“What does it matter?—”
“Just trying to get a full report, Mr. Jones.”
“With her… finger.”
“Her finger?”
“Yes,” he nods.
“So she… poked you,” I clarify.
“Very aggressively.”
“Poked very aggressively,” I murmur, writing it in my notepad. “Then what?”
“Then she verbally assaulted me.”
“What did she say, exactly?”
“I don’t know. It was the ravings of an unhinged lunatic. She’s a witch,” he says, doing the sign of the cross.
“I need details, Mr. Jones, in order to complete a full report.”
“She believes in all things unholy and full of sin. It is not a woman’s place?—”
“What exactly did she say to you, Mr. Jones?”
“She called me… I don’t remember. Something about being homophobic and Miss something. Things I am not ashamed to be called, but how it was said was wildly inappropriate.”
“And are you?” I push.
“Am I what?”
“Are you homophobic or misogynistic?”
He sputters. “Homophobic means that I am afraid of gay people. I am not afraid of them. I simply believe they live in sin. They are not good people, and they will not go to heaven. I do not want my son exposed to such twisted choices. It’s pornography. He will not be indoctrinated by these abomina?—”
“Well, Mr. Jones. I think I have everything I need from you.” I narrow my eyes at him. “Thank you for joining me today. I will talk to Max during school tomorrow.”
“And how about that Baker bitch? What will happen to her?”
“I will continue my investigation and speak with her.” I stand, showing him the door.
Indignant at being thrown out, Max’s dad sputters. “Mr. Flores, I think I’ve given you a lot of leewa?—”
“No, Mr. Jones, I think you’ve got that backward. I have givenyoua lot of leeway. Here at PS 2, we teach acceptance. Respect. Kindness. For everyone. You have shown time and time again that you are a threat to the safety of some of our most vulnerable populations. You are, as Ms. Baker said, homophobic and misogynistic. I also know that you are a racist. And that is no longer acceptable. After I conclude my investigation, I will call you back in for a meeting.”
He stands his ground and sneers at me. “If I am notpleased with the outcome of your investigation, I am taking this straight to the Superintendent’s office.”
“Do it,” I dare him, slamming the door in his face.
I give Mr. Jones a full ten minutes to waddle his giant ass out of our school building, then move to Georgia’s room.
I open the door. There she is, sitting dead center, hands folded, eyes glowing with rage and rimmed red, hair electrified. Entranced, I move towards her. “Georgia.”
“Are you here to fire me for real this time? Because I think it’s only fair you hear my side of the story first,” she says to me, her voice a deadly calm.
Confused, I frown at her. “I?—”
