Harris throws his hands up in frustration. “Well then, why in the hell are you boys here?”
“That’s a good question,” says Mark. “We were simply eating our lunch.”
Sam speaks. “Mark threw it. I saw him and so did Mr. Johnson.”
I look over at Sam. I know he didn’t see it because his back was turned the first time, and the second timehe was busy cleaning himself off. But I’m impressed at him saying so, for his taking my side knowing it will put him in danger with Mark and his friends. Mark scowls at him.
“Come on, Mr. Harris,” Mark pleads. “I have the interview with the Gazette tomorrow, and the game on Friday. I don’t have time to worry about crap like this. I’m being accused of something I didn’t do. It’s hard to stay focused with this shit going on.”
“Watch your mouth!” Mr. Harris yells.
“It’s true.”
“I believe you,” the principal says, and sighs very heavily. He looks at Kevin, who’s still struggling to catch his breath. “Do you need to go to the nurse?”
“I’ll be fine,” Kevin says.
Mr. Harris nods. “You two forget about the lunchroom incident, and Mark, get your mind straight. We’ve been trying to get this article for a while now. They might even put us on the front page. Imagine that, the front page of the Gazette ,” he says, and smiles.
“Thank you,” Mark says. “I’m excited about it.”
“Good. Now, you two can leave.”
They go, and Mr. Harris gives a hard look at Sam. Sam holds his gaze.
“Tell me, Sam. And I want the truth. Did you see Mark throw the meatball?”
Sam’s eyes narrow. He doesn’t look away.
“Yes.”
The principal shakes his head. “I don’t believe you, Sam. And because of that, here is what we are going to do.” He looks at me. “So a meatball was thrown—”
“Two,” Sam interjects.
“What?!” Mr. Harris asks, again glowering at Sam.
“There were two meatballs thrown, not one.”
Mr. Harris slams his fist on the desk. “Who cares how many there were! John, you assaulted Kevin. An eye for an eye. We’ll let it go at that. Do you understand me?”
His face is red and I know it’s pointless to argue.
“Yep,” I say.
“I don’t want to see you two in here again,” he says. “You’re both dismissed.”
We leave his office.
“Why didn’t you tell him about your phone?” Sam asks.
“Because he doesn’t care. He just wanted to go back to his lunch,” I say. “And be careful,” I tell him. “You’ll be on Mark’s radar now.”
I have home economics after lunch—not because I necessarily care about cooking, but because it was either that or choir. And while I have many strengths and powers that are considered exceptional on Earth, singing is not one of them. So I walk into home ec and takea seat. It is a small room, and just before the bell rings Sarah walks in and sits beside me.
“Hi,” she says.
“Hi.”
Blood rushes to my face and my shoulders stiffen. I grab a pencil and begin to twirl it in my right hand while my left bends back the corners of my notepad. My heart is pounding. Please don’t let my hands be glowing. I peek at my palm and breathe a sigh of relief that it’s still normal. Stay calm, I think. She’s just a girl.
Sarah is looking at me. Everything inside of me feels as though it is turning to mush. She may be the most beautiful girl I have ever seen.
“I’m sorry Mark is being a jerk to you,” she says.
I shrug. “It’s not your fault.”
“You guys aren’t really going to fight, are you?”
“I don’t want to,” I say.
She nods. “He can be a real dick. He always tries to show he’s boss.”
“It’s a sign of insecurity,” I say.
“He’s not insecure. Just a dick.”
Sure he is. But I don’t want to argue with Sarah. Besides, she speaks with such certainty that I almost doubt myself.
She looks at the spots of spaghetti sauce that have dried on my shirt, then reaches over and pulls a hardened piece from my
“That’s a good question,” says Mark. “We were simply eating our lunch.”
Sam speaks. “Mark threw it. I saw him and so did Mr. Johnson.”
I look over at Sam. I know he didn’t see it because his back was turned the first time, and the second timehe was busy cleaning himself off. But I’m impressed at him saying so, for his taking my side knowing it will put him in danger with Mark and his friends. Mark scowls at him.
“Come on, Mr. Harris,” Mark pleads. “I have the interview with the Gazette tomorrow, and the game on Friday. I don’t have time to worry about crap like this. I’m being accused of something I didn’t do. It’s hard to stay focused with this shit going on.”
“Watch your mouth!” Mr. Harris yells.
“It’s true.”
“I believe you,” the principal says, and sighs very heavily. He looks at Kevin, who’s still struggling to catch his breath. “Do you need to go to the nurse?”
“I’ll be fine,” Kevin says.
Mr. Harris nods. “You two forget about the lunchroom incident, and Mark, get your mind straight. We’ve been trying to get this article for a while now. They might even put us on the front page. Imagine that, the front page of the Gazette ,” he says, and smiles.
“Thank you,” Mark says. “I’m excited about it.”
“Good. Now, you two can leave.”
They go, and Mr. Harris gives a hard look at Sam. Sam holds his gaze.
“Tell me, Sam. And I want the truth. Did you see Mark throw the meatball?”
Sam’s eyes narrow. He doesn’t look away.
“Yes.”
The principal shakes his head. “I don’t believe you, Sam. And because of that, here is what we are going to do.” He looks at me. “So a meatball was thrown—”
“Two,” Sam interjects.
“What?!” Mr. Harris asks, again glowering at Sam.
“There were two meatballs thrown, not one.”
Mr. Harris slams his fist on the desk. “Who cares how many there were! John, you assaulted Kevin. An eye for an eye. We’ll let it go at that. Do you understand me?”
His face is red and I know it’s pointless to argue.
“Yep,” I say.
“I don’t want to see you two in here again,” he says. “You’re both dismissed.”
We leave his office.
“Why didn’t you tell him about your phone?” Sam asks.
“Because he doesn’t care. He just wanted to go back to his lunch,” I say. “And be careful,” I tell him. “You’ll be on Mark’s radar now.”
I have home economics after lunch—not because I necessarily care about cooking, but because it was either that or choir. And while I have many strengths and powers that are considered exceptional on Earth, singing is not one of them. So I walk into home ec and takea seat. It is a small room, and just before the bell rings Sarah walks in and sits beside me.
“Hi,” she says.
“Hi.”
Blood rushes to my face and my shoulders stiffen. I grab a pencil and begin to twirl it in my right hand while my left bends back the corners of my notepad. My heart is pounding. Please don’t let my hands be glowing. I peek at my palm and breathe a sigh of relief that it’s still normal. Stay calm, I think. She’s just a girl.
Sarah is looking at me. Everything inside of me feels as though it is turning to mush. She may be the most beautiful girl I have ever seen.
“I’m sorry Mark is being a jerk to you,” she says.
I shrug. “It’s not your fault.”
“You guys aren’t really going to fight, are you?”
“I don’t want to,” I say.
She nods. “He can be a real dick. He always tries to show he’s boss.”
“It’s a sign of insecurity,” I say.
“He’s not insecure. Just a dick.”
Sure he is. But I don’t want to argue with Sarah. Besides, she speaks with such certainty that I almost doubt myself.
She looks at the spots of spaghetti sauce that have dried on my shirt, then reaches over and pulls a hardened piece from my
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