Ch 2: Unfair? Yes. Normal? Totally.
Not for the first time that day, Gilbert found himself landing in The Principal's Office (capital letters) yet again. And by 'first time that day' here, he meant that this was Gilbert's second trip to The Principal's Office (capital letters) since that very morning. Reason for the first trip? He slept in and arrived late to school – an hour late, to be more precise. Reason for the second trip? Well...
"He jumped us! For no good reason!" came Antonio's sobbed explanation, holding a bloodied tissue to his nose. "Francis and I were on our way to class, and he punched me! En la nariz!"
"Oui. If I 'aven't been zere to stop it, mon ami Antonio would 'ave probably need a hôpital now."
The three of them were sitting down, in front of The Principal's Desk (capital letters), the man himself studying the trio with interwined fingers. A bronze plaque on the desk had Principal Romulus Vargas engraved on it, shining in the sunlight.
He was looking at Antonio with sympathy, and at Francis with a prideful glint, as if he was some sort of hero.
"You understand, Monsieur, why I 'ad to force that delinquent into a locker, oui?"
The Principal nodded, smiling at the two teens sitting properly in their seats.
Gilbert was slumping in his, legs stretched out in front of him, hands deep in his hoodie pockets. Hey, his muscles were sore and cramped! And, besides, authority figures all seemed to dislike him on sight, and Principal Vargas was no exception. Why should he show respect when they showed none to him?
"Mr. Beilschmidt, you have one month's worth of after-school detentions starting today," Principal Vargas' accented voice sounded gruff when directed at him.
"WHAT!?" Gilbert stood up, feeling indignation and anger shoot through his body. "That is SO not fair! It was THEM that-"
"MR. BEILSCHMIDT! SIT DOWN!"
Gilbert sat down inmediately, flinching ever so subtly. Principal Vargas turned to the other two in the room.
"Francis, Antonio; you may leave. Beilschmidt, you stay seated!"
Francis and Antonio left, the first giving Gilbert a smirk behind the Principal's back. This irked Gilbert to no end, if only the Principal turned around-
"Beilschmidt, I am getting sick and tired of having you come in here every day for fighting, vandalising school property, skipping class, stealing-"
"I did no such thing!" Gilbert protested, feeling insulted. Vargas glared. It was a scary glare.
"Oh? You did not punch Antonio Fernandez-Carriedo in the face?"
"Yes, but-"
"Or Alfred F. Jones, for that matter?"
"Last week, yes, but-"
"And I am pretty sure that it was you who graffitied the cafeteria wall!"
"As awesome as that painting is, I didn't do tha-"
"Not to mention the three students who were sent to the nurse two weeks ago,"
"Hey, they started-"
"Coach Anderson's missing soccer balls was your doing, if I remember correctly,"
"Harmless prank!"
"And don't let me get started on Mr. Edelstein's constant complaints!"
"Well, he was being unawesome, and maybe if you let me explain-"
"I am sick and tired of your shenanigans, Mr. Beilschmidt!" Principal Vargas snapped, cutting Gilbert off. Again. He felt his heart lurch and his stomach drop; why did no one ever let him explain? Believe him? What did he do to deserve this? It was not fair, yet it happened all the fucking time. Gilbert looked at his lap, defeated. Why did he even try?
Why did he even try...
Sometimes, Gilbert felt like everything he did ended in failure. His life was a failure. He was a failure.
Gilbert, at that moment, longed for his precious flute. He longed to touch the metallic cool body, to rest his lips upon the gaping mouth, to gently blow and slide his pale fingers over the correct holes, letting the deep broken melody of his soul out in the open. He thought of the instrument that laid hidden in a black case under the mattress, sandwiched between wooden beams and white cotton. It was there, his flute. Waiting for him, and only him, as he was the only one in the world to know of its existence. Gilbert focused on that happy thought. At least he wasn't a failure at hiding his talents.
"Report to detention right after school; I will know if you don't show up."
Physically, Gilbert scowled at the floor. His fingers itched.
Mentally? Turmoil. The bad part would be that his father will SO hear about this...
"You are dismissed, Mr. Beilschmidt," Principal Vargas' golden eyes penetrated into him, filled with dislike. "And let this be your last visit, Mr. Beilschmidt, as next time punishment will involve you leaving this school and not returning for a long long time, if not ever."
The threat hung thick in the silence.
Great. He finally did it. He was right at the border of being expelled... and by the most carefree and happy-go-lucky Principal in the country, no less.
Fan-fucking-tastic.
"Mr. Beilschmidt!"
Oops, did I say that out loud?
"Yes, Mr. Beilschmidt, yes you did."
...SO need to work on that mouth of mine...