The Subprimes by Karl Taro Greenfeld Page B

catch a last glimpse of Ronin, his right leg pumping his backpack up and down.
    â€œWe’ll begin. Ms. Ramos will join shortly.”
    My heart rate has climbed and I have a terribly dry mouth. I need a breath mint, or a glass of water. I feel that if called upon to speak, I will be unable to part my tongue from the roof of my mouth.
    If I understand Vice Principal Nakamura (and suddenly I am not sure I understand anything), Ronin is being accused of sexual harassment. A teacher, Ms.—
    There is a knock at the door and in walks Ms. Ramos, an Asian woman with a rigid perm and a large mole next to her nose.
    (It is a very large mole, so large as to be verging on the freakish. It’s barely smaller than a dime. Or is that not so big at all? Are many moles actually that big and I’m just focusing on this one because it is the only mole in the room? I have to stop looking at Ms. Ramos’s mole.)
    Ms. Maddoxx observed Ronin inappropriately touching another student.
    (I am going to do it, I am going to open my mouth, I am going to unstick my tongue from my palate. There. I’ve done it. It sounded like old wallpaper being peeled from stucco.)
    â€œInappropriately? How?” I ask. “He’s thirteen.”
    (Did I play the age card too early? I need to focus.)
    â€œThe contact was observed by a teacher. It involved, it was, a hand, the . . . uh”—Vice Principal Nakamura looks down at his notes—“the right hand was placed on the buttocks of a female student.”
    Ms. Ramos’s mole quivers, and then she speaks. “It was a surreptitious fondling of the buttocks. A predatory act—”
    â€œWhoa, whoa,” I say. I need to slow this whole thing down. Is this really happening? “Predatory? Ronin is thirteen.”
    (Shit, I just said that again.)
    Vice Principal Nakamura nods. “We are aware of our students’ ages and the parameters of age-appropriate behavior.”
    â€œAnd this,” says Ms. Ramos, “is not appropriate at any age.”
    â€œIs the girl that upset?” I ask. “Who was it?”
    â€œWe can’t tell you the student’s name. Her response is not germane. Her parents have been informed. At this point, she is completely removed from this incident and will no longer be apprised of any action taken against Ronin.”
    â€œAction? What action?” I ask.
    â€œSexual harassment will not be tolerated in our school. The Subway Fresh Take Paul Revere Middle School code of student conduct makes that very clear.”
    (I am about to say it again: He’s thirteen. But I stop myself.)
    â€œLook, did he know the girl? I mean, kids do this stuff. They grab ass. We all did it.”
    Vice Principal Nakamura and Ms. Ramos glance at each other in such a way that I can tell they never played grab-ass.
    â€œWe’ve suspended Ronin for two days,” Vice Principal Nakamura says. “He will spend lunches in Concentration. And he is required to attend a Youth Sexual Conduct and Guidance seminar once a week. It meets in the library after school on Tuesdays. We have also told him that until further notice he is not to have any out-of-class one-on-one contactwith any female student. At least until the conclusion of the seminar. This was my recommendation, and Ms. Ramos agrees with me.”
    â€œWhat’s Concentration?” I ask.
    â€œIt’s a room that is staffed during lunch where a student may think about his actions.”
    â€œYou actually call it ‘Concentration’? Is it surrounded by an electrified barbed-wire fence?”
    They don’t appreciate my comment.
    â€œNo contact?” I ask. “What does that mean. He can’t talk to a girl?”
    â€œOh, he can talk to a female, just not out of class or in a one-on-one situation.”
    I purse my lips. “But it seems as if . . . as if what is needed here is a good talking-to. An explanation: You can’t, you know, grab