Is this guy for real? My guess is that he doesn’t have a clue about what takes place in these hallowed halls.
When it becomes obvious that my brother isn’t going to defend himself as he slouches on the chair, giving Mr. Pembroke a blank stare, I realize that I’ll have to take matters into my own hands.
As soon as I open my mouth to tell our side of the story, the headmaster turns his attention to me with a scowl. “I was told that you, young lady, attempted to attack Mr. Morgan after the fight had been broken up by Mr. Timmons and Mr. Smyth.”
Please…I hardly attacked that jerk.
His beady gaze returns to my brother. “I could suspend you right now for two weeks and the board wouldn’t have any objection to it.”
I inhale a deep breath before blowing it out, attempting to rein in my frustration. If I don’t get my anger under control, I’ll blow like a geyser. Austin isn’t the only Hawthorne with a temper. It may take more to ignite my fuse, but it can be done.
“Mr. Pembroke, I did not attack Jasper.” When one of his brows jerks in disbelief, I admit begrudgingly, “I pushed him, that’s it.”
“That is not the story I heard, my dear.”
Grrrrr.
“All the witnesses I spoke with,” he continues, “verified that it was your brother who threw the first punch.”
“Well, yes—” I say, needing to clarify why that occurred.
A triumphant smile curves his fleshy lips. “Then we’re in agreement, your brother started the fight and will be suspended for two weeks.”
“What? No!” I yell, jumping out of my chair. “Austin may have thrown the first punch, but he was provoked into doing it. Jasper filled his locker with cow shi—”
The headmaster clears his throat and gives me a look chock-full of warning.
“Manure,” I finish awkwardly, falling back onto my seat.
“And you have proof that it was Mr. Morgan who did this?” the headmaster questions.
Other than him loitering in the area and gloating? “Um, no, but—”
Mr. Pembroke lifts his hands in the air as if there’s nothing more he can do about the situation before shrugging. “Without proof or witnesses, we can hardly say without a shadow of a doubt that Mr. Morgan did anything to your brother.”
I press my lips together until they feel bloodless before admitting, “Austin’s eye was blackened at football practice last week and then yesterday, he was hit in the nose.”
The balding man shakes his head. “Football, I’m afraid, is a brutal sport. Participants know this going in.”
My mouth falls open. “It happened in the locker room, not on the field.”
Mr. Pembroke’s gaze shifts to my brother. “Is that true, Mr. Hawthorne? Have you been hazed or bullied by your peers?” Translation—are you a snitch who is getting his ass handed to him by the popular kids?
When Austin remains silent, I elbow him in the ribs. “Tell him, Aus,” I plead, needing Pembroke to see that my brother isn’t the troublemaker he has pegged him to be. The blame for this shouldn’t be heaped solely on to him.
“No,” he grunts.
The headmaster’s gaze returns to me. I can practically see the satisfaction simmering in his watery blue eyes.
Grrrrr!
“Our vehicle has been egged in the parking lot at least four times,” I blurt in desperation. Pembroke is operating under the delusion that Hawthorne Prep is a utopia of higher education and perfectly behaved students.
It’s far from it.
More like a horror show.
“I’m sorry to hear that.” His voice fills with faux concern. “I assume you filled out an incident report with Mrs. Baxter. What’s strange is that I haven’t seen a single episode of vandalism come across my desk.”
When I remain silent, he raises his brows in question. I’m really beginning to hate when he does that.
“You filed a report in the office, correct?”
“No,” I ground between clenched teeth.
“No what, Ms. Hawthorne?”
“No, I did not fill out an incident report,” I force myself to say calmly. It takes everything I have inside to keep my temper under wraps.
His eyes widen. “Why ever not?”
I wince as Austin’s probing gaze settles on me.
“Did you take any pictures? Perhaps with your phone? You kids seem to enjoy snapping photos of everything and plastering it all over social media. I’m sure you must have at least done that.”
Heat suffuses my cheeks. Already I can see where this is heading. “No, I didn’t take any pictures.”
“Without a doubt, you reported the incident to your parents. They must have corroborating knowledge of this.”
Ugh!
“No! I didn’t tell anyone about it!” My voice escalates as I strain forward. Any moment, I’ll leap over the desk and strangle this fleshy excuse of a human being. “I was embarrassed! I wanted to forget it ever happened!”
“Ms. Hawthorne, calm yourself!” Mr. Pembroke jerks on his seat as he straightens his shoulders. “Must I remind you to speak in a controlled manner when addressing a faculty member?”