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"Sir, I'm sorry, but we just can't let students who are on suspension walk at graduation."
"Then un-suspend me!" Charlie knows they shouldn't yell, but the entire conversation has been more frustrating than the actual suspension.
When the first letter had arrived, Charlie had assumed there'd been some mistake. They'd already resigned themself to having to come in the last days of school seniors were supposed to have off to salvage their calc grade, and when they'd got suspended, they were pissed off, sure, but not surprised. Charlie had always known that Cameron would eventually turn on one of them, and they weren't surprised that they were the one to get stabbed in the back in the end.
But when the third letter came explaining that Charlie wouldn't be allowed to walk across the stage at graduation and instead would have to come get their diploma in the main office sometime after the whole shindig, it was the last straw.
"Mr. Dalton, you know we can't do that," the secretary explained. "You can try to have the suspension repealed, but by the time you go through the process, graduation and the rest of the school year even will be over."
"I shouldn't have even been suspended in the first place," Charlie says for the nth time. "I didn't cheat!"
"We have an eyewitness-"
"Cameron didn't witness shit and you know it. I already told you guys, he even admits he doesn't know what he saw, and I'm telling you, I did not cheat on my calc final."
"Mr. Dalton, if you can't control yourself, I'm going to have to ask you to leave."
Charlie slams down the now crumpled up letter on the counter and storms out of the office. They end up in the empty band practice room on autopilot, feet carrying them they way they always have when they got kicked out of class for "disrupting the learning environment" at least once a month. Only when the mostly soundproofed door closes do they start crying.
But soon their default reaction of holding back tears kicks in and the only thing left is the anger. It's a good thing none of the percussion instruments are in the room like they usually are, because Charlie suddenly gets the overwhelming urge to kick something, anything, preferably something that moves and is named Richard Cameron.
What a dick. Literally. God, what a douchebag. Even when befriending him in middle school, Charlie knew Cameron was going to be the biggest rat in the history of rats, but they did it anyway because Neil was always making sure everyone was included, and it was fun to have someone to make fun of. It also helped to have someone to talk them down when Neil and Charlie's plans got too out of control. And having a big group of friends was fun. And he wasn't always all that bad—really, Cameron was the Dwight to Charlie's Jim, it was playful antagonism.
But other than that, Charlie hated him, especially right now. They angrily wipe away the tears that have come back and sit down, back against the wall. Sound leaks in from the band class on the opposite side, a Holst piece Charlie remembers playing their freshman year. On the other side of that wall are kids just about to finish their first year of high school and here Charlie is, sitting on the floor crying because they won't be forced to walk across some stage that's way longer than necessary.
It's not like they care or anything, really, the cap would've messed up their hair anyway. It's just that it's the sort of thing everyone is supposed to do at one point, and Charlie didn't even do anything wrong this time. It's fucked up and unfair and alright, they really wanted to have this last hurrah to prove to everyone they fucking did it and all the times people tried to stop them meant nothing in the end.
Charlie rests their arms on their knees and hides their face as the soundless sobbing comes back. It's just fucked up, that's all. No big deal.