Johnny's POV

Runner-up at the Regional Swimming Championship. Football Trophy. Spelling bee trophy. It was a pretty empty cabinet if you asked me. It hadn't gotten any fuller in the last five years, or any dustier. When I was a kid (you know, a little kid, like twelve) Crabblesnitch used to make me polish them during detention. He said it'd give me the sense of school spirit I needed. After that, I started fighting more outside of school so I guess you could say it worked.

It felt weird being back outside the principle's office again, especially with so many people. Beside me, Beatrice was rubbing her arm like she was trying to start a fire with

"Bea, calm down."

"I can't calm down, we're getting expelled."

"We won't get expelled, people fight all the time."

"But people don't go to the hospital all the time," she squeaked, her hand going faster, up and down her pink-red arm. "This is bad, this is terrible, this is the - "

"You're a first-time offender, he won't even make you clean that cabinet."

"But Tad's parents helped fund the school! And if I get expelled, I'll never get into Harvard and then I'll never figure out a cure for cancer or even cold sores, and I'll probably end up stuck in some soft topic like chiropractics if I even manage to get into college at all when I'm expelledohnowhatifInevergettocollege and then I'll have to spend the rest of my life at a Dairy Queen –"

"Hey, Bea!"

"I'm lactose intolerant!"

"Bea, you need to chill, okay?"

"I don't know why you did this," she spewed, her hands muffling her mouth. My knuckles twitched in my lap.

"What was I supposed to do? He disrespected me. He disrespected you," I added, taking her wrist and pulling it into my lap. "Stop it, you'll hurt yourself. Look at me, was I supposed to just walk away when he called you that."

"Yes!" She sniffed loudly and pulled her fogged glasses off with her free hand. "Yes, Johnny, walking away is exactly what you were supposed to do." She rubbed her glasses against her skirt back and forth, long after they were clear. Her eyes were screwed up small.

"Well where was this when you were making pepper spray?" I whispered angrily. "You weren't all about the high ground then."

"I am so stupid," she whimpered.

"What? No, that's not what I meant. Look, I'm sorry. Come on, don't cry, Bea." Gently, I let go of her wrist and put my arm around her. "Look, it's done now and we were both trying to help a friend. And then we were both getting even and now, I guess we're even. Look, I'll talk to Crabblesnitch and tell him you weren't there."

"He knows I was."

"Well, I'll say you were just trying to stop it. I was never going to go to college anyway."

"You weren't going to go to college? Why not?"

"You don't need to go to college to be a mechanic, right?"

She looked at me like I'd said I was going to live in an underground bunker until the aliens came, then blinked and put her glasses back on. I added, "Look, I ain't dumb. I'm not college smart but I'm not dumb."

"You still need a GED," she fretted.

"Well, we'll figure it out, what if - "

The door swung open; from behind it, Crabblesnitch strode out and waved us towards him with one hand.

"You two first, Johnny Vincent and Beatrice Trudeau."

Bea flinched under my arm; I squeezed her. It was kind of nice to reassure her; Lola never came to me for that.

The office somehow felt bigger with another person there, like it stretched to accommodate Bea as well as me and Crabblesnitch. He stood behind his desk, looking down at the spill of papers covering it. He hmmed to nobody. Eventually, he looked up.

"I'm disappointed to see you here, Miss Trudeau."

Beatrice shrank in her chair, her fingers pinching the back of her wrist.

"I'm sorry, Sir, I won't do it again."

Crabblesnitch's hand curled over the back of his chair.

"No, I know," he began, "and in normal circumstance that would be enough. However, this is a serious mess. And the more I look at it, the messier it gets."

So I said, "Look, Sir, it wasn't her fault. I caused the fight, so leave her alone."

He pulled the chair out and looked at me. What was that face?

"But it's not just the fight, is it? See, I went and spoke to Mr Spencer's friends and they had some very interesting things to tell me about. A break in, vandalism, pepper spray – where did you even get pepper spray?"

"It wasn't actual pepper spray, Sir, it was just a chloride compound that mimicked – "

"Miss Trudeau, you are not helping yourself!" Settling himself in the chair, he scooped up a paper and pointed at her. "I do not expect children to get along all the time. I do not expect thuggery like this on school grounds. Do you understand that Tad Spencer is in hospital? We don't even know how seriously hurt he was. Suppose he comes out of this with permanent damage, what exactly was your plan? Did you think of that," he demanded, "when you were playing about with your chloride compound?"

"That's not fair!" Fingers still pinching her poor little wrist, Bea looked up. "I told you when this started and you didn't listen to me because their parents bring the school a lot of money. And…" Her voice shook like a first-time tightrope-walker. And if you expel either of us, then I'm going to tell Tad's parents that if you'd done what you were supposed to then, this never would have happened."

"That's right!" I sat up tall in my chair. "And another thing, why the hell is there a fighting pit in a school? I bet the Spencers would love to know about that!"

His throat bobbed a little as he listened. For a moment he pulled on his cuffs, straightening them down. Was he ashamed? This calling-people-out stuff wasn't bad. He looked at Bea's flushed face and startled eyes. Somewhere on the way to the pit she'd lost her ribbon; strips of blonde hair stuck to her forehead and cheeks. Her pinched hand had little indents from her nails; I wished I could hold it while she talked. As I thought about reaching out, Crabblesnitch found his voice again.

"The Spencers have been coming to this school for four generations so I imagine they know that this is not an establishment for daisy-chain discipline. Nonetheless, this violates the normal standard of safety."

"What happened to Bucky violated the normal standard of safety," Bea pointed out. "They broke his arm!"

"I broke my arm when I was here," he replied, "Three times, in fact, once as a student. I didn't get so badly beaten that my mother had to fly in from Florida." A knock at the door interrupted him; he continued. "Beatrice, young lady, there is a difference between childish roughhousing and full-blown beatings on school grounds."

"Oh yeah, what is it?" I asked, leaning forward in my chair.

As Crabblesnitch's arm sprung out to for my student records (third drawer down on the filing cabinet under "V" for Vincent, Johnny), another bang shook the door, as if someone had smacked it with a fist. He yelled something back that I don't remember.

"Well, Mr. Vincent, I imagine you would know that difference given your own record." Bang. "Let's see here; vandalism, fighting, fighting, fighting, concealing alcohol, fighting – " Bang. "Fighting – " Bang. "Fighting!" Bangbangbangbangbang. "I expect that thuggery must be quite second-nature to you by – " Bang. "Oh, for the love of – " BANG. "Come in!"

The banging stopped and a clacking walk began. It reminded me of Lola's heels - the good ones she sweet-talked out of some weakling that she insisted on keeping. Above the heels were a thick blue coat with a lilac scarf which tied under a round chin, wide mouth and chestnut curls that just touched the collar of the coat. Even in a woman, Tad's face was obvious.

Crabblesnitch's voice dropped.

"Oh… Hello, Mrs. Spencer, how is Tad."

"The woman glanced at the two of us then fixed her vision on Crabblesnitch.

"Were these two here for what happened to my boy?" Before the principal could stop floundering, she cut him off. "If so, I'd love to know the names of their parents because I've had quite the conversation with Tad and I'd be very interested to know more about what you've permitted on this campus. My son was very forthcoming about the danger he's been in and frankly, Sir," she said in an interrogation-room tone, "I'm not leaving this room until I get an answer."