She hesitated, but then tilted her head and gestured toward the waiting room. I walked in. When I did, Coulter Tate, the kid with the broken nose, shrank away, curled up, and whined fearfully.
“What’s gotten into you, honey?” his mother said, craning her head over her shoulder to look at me.
“He kills people, Mom,” Tate said. “He teaches his kid to kill too.”
“Shut up, Coulter,” Ali said, opening his eyes. “You are such an ass.”
“Language,” I said.
Ali looked relieved, got up, and hugged me. I looked at Mrs. Dalton and ignored the others. She led us down a hall to her office and closed the door after we went inside.
“You okay, bud?”
“My forehead hurts,” he said, and he hugged me again.
“Mrs. Dalton’s not happy,” I said. “So give me the truth, everything.”
CHAPTER
37
I OPENED THE door ten minutes later and found Mrs. Dalton standing there looking flustered.
“I was about to knock,” she said.
Or you were trying to listen in, I thought, but I said, “Call in the others. They’ll want to hear Ali’s side of things.”
“Why?”
“Because those boys are lying to you. And Ali can prove it.”
Five minutes later, three kids and three parents were crammed into Mrs. Dalton’s office. None of us looked happy.
“Expect a suit for damages, bucko,” George Putnam’s father said, shaking a big finger at me. “I’m a lawyer.”
“You’re kidding,” I said. “I never would have guessed.”
“Let’s be respectful, shall we?” Mrs. Dalton said. “Hear Ali’s version?”
“He’s a liar,” George Putnam said in a hoarse voice.
Ali shook his head. “You dolt, Putnam, I haven’t said anything yet.”
I put my hand on Ali’s shoulder and squeezed.
“Stick to the facts,” I said. “No name-calling. Address Mrs. Dalton.”
Ali wasn’t happy, but he nodded and told Mrs. Dalton that Putnam had grabbed him while he sat on the wall and pushed him back, hard. If he’d let go, Ali would have dropped close to six feet to the concrete and probably would have been gravely injured.
“But I didn’t let go,” Putnam said. “I pulled you back. It was a joke. Saved your life. Jeez.”
Ali said, “He did pull me back, and he did say, ‘Saved your life.’ But then Coulter stuck his face in mine and started talking trash about my dad.”
“So you head-butted him?” Tate’s mom said bitterly. “You can’t do that. They were fooling around, but you took it as a chance to really hurt someone.”
“Like father, like son,” Tate said.
“It’s true,” Putnam’s father said. “Ali didn’t have to punch George in the throat. The game was over, and he suckered my boy.”