“Lance, get up, man, it’s your turn,” Chad mutters under his breath as I stare down at the gaping hole on top of my shoe, his new Nikes gleaming in my periphery. I shake my head, keeping it lowered.
“Freak,” I hear uttered behind me.
“Lance, I’m going to need you to come up and do your presentation.”
I kick at the poster board leaning against the front of my desk. I’d worked on it for three days, but it’s the hole in my threadbare shoes keeping me in my seat. This morning I’d tried to cover it with black electrical tape, but it only made it look worse. So I shaded my shoes with a permanent marker to try and match the tape, but I’d jacked them up even more, and they’re my only pair. If I stand up in the front of the room, everyone will see what I’m attempting to hide.
“I’m going to have to pass, Mrs. Sheffler.” That comment earns me a few laughs and I sink in my seat, knowing this isn’t going to end well.
“This isn’t optional,” Mrs. Sheffler says, her fingernails tap, tap, tapping against the notebook she’s holding.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Knee bouncing, I reach for any excuse I can come up with to keep from standing in front of the room to be scrutinized. I can feel Channah’s stare on me. Last night she’d helped me finish my board and as a reward, I’d kissed the life out of her. I should never have brought the board to class. It only makes my lie more damning.
“I didn’t finish mine.”
Mrs. Sheffler isn’t buying it. I wouldn’t either. “Lance—”
“Chickenshit,” I hear from the same voice behind me. Mark, it’s always Mark. I’ve already kicked his ass twice this year. Doesn’t change the fact he doesn’t have holes in his sneakers. He doesn’t have to worry about thirty sets of eyes judging his clothes.
“Who said that?” Mrs. Sheffler barks, just as I snap and snatch up my poster board.
RIIIIIIIIPPPPP
I toss the pieces on the floor and grin up at her. “Like I said, I don’t have it.”
Her tone turns to ice. “Lance, you need to go to the principal’s office.”
Picking up my pencil, I study it as if it’s more of a fascinating artifact than a writing tool, wishing I could use the end of it to erase the last few minutes. Dad warned me if he or Mom gets called into Principal Hatter’s office again, he’ll have my ass. I’m not sure which music is worse to face at this point, but the decision has been made for me.
“Mr. Prescott, did you hear me?”
“Rarely ever do,” I mutter as laughter erupts around me.
I’m not moving; I don’t want anyone staring at me. Knee bouncing uncontrollably, I shake my head as my palms begin to sweat. “I’m pretty comfortable here. Have you tried this seat? You really should sometime.”
“Mr. Prescott. Right now.”
I ignore her, keeping my head down, clamping up tight in the hope she’ll give me a pass, just this once and deal with me later—no such luck.
“Lance, get your bag and go. Now.”
Eyes lowered, so I don’t have to see their judgment, I collect my backpack and leave the classroom making the trip to the principal’s office.
An hour later, in the bucket chair that’s been a second home since school started, I lean in, straining to hear the conversation with my parents, the principal and the school counselor.
“We can’t have this type of insubordination. He’s already been in two fights this year,” Principal Hatter says. My dad comes quickly to my defense.
“It’s normal for kids his age to get into a brawl or two. Testosterone is kicking in. He’
s just blowing off steam.”
“Mr. Prescott,” Mrs. Eve, the school counselor chimes in. “There’s a big difference between ‘boys will be boys’ and this incessant, blatant display of disregard for authority. There may be more going on inside Lance than growing pains. Are there any issues going on at home we should know about?”
The sound of metal scrapes against the floor as my dad erupts. “Don’t you dare, lady! In my house, it’s family first. We’re getting along just fine at home.”