Roofers.

30. Good craftsmanship.

Scarlett POV.

His dried blood strains my knuckles like crimson lakes of acrylic paint. The painting I have made of poor Orlando's face still remains unfinished, lacking the kind of detail I was used to; leaving me barely satisfied. I wasn't much of a painter, but when I dedicated my patience to it, I preferred perfection. I wanted people to look at the scars on his face and the bump on his nose and remember who the fuck I was. The little Roofer who took their messenger down. The little Roofer who was tired of their bullshit. He sat beside me now — jaw ticking faster than the long hand of the principals crippled clock. He squared his shoulders and glued his eyes to the balding, fat man as he spun in his seat like an infant. My fingers kept trying to scrape the blood from beneath my nails.

The office was an eye offending beige. On his desk sat an old computer with an open game of solitaire flashing on the screen. A small box of pamphlets covered in smiling, happy Astonville families sat in the corner. There are 13 of them left. My eyes wouldn't stop counting them. They skimmed over the box again, and again, and again. Counting over and over. My nails tapped the armrests of my seat. My eyes skimmed over the box. My feet tapped the floor. My eyes skimmed over the box. My teeth gnawed at the inside of my cheeks. My eyes skimmed over the fucking box. I wouldn't let myself think about Jules. I wouldn't let myself think about the look of guilt in his eyes. I would not try to imagine what he could've done or how he could've done it. I would not remember the bruises on his face. So my eyes skimmed over the box, and I counted the pamphlets for sake of counting. And I waited for this fucking man-child to open his shit filled mouth and say something of actual substance.

"Care to tell me what happened today?" Principal Garner finally speaks. But neither Orlando nr me volunteers to open our mouths. "I see." He sighs.

"According to some students who saw the fight unfold — Miss Holloway, you hit first?" He comments. I don't look at him, but I can feel his eyes skim over me.

"Yeah. I did." I admitted.

"Care to explain why?" He continued.

"Didn't those students tell you, Principal Garner?" I seethed.

"I think hearing it from you would be beneficial" he reasoned.

"Bullshit." I scoffed, rolling my eyes onto the man before me.

"Language, Miss Holloway."  He scolded. "Answer the question."

"He got on my nerves." I spat in annoyance.

"Why?"

"Called me something degrading," I continued.

"Like what?"

"He called me a Roofer" I admitted "Orlando doesn't even talk to me but he just walks up to me and calls me a Roofer. What was I supposed to do, smile?" 

"Is this true Mr Williams?" Baldy looked over to Orlando in shock but he composes himself quickly.

"Yes sir," he mumbled a reply.

"And from where did you get this information?"

"I had a party a few days ago. I heard from a few people that she was dancing with Ronan Conners. Considering he's the captain of the football team, we're quite close, so I asked him about what was going on between them. He said nothing and that it was because she was a Roofer."

"Are you a Roofer, Miss Holloway?" Baldy asked as he turned to me again.

"Excuse me?" I asked.

"Are you reverse?" He slowed his question as if it would make more sense in slow motion.