Short Stories (bxb)

Skin and Bones Pt. 4: Stop It

"A two-day suspension?" I demanded, staring at principal Rixon with narrow, heated eyes. "What kind of sick joke is this?"

Isaac and I had rushed to her office as soon as we caught sight of Calum in the hall, only to be told that he and Luke had been punished for what they did with two days of suspension.

"This is insane," Isaac snapped. "I'm bound to a wheelchair and all they get is two stupid days?"

"Watch it," Rixon warned, glaring over the top of her crooked nose. She looked at me. "Sit down."

I scoffed and stayed on my feet. "You need to do your job," I said lowly, pointing accusingly. "You need to protect your students."

"I have done all that I can do with what I was given," she said, as if that would satisfy anyone.

"The hell you have!" Isaac exclaimed. "You've done absolutely nothing! I've seen kids get harsher punishment for insubordination!"

Principal Rixon's gaze turned steely. "I will not sit here while you yell at me in my own office," she said.

"Then step out," I retorted. "We'll yell at you in the hall."

"Out!" She demanded. "Now! This discussion is over."

"It never started," Isaac bit back. We exchanged a glance, and I could tell that we were thinking the same thing. A minute of trying to negotiate had only lead to a minute of arguing. We weren't going to get anywhere. Clearly, if we wanted something to change, we were going to have to look higher up the ladder.

When we left the office, Isaac deflated. His anger subsided enough for the panic to take hold.

"Oh god," he breathed. "Oh god, oh god, oh god." His head fell into his hands.

I put a hand on his shoulder. "We'll figure something out," I said. "We'll—"

"I can't be here," he interrupted, lifting his head to stare up at me with wide, scared eyes. "Who knows what they'll do to me if . . . and I can hardly fight back with one leg, and . . . Ryan, this place isn't safe for me. I have to—I have to go."

He began to push himself down the hall, in the direction of the exit. I watched him for a moment, wondering what I could possible say or do to make him feel better, before hurrying to stand in front of him, blocking his path.

"Don't," I said. "You've gotta stay here."

He shook his head insistently, anxiety clear in his eyes. "I can't," he croaked. "Everywhere I go they could be there, ready to . . . Ryan, I can't."

"You can," I insisted. "You can, and you will. Leg or no leg, you're still a tough motherfucker. Nobody's gonna be taking you down. And you won't be alone, okay? I'll be with you, if that makes you feel better. But if you run away now, that's just going to make them see you as an easy target, and then you're through. You can't run forever. So stand up now—metaphorically—and don't let them see that you're scared of them. Sure, we lost one battle, but we've only just started. We can't get anywhere if we're scared of what's in front of us, right?"

He ran his hands frustratedly through his hair and leaned back. "It's not that easy to run into the lion's den," he said. "All I can think of is, what if they do put me in the hospital next time?"

"There's not gonna be a next time," I insisted. "Not a chance."

Isaac didn't look convinced, so I tried another approach. I kneeled down, putting my elbows on his knees and resting my chin on my hands. "Isaac?"