That was it.
I yanked the magazine away, then the pushing and shoving started. The track coaches had us separated quickly and stood by us while we dressed. We were escorted to the dean’s office where the four of us waited for our parents. Needless to say, I was the last to leave. As the two seniors left, both of their parents made them stop and apologize to me. I wasn’t expecting that and thought that was cool. The junior who still held an ice pack on his lip also stopped to tell me that he was sorry. I accepted all of their apologies and told each of them that I was sorry as well.
An hour later, I could hear heels clicking loudly outside on the concrete. It grew louder until the door to the dean’s office swung open. Without looking up, I knew it was her.
“Dammit, Brandon,” she said in a worn out and tired tone.
Together we spoke to the dean. I was being suspended two days for fighting, which was the same as the other boys. Luckily, I’d be back in time for the track meet on Friday. My mom was less than thrilled.
“We’ll talk when we get home, young man. Drive straight home; do you understand me?”
“Yes,” I snapped as we walked to the parking lot.
“Are you sure, Brandon? Because I recall telling you to adjust your attitude this morning before you came home today.”
“Well, I’ll make sure I have an acceptable fake ass attitude for you by the time I get home,” I replied.
“Watch it, Brandon. You are on thin ice.”
Feeling completely out of control, my pulse raced as I drove home. At a stoplight, the discomfort in my chest was so bad that I rubbed my hand over my ache, hoping to calm myself down and return my pulse to normal. I wasn’t at all scared about what would happen when I got home, but I felt completely overwhelmed. With that feeling came the need to create another wound. I tried not to do it twice in one day, but today had been really fucked up.
After I parked my car in the garage, I collected my bags from the backseat and walked through the door that Mom held open, waiting for me.
“Kitchen, young man,” she instructed.
I tossed my gym bag and backpack at the foot of the stairs and went into the kitchen with my lunch bag. I put it in the pantry and sat at the breakfast bar while my mom poured herself a tall glass of wine. Sitting in silence, I waited for her to stop messing with her phone.
“Why would you get into a fight with three older boys, Brandon?”
“Well, I kind of thought my motivation was obvious.”
“Don’t get smart with me.”
“What? I’m not!”
“Don’t throw around ridiculous words to try to make yourself look better.”
“I’m not dumb!”
“No? Well, the shit you pulled today after school sure the hell was dumb.” I stood and began to pace with my hands clasped behind my head. I wondered if this was what it felt like before someone had a heart attack. “On your track team, of all people, Brandon. Those boys are on your team! Sit down!”
“They were jacking off on you!” I yelled and threw myself down on the chair at the breakfast bar. She walked over and stood a few feet away from me.
“Brandon, I don’t care!”
“Yeah, that’s obvious. Oh, wait, did the word ‘obvious’ confuse you? Is it considered a big word?”
She reached out and slapped me hard across the face. My head was now facing the living room and the massive TV that was perched on the wall. I didn’t give her the satisfaction of reaching for my cheek. The sting was enjoyable to me, and I felt myself start to relax, which was weird.
“I’ve had enough of these arguments with you, Brandon. Things are going to change, young man.”
“Oh? Are you going to stop posing for nudes?”
“Brandon.”
“Can you find an actual decent guy to date? Not one you just have overnight? Are you going to stop drinking? What about the partying? Is that going to stop?”
“Brandon, you know that my job requires the parties and the social appearances.”
