The principal's secretary looks about as bored as I feel.

I make sure she's looking right at me and I put my feet up on the chair opposite. I see her jaw twitch. I'm daring her to say something. Like I care. Seven days and I'm out of middle school forever. I lean back in my chair and yawn, my mouth wide.

The kid at the other end of the chairs snickers.

I turn around, slow like, to look at him.

I'm thinking he's not one of ours, because as he sits there, his blond hair falling forward, it's obvious he ain't never seen a pot of pomade in his life. But the clothes ain't right, for a Soc, and the attitude ain't right for a middle-of-the-roader.

Because he's scratching the wall with the tip of a switch that he has hidden up his sleeve.

To the secretary, he must just look like he's rubbing his hand up and down. She'd have to be where I am, to see the flakes of paint falling.

His eyes flick over to me and he ain't afraid. He ain't impressed either. Who the fuck is this kid?

He puts his foot up, across his knee, uses the blade to winkle out some imaginary stone from the sole of his boot. I can't help it, I glance back at the secretary.

She's turned around, looking in the top drawer of the file cabinet.

When I look back at the blond kid, he smirks. Like it should have been obvious he wasn't going to flash the blade when she could really see. He flicks it shut and drops it in his pocket.

Meyer comes out, goes to the secretary's desk. She hands him the slips that me and the blond kid have brought with us.

"Decisions, decisions." The fat bastard switches the slips back and forth in his hand as he stands over us. "It would have been nice, Timothy, if you'd made your last week the one in which I wouldn't have to see you. " He sighs. "But apparently you have a worthy successor, in the shape of Mr..."

He consults the piece of paper. He doesn't know who the fuck this kid is, either. I mean who the hell joins a new school this close to the end of the year?

"...Mr Winston, who is gracing my office in his first week with us. Much as you did, back when you joined us."

I give him a flat stare. He ain't funny and I ain't gonna pretend he is. He points at the kid and tells him that he can go first.

The kid gets up slowly. He walks across to the other room slowly. Nice. Even his movements are designed for maximum pissing off potential.

I sit there for a few minutes, hearing the drone of Meyer's voice. I could probably dredge up the words themselves if I paid attention to the pauses. He says the same thing every time. Then I hear him stand up and push his chair back. I know what he's going to do. There's only one reason he stands up himself, instead of sending a kid out.

And for no motive that I can identify immediately, I get up and open the door to his office. I vaguely hear the secretary squawk behind me.

"How long you gonna be, old man?" I demand. "'Cause I got places to be. I can't be wasting all afternoon on your fuckin' shit."

Meyer turns around from the cabinet, his face going purple with rage.

I mean, I've had some times in here. I've been ornery, I've been insolent, I've been downright rude. But I never did that before. I never cussed him like that.

For a second, I think he might actually have a heart attack. He waves at the blond kid, without looking at him and tells him to get out right now. Then he hisses at me to shut the door. And I do regret the impulse, slightly. Because I realize he's still holding the paddle, from when he was retrieving it to use on the kid.

But what the hell? I might as well go out with the school record, right?

I guess I should give Meyer some credit, he must've been holding back all these years. Because the effort he puts into the paddle is not his usual 'three whacks and you're out'. There must be some muscle under all that fat. I guess years of frustration come out too. I can hardly stand straight afterwards and it's all I can do to keep the same flat stare on my face. But I do.

Well, I wouldn't wanna give him too many surprises, my last visit, would I? I wouldn't wanna let him think he'd cracked me, after all. Wouldn't give the fat, old, fuckin' bastard the satisfaction of seeing me hurt.

I don't wait for him to dismiss me. I open the door and stroll out. It costs me to stroll, but I do it.

Down the hall, I kick open the bathroom door and kick it shut again, cussing quietly as I rub my behind.

"You want some privacy while you feel yourself up?"

The blond kid is sitting on the window ledge, smoking.

I have no idea who the hell he is, or why I did what I did, but I am royally pissed at his flippant attitude now.

I bend my right hand into a fist. I advance on the kid. He flicks his smoke away and hops down off the ledge.

"Fuck you!" he snaps. "Who asked ya to interfere? Who asked ya to? Who the hell are ya anyways?" He's like a tornado in my face. I slam him back against the wall, my arm across his neck.

I ain't taking that, not from some snotty new kid with a funny accent. I'm someone. I'm someone in Dom's gang. I'm someone in this school.

He pushes back and stamps on my foot. While I'm off balance he clocks me upside the head and goes to knee me in the balls. That means I can kick him in the shin. He yelps and I follow up with a punch to the gut.

A kid I don't know opens the bathroom door. He takes one horrified look at us and books it. I guess he knows me.

Blondie starts laughing. Still bent over, holding his gut, but he's laughing.

I ask him what's so fucking funny.

"That kid," he gasps, "that kid already wanted to piss and then he looked at you and I think it was too late. I think he pissed his pants."

A bubble of laughter rises up out of me too. We look at each other.

"You the big man round here then?"

He's a cocky little bastard. I tell him that he'd better fucking believe it, I'm the big man round here.

"Well, you were," he says.

I'm like, what? "What you talking about?"

"End of the semester. You're going to high school," he says. "So. You were the big man. I'm here now."

He's crocked or crazy if he thinks he's stepping up over Donny, or Frank - who's gotta repeat - or anyone I already know is thinking of stepping up.

He holds out his hand to shake mine.

"Dallas Winston," he says, with a shit eating grin that says he might just do it, after all.


Ah, the beginning of a beautiful relationship ;)