Cold Justice by Rayven T. Hill Page B

Public School. In the three years Matty had been attending, they
had been here several times for parent/teacher meetings and special occasions,
but never before had they been called in because of a problem with Matty.
    As they crawled from the vehicle, Jake looked up at the
sprawling school. When he had been a student here uncountable years ago, it was
just a small square cube of ugly red brick, but now had wormed its way around
the lot with three additions jutting out at awkward angles, threatening to
devour the entire property.
    Jake and Annie followed Matty down the weathered concrete
walkway to the front of the building, and through the doorway of the latest
wing. The drab green walls were covered with posters and announcements. Except
for the odd teacher, or perhaps a parent or two scurrying to appointments, the
place was deserted and quiet.
    Around the next corner, a pair of teachers overloaded with
books and teaching manuals were huddled in urgent conversation. A student
scurried by, a violin case tucked under his arm. As he slid through a door at
the end of the hallway, the uncertain sound of a student orchestra wafted out.
    Matty stopped in front of room 104 and looked at his father.
Jake opened the door and went in first. The far wall of windows let the early
evening sun in, flashing off the rows of deserted desks. The square room was
colorfully decorated with student masterpieces. A+ test results of accomplished
students were tacked proudly onto a corkboard.
    Miss Cobblestone looked up from her overloaded desk at the
front of the room. She appeared to be in her late thirties, nice enough
looking, but more dedicated to her students than to a social life, and by
choice, destined to be called Miss Cobblestone forever. Her tight black hair
culminated in a stern bun at the back of her head, her reading glasses slouched
on her nose, contrasting with her smiling eyes peeking out above the black
frames.
    She stood and smiled as they approached, motioning to a
group of three hardback chairs to the right of her desk, strategically placed a
safe distance away from the three to her left.
    “The Jordans should be here momentarily,” she said.
    They sat down and waited, discussing the weather and
exchanging mandatory pleasantries. Matty fidgeted with his hands. He didn’t
appear to be nervous, maybe just bored.
    The schoolroom door opened again. Jake looked up. Mr. Jordan
was in his early thirties, short scruffy hair, with a round face and a body
that had consumed a few too many calories. He held a smaller carbon copy of
himself firmly by the wrist as he blustered into the room. They were followed
by a more sedated Mrs. Jordan. The teacher greeted them and motioned toward the
remaining chairs.
    “Let’s get on with this,” Jordan said. The feet of his chair
squealed on the tile floor as he pulled it a few inches closer, dropping his
bulk into the seat. He leaned forward as Kevin and his mother took a seat
beside him. He stared at Matty, his eyes small, and then at Jake, sizing him
up.
    Jake stared back.
    Annie crossed her legs and looked at Miss Cobblestone.
    Mrs. Jordan sat timidly, her hands quietly in her lap.
    “Thank you all for coming.” The teacher spread her smile
around. She seemed at ease. Probably done this many times before.
    Jake and Annie acknowledged her with a smile and a nod.
Jordan grunted.
    “We’ll keep this short,” the teacher said. “As you know, we
have a no fighting policy in this school. We like to encourage our students to
get along together, and to understand each other’s differences. We also realize
at times things can get out of hand. Tempers flare, and children argue on
occasion...”
    “This was more than an argument,” Jordan interrupted, “Look
at Kevin’s face.” The side of his face had a dark spot, a welt forming below
his left eye. Jordan waved a finger at Matty. “That little brat over there did
that.”
    Jake moved forward in his seat. He glared at Jordan and
opened his