bacon tribute fair is for little kids and their parents. Or for senior citizens who don’t have anything else better to do. Definitely not for guys with injured noses, or short-tempered girls.

“You did hear right.” The principal grins. “The city needs volunteers.” He grabs his phone sitting on his desk and checks it. “Starting this Sunday and all the way until Wednesday, you’ll help this great city with the Piggie Palooza festival.”

No, no, no! I face Lia, who’s red as a hot pepper, to match her anger-punching-issues.

I want to say to her that four days at the festival is better than detention. But I’m not kidding anyone, helping at Piggie Palooza is worse than that—much worse.