“Man, don’t you two look hot together.” Coen stepped between them. “Where are you going? I need to know all of the steamy details.”
“Leave them alone.” William came in from the right, his voice loud to match Coen’s level.
Coen placed a meaty hand on William’s chest and shoved him away. “Back off, queer.” William slammed into the row of lockers and fell to the floor. A tiny gasp of pain escaped his lips.
That was it.
I’d had enough.
“Hey!” I shouted. The crowd turned in my direction, Coen included. I strode forward, my legs full of power and anger and my hands squeezing into fists at my side.
Coen gave me a smug look when he saw who’d interrupted his little game. He opened his mouth to say something, but before he could, I lashed out with both fists, right at his chest. Coen stumbled backward.
“How do you like it?” I asked through gritted teeth.
“Fight! Fight! Fight!” Around us, the haphazard group of kids had morphed into a chanting mob. A few of Coen’s pals looked ready to join in against the DC-ers, if necessary. We were like the Capulets and Montagues, except the combat wasn’t staged.
Coen lurched toward me. I didn’t know what his intention was, but I wasn’t going to find out.
I swung my right fist and felt the jolt as it connected to Coen’s nose.
He coughed, violent and sharp, and brought his hands to his face. “Ib’s brogan,” he said in a garbled voice. A stream of blood leaked between his fingers as his hands cupped his face. “You broge my nobe!”
“Oh, my God, Dessa,” Kat said from behind me. “What did you do?”
I didn’t know I was going to punch him. But I sure as hell didn’t feel sorry about it. Coen deserved that lovely little present.
“What’s going on here?” The crowd scattered like cockroaches under a light. Mr. Leonard, a freshman Spanish teacher, stood there. His red face had scrunched up in a look that was equal parts anger and confusion. Especially when he saw my fist and Coen’s nose.
I looked around, trying to find Kat in the crowd. William was there. Maisie was helping him to his feet. The purple bruise beneath his eye seemed to stand out even more than it had the night before.
But there was no sign of Kat. She was gone.
My shoulders sagged. My fists unwound. My adrenaline evaporated.
It was too late, though.
•••
The chair in Principal Yang’s office was old and lumpy, its wooden arms smoothed from years of worried students clutching them like I was doing now.
Principal Yang sat across the desk from me, staring me down like she thought silence was going to break me. A manila folder containing my school record lay open in front of her. The rest of her desk was neat, tidy, all perfect angles and not a paper clip out of place.
My mom burst through the door not five minutes later. She was a whirlwind, hair and coat and scarf blowing back. She did nothing but apologize, not wanting to hear my side of the story. I watched as she listened to Yang, nodding and saying things like, “We’re so sorry” and “She knows better” and “There’s no reason to resort to violence.”
Finally, when Mom was done pleading and butt-kissing, Principal Yang said, “Mrs. Kingston. Dessa. As you well know, Brookstone has a zero-tolerance policy when it comes to violence. I’ve decided that, in this case, Dessa’s penalty will be an immediate ten-day suspension.”
“Yeah, well what’s your policy on bullying?” I countered, leaning forward in my seat. My blood was on fire, and I wasn’t going to leave without a fight. “Because Coen Marsh has been harassing my friends for weeks now.” I didn’t realize I was going to use the word friends until it was out of my mouth.
“Miss Kingston, I’m sorry if you or any of your friends have been the target of bullying. Obviously, had we known—”
“It was so obvious!” I slammed a fist on Principal Yang’s desk.
“Miss Kingston,” she said, beginning to lose her cool. “I suggest you calm down.”
“Dessa,” Mom added, placing a hand on my shoulder.
I ignored them. “And today? Today was just the icing on the cake. Coen Marsh, this bigoted, ignorant creep, instigated the entire thing! Why isn’t he in here instead of me?”
“Because he’s currently in the hospital emergency room,” Principal Yang nearly shouted, standing to face me, “where doctors are resetting the broken nose you gave him.”
The office grew thick with silence.
“Now, if you’re finished,” Principal Yang continued, her eyes boring holes into me, “I believe I need to assess a few things over the weekend, including whether or not Brookstone High is still a good fit for you, Miss Kingston.”
“What?” Her words felt like a splash of cold water on my face.
“Do you mean ... expulsion?” Mom let out a long, ragged breath. She was fighting back tears. “You can’t just ... ”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Kingston,” Principal Yang said. “I’ll be in touch very soon.”
The anger I felt when Coen shoved William, when he laughed at Kat and Arwen, had been replaced by fear and confusion. I backed away from Principal Yang’s desk, nearly knocking my chair over backward. “So unfair,” I hissed.
Then I was out the door, my apologetic mom at my heels, the hall outside the office empty. I trudged back to the parking lot and to my mom’s waiting car and a long, quiet ride home.
CHAPTER TEN
Dad was expecting us when we walked in the door. He sat at the dining room table, suit coat draped over the chair next to him, tie loosened. He looked like a man waiting for a meal that was never going to come. It would have been comical if not for the disappointment on his face. And with Ike and Beck at school, the house was eerily silent.
I dropped my backpack on the table, sat down, and tucked my legs underneath me. Dad leaned forward, placing his hands atop one another on the table. “Explain yourself,” he said.
So I did. I told them everything. Well, not everything. I left out the most important part, actually. The part about Kat’s secret. But I told them about joining the DC-ers, about painting sets, and about Coen Marsh targeting us. When I explained how William got his black eye, Mom finally sat beside me. And when I reached the end, the punch and the broken nose, I could see a hint of sympathy in their eyes.
Dad cleared his throat. “Dessa,” he said. “Your mother and I”—he looked to her for agreement, and she nodded—“understand your need to defend your friends. But hitting a kid? Breaking his nose? We’ll be lucky if his family doesn’t press charges.”
“Awesome,” I said. “I’ve once again found a way to disappoint you, even though I was doing the right thing.”
“Dessa, we’re not disappointed,” Mom said.
“So ... can I be excused?” I asked.
“Yes.” Dad leaned back in his chair.
I gathered my things and trudged to my bedroom.
•••
Still no word from Kat.
I kept my phone in front of me on the bed, kept staring at it, willing it to buzz. But you know what they saw about a watched cell phone never boiling. Or something like that.
As mid-afternoon came and went, I wondered what version of the story was being passed around Brookstone High. The truth? Or some warped game of telephone that made Coen Marsh the victim and me the bully? This was more likely the case, because who was more likely to be telling the truth: a popular meathead or his angry ex-girlfriend?
I thought about the DC-ers and how they were all making their way to the dressing rooms for the Friday night performance. Were they talking about this morning’s incident? Was Kat with them? Or was she too embarrassed to show up anymore?
So in the dark. I’d never felt so helpless in my life.
But I could change that.
If I wanted to stand in the spotlight and have my voice heard, there were ways to do it.
And so I plucked my quiet phone off the bedspread. Sure,
I wasn’t allowed at school. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t state my case somehow. I thumbed through my apps, switched my camera to video, and pressed the circular, red record button.
“Hey, it’s Dessa Kingston,” I started, my face on the screen looking back at me. “You’ve probably heard a lot of rumors about me. About my sexuality. About my friends. And, well, probably about my right hook. I did what I did because I care about my friends. Because everyone should be able to live and love equally, without being judged. Because bullying should never be tolerated. And because everyone should have someone who stands up for them.
“This is my story ... ”
•••
Bzzzt-bzzzt. Bzzzt-bzzzt.
My phone was vibrating off the hook, and I’d only uploaded the video an hour ago.
The first message came from William: MY DEAR, SWEET DESSA, WHOSE FIST HATH SLAIN THE SAVAGE BEAST, THANK U.
Another, from Maisie: WE MISS U. TONIGHT’S PERFORMANCE IS 4 U.
And right before the house lights were set to go down and Quan was to pull back the curtains, a simple message from Arwen: THANX.
But nothing from Kat.
Kids I’d never met before were leaving comments of their own on my video. Some from Brookstone. Kids I saw in the lunchroom or sat next to in class. Others from states away. I’d touched a nerve, and it was going viral.
And then, finally, as midnight crept in and my eyelids were getting heavy, the phone buzzed one last time. I didn’t even need to check to see who it was, but I did anyway.
I’M OUTSIDE. CAN U SNEAK OUT?
I wrote back right away. OF COURSE.
Mom and Dad hit the sack every night after the local weather lady gave them the forecast. So they had already departed for dream land. Ike and Beck were tucked away too, all snuggled in their bunk beds, their bedroom floor a minefield of Legos and action figures. I made my way down the hall to the darkened dining room, not caring to flick on any lights. I cracked open the sliding patio door that led to our backyard. A blast of cold air hit me right away, and I slid my hands into my hoodie pocket.
“Kit-Kat?” I hissed.
“Over here.” I saw her in the moonlight. She was sitting in one of the wooden Adirondack chairs Mom always had out by the garden, near the swing set. She wore a heavy coat. A floppy stocking cap, the kind with the giant puff ball on top, was perched on her head.
I slid into the chair beside her. “Brrr,” I said.
“I think it was snowing a bit earlier,” Kat said. “Tiny flakes.”
“Oh, God. I hope not. I’m so not ready for snow.” Well, actually, I was never ready. I hated the cold, same as Kat.
“Arwen’s family are all big skiers and snowboarders,” Kat said, pulling down her stocking cap. “She told me she would teach me how to ski this winter.”
“Fun.”
“I ... I’m not ready to tell my parents yet, Dessa. Soon, I hope.”
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll be here for you when you do.”
“I know.”
And then we sat in silence. It was like the world was shifting on its axis, back to its rightful place again. Sitting there in the dark, staring up at the stars, I brought my knees to my chest and wrapped my arms around them. I could see my breath in front of me. But I wasn’t uncomfortable. Not in the least. I never was with Kat. No matter the situation, no matter if we were fighting over stupid things or something as life-changing as this, we could always sit in each other’s company and just ... be.
Regardless of who we were becoming.
•••
Monday morning.
I was sitting at the kitchen island, a soggy bowl of cereal in front of me, watching some boring news show on the small television hanging under one of the cabinets. Mom rushed around, getting ready to head out the door. Dad hummed as he made Ike and Beck their lunches.
“Let’s go, troops!” he shouted to my brothers, who were fighting for a few more minutes of playtime before getting their shoes on.
“All right,” they grumbled in unison.
And that was when Mom’s phone began to ring.
Everything in our house came to a screeching stop. Dad stood with his peanut-butter-covered knife held high. Mom had one arm in her coat, the other free. From my spot at the island, I could see that the caller ID read: BROOKSTONE HIGH.
“You ... uh ... you gonna get that?” I asked.
Mom, coat draped over one shoulder, answered. “Hello? ... Oh, hi Principal Yang ... ”
My heart thundered in my chest. I tried to read Mom’s expression, but she had a serious poker face on.
“We understand ... ” Mom continued. “No, we haven’t seen it ... I’m sure Dessa appreciates their support ... Okay, I’ll tell her. Thank you, Principal Yang ... good-bye.” She disconnected and dropped her phone back to the counter.
“Well?” Dad asked, setting the knife back on the counter.
“Coen Marsh’s parents have declined to press charges,” Mom said. “And after multiple calls and voicemails and e-mails from every member of the drama club this weekend, Principal Yang decided against expulsion.”
I let out a long, relieved breath.
“She says you should be thankful to have such amazing friends,” Mom continued. “She also wanted me to tell you she watched your video and will be extra vigilant when it comes to bullying.”
“What video?” Dad asked.
“I’ll show you later,” I said. “Does that mean I’m not suspended anymore?” I crossed my fingers, waved them in front of me.
Mom shook her head. “Still ten days. But—Principal Yang did offer you one concession.”
“What’s that?”
“A ticket to tonight’s final performance of Romeo & Juliet.”
I nearly leapt off my stool. I wanted to hug Principal Yang so bad right now. But Mom was closer, and really more deserving, so I went over and wrapped my arms around her. “This is so great,” I said. “I can’t wait to tell Kat.”
And I rushed off to my room, to find my phone among the mess and do just that.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Brandon Terrell is the author of numerous books for young readers, including picture books, novels, and graphic novels. He is also one of the writers for The Choo Choo Bob Show, an educational children’s television program about trains. When not hunched over his laptop, Brandon enjoys watching movies and television, reading, baseball, and spending every spare moment with his wife and their two children.
High Drama Page 5