"Mr. Donavan. Please control your son. He is getting out of hand." Nathaniel sensed the heavy tension of the atmosphere. . He was in the principal's office, and the only thing that filled the room was the stench of old papers and awkward silences. Nathaniel swung his legs on a chair that was a little too tall for him.
Beside Nathaniel was his father. He had just come out of work after receiving a phone call from the school. His father looked extremely tired. Nathaniel never realized how deep his father's wrinkles were getting.
Nathaniel was intrigued with everything else around the room - especially the clock - everything but the conversation. His principal gave him a dull stare, but Nathaniel avoided it, instead staring wearily at the framed photograph on the principal's desk. His father nudged him lightly as if to notify him to pay attention.
The principal continued, tucking her gray hair behind her ear. "Nathaniel picked a fight with an eleven-year-old, a boy who is older than him. And now, the poor boy has a twisted ankle because of him."
Suddenly interested in the conservation, Nathaniel glanced at the principal, scrunching his eyebrows. She's making it sound like it's my damn fault! he thought, trying to hold in his anger. He was the one making fun of me! He recalled the kid had shoved Nathaniel to the ground, calling him a faggot. He didn't know what it meant, but he knew it was something bad. Nathaniel's first instinct was to tackle the boy to the ground and throw a few punches at him.
Despite the name calling, Nathaniel felt satisfied with himself for not only standing up for himself, but for winning the fight. He still couldn't believe he injured the kid so badly that he twisted his ankle.
"I apologize, Mrs. Bernard. I understand how serious this is, and my son will pay the consequences," Nathaniel's father said. He looked down at Nathaniel. "Son, no going out for a week. Until then, you're staying in your room."
"No, Dad! That's not fair-!" Nathaniel yelped, balling his hands into fists until they turned white.
"Enough, Nathaniel!" His father scolded. He turned to the principal. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Bernard. Please continue."
Nathaniel huffed and crossed his arms. He got into this much trouble almost all the time before. Why was his father suddenly grounding him? Feeling sudden betrayal by his luck, he was on the verge of tears.
"As I was saying, your son will be suspended for a week. He will not come back to school until next Tuesday," the principal said.
Nathaniel's father nodded. "Very well." Nathaniel observed his red worn-out sneakers.
"Also, maybe your son would need some counseling," Mrs. Bernard added. "I feel as though Nathaniel needs to... control his anger."
Nathaniel looked up from his sneakers, knitting his eyebrows. "What-"
"That's ridiculous," His father interrupted coolly. "Suspending my son is one thing, but counseling is something different. The cost..." His father stopped himself before he could continue.
"Mr. Donavan. I honestly do recommend your son gets counseling," the principal said. "Your son... I don't think he's capable of controlling his anger on his own. He's only a boy-"
"No, it's not counseling my son needs!" The man's voice rose. It frightened Nathaniel slightly. It
was close to that tone of voice when his father got angry at him for stealing Amber's last cookie. "Come on, son. We're going to have to leave, Mrs. Bernard." He got up from his seat, grabbing Nathaniel's hand. "Thank you for your consideration."
"Have a nice day, Mr. Donavan. You too, Nathaniel," the principal nodded. "I hope you will at least take counseling into consideration..."
By the time she finished her sentence, Nathaniel and his father had already left the room.
The ride home was the same too. Serious and heavy, along with awkward silence. Nathaniel sat in the backseat, eyeing his father from the rearview mirror.
"Dad...?" Nathaniel spoke. "What did Mrs. Bernard mean by counseling? Does it mean that someone will ask me a lot of uncomfortable questions, and I have no choice but to answer them?"
His father concentrated on the road. "It's nothing to worry about, son. You won't need counseling."
"Wasn't there another reason why you don't want me to be counseled?" Nathaniel inquired. "You told Mrs. Bernard..."
The car came across a stoplight. His father never left his eyes on the road. The heavy silence seeped through the car again.
Nathaniel fidgeted in his seat. He knew his father had an answer, but he wasn't telling him. His face looked grave, never looking at Nathaniel. He suddenly didn't want his father to respond to his question. Nathaniel was afraid of the answer.
A/N: I'm sorry I haven't updated this fanfic in a long time. I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter. I don't want to be one of those fanfic authors who don't update frequently, but I think I'm going to be that author. Also, Nathaniel's last name in here is Donavan. I got this from a post in the My Candy Love forum, where they talked about their headcanons. I liked it, so I used it.
