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John Kaufman peers at the child's name through thick rimmed glasses. The name, Charlie Jackson, stares back at him unflinchingly (but then again, he is looking at ink printed onto paper). He leans comfortably against that prized padded chair of his, a lovely worn thing, pondering the reason for the child's appearance in his office as he awaits Charlie's arrival.
He's read the file; a straight-A student, perfect behavior, and most importantly, no previous blemishes on his record for misdemeanor of any kind.
So why would this child start now? he muses as a timid knock interrupts his inner monologue. Hastily shoving papers aside - his lousy organization skills are to blame for the pigsty he works in - he welcomes in Charlie Jackson.
John doesn't know what to expect, but it's surely not this.
The kid's a walking stick, as if his bones decided to grow and leave the rest of him behind. Knobbly knees stick out from under his cargo shorts, and lean fingers wrap themselves nervously around bony hands as the child steps into his office. Glancing at the child as John interlocks his fingers on his lap, he wonders if Charlie really did beat up the two most troublemaking boys in the third grade.
"Now, Charlie," he starts, taking in the kid's stoic face, eyes brimming with happiness while his bruised skin and split lip suggested a different story. "Do you know why you're here?"
"Yeah," Charlie sits up just a little straighter, gray eyes seemingly glaring into John's soul with an intensity that sorta scares the shit out of him. As if the kid's daring him to condone his actions.
Which of course, makes John want to find out his side of the story even more.
"And why did you attack Bobby Malone and Dylan Robertson - " at this John pauses, lifting up his glasses to get a better glance at the sheet of paper Agnes typed up. "who, are, in fact, two grades younger than you?"
Charlie brushes his jet black hair away from his face, defiantly staring at John over his desk, and shrugs. "They were being pretentious uppity jerks to my sister. They made her cry, so I made them pay for it. It's only the right thing to do, really." Charlie spoke these words so matter-of-factly , as if it was an opinion that should be known worldwide, that John wanted to hug the little sucker right then and there.
[But Kaufman is a professional in his professional environment, so he is limited to congratulating the boy in his mind. And besides, showing favoritism among students wasn't exactly protocol (though this kid was really edging the line).]
"Well, while I can't exactly fault that, Charlie; here at Meadows Hill Elementary, we condone that kind of physical violence. I do understand that you feel you must have vengeance upon these poor boys, but there are better ways to sort them out. Understand me?"
"And since this is your only misdemeanor - in what I'll hope to only be the last of the first - I won't have to call your parents. This time, anyway. If it happens again, I will be forced to call your guardians to go through this meeting with us. Got it Charlie?"
"Yessir," the kid nods his head, a toothy grin appearing on his face as the bugger realizes he's going to get off scot-free. "It won't happen again. I promise."
John nods in approval, leaping up from the padded leather as he opens the mahogany door for Charlie, who seemed too happy to escape the meeting unscathed. As the raven haired kid flees out the door, John can't help but make one last remark.
"Did you get a good punch in, at least?"
"Oh, did I!" came the enthusiastic reply and another gap-toothed smile. "You should've seen the other kids - I'm pretty sure I busted Bobby's lip and gave Dylan a black eye."
You didn't hear this from me, but," At this John leans in close, grinning widely, dropping the stern principal facade at once. "Up top."
He's pretty sure the resulting high-five breaks his hand, but that's okay.
