Chapter Text
I woke up from the sharp ringing of the alarm clock, which I immediately turned off, hoping to prolong my morning doze. But the time was 6:40 and, stretching, I realized that I was late for school. "Damn, overslept again," - I muttered under my breath, jumping out of bed. In a hurry, I pulled on my uniform, barely buttoning my shirt, grabbed my backpack and wanted to run out of the house, but my mom shouted as she came out of the kitchen: "Jonathan! And what about breakfast?"
"Sorry mom! I'm late for school!" - the last thing my family hears when I ran out of the house, almost tripping over the doormat lying outside the house. The bus was just about to pull away from the stop, but I, out of breath, managed to run inside and take a seat.
On the way to school I imagined how Mr. Anthony - our strict principal, crosses his arms over his chest and looks at me with reproach. "Jonathan, late again," - his voice was already sounding in my head.
At the turn toward the school I ran into my friend Charlie, who seemed to be waiting for me on purpose. "Schlatt, you're on time as always," - he smirked, adjusting his glasses. I just rolled my eyes, hurrying inside.
The classroom was quiet, only the squeak of chalk on the board and the teacher's lecture. "Sorry, I'm late again," - I began, but the teacher only sighed, pointing to my seat, other teachers would have sent me to get a pass to class from the principal, but Mrs. Evelyn never did that, she really is a saint.
Sitting down at the desk next to my best friend, I exhaled. "Schlatt, your shirt isn't buttoned at the bottom." - you point out to me in a whisper, at my shirt.
All I could do was snort, hiding my embarrassment and buttoning my shirt all the way. "Thanks, you always help me out." - I whisper back to you and we start listening to Mrs. Evelyn's lecture on U.S. history.
I forgot to say, I study at a Catholic school, the final year before graduation from school. My real name is Jonathan or John, but all my friends call me - Schlatt, only very close people have the right to call me by my real name, those people are my mom, older sister and older brother and of course my friends: Ted, Charlie, Alex and you - my best friend. Why didn't I say anything about my father? I do have one of course, but he spends a lot of time on work trips, so me and my family hardly see him at home.
"...and it was these principles that formed the basis of the Bill of Rights," - Mrs. Evelyn's voice flowed smoothly, but my thoughts were already drifting somewhere far away, to yesterday's game with Ted and Alex. I stealthily turned my head to look at you. You were intently writing something in your notebook, the tip of your tongue caught between your lips - your habit when you concentrate. I caught myself smiling and hurriedly buried my face in my own notes, where instead of theses about federalism there flaunted a crookedly drawn picture of my ginger cat - Jumbo. The bell saved me from boredom. The class came alive, chairs scraped, voices rang out.
"Schlatt, are you going with us to the cafeteria?" - Charlie's voice reached me as he squeezed between the desks toward me. "Ted brought a new game console, he of course wants to show it off."
"Yeah, in a minute," - I nodded, slowly putting my notebooks into my backpack, hoping that you weren't in a hurry either.
You carefully closed your textbook and looked at me. "I'll check your shirt later," - you said with a light smirk, winking and as usual joking at my expense. "I don't want you to get caught again for being sloppy. A senior, and you look like a lost first grader."
"Hey, I heroically caught up with the bus today!" - I reply sarcastically to you, getting up from the desk. "That should count as extra physical training. Are you going to the cafeteria?"
"I am." - you flipped your hair, which as usual was loose. "But I'm warning you, if Alex starts again talking about what he had in his Social Studies class, I'll eat your pudding as compensation for moral suffering."
We went out into the hallway, filled with noise and bustle. The smell of something sweet from the cafeteria was getting closer and closer. I walked beside you, half a step behind, watching you greet a couple of girls from a parallel class. I've always admired how easily you communicate. I, on the other hand, needed my own, trusted company to feel comfortable, I'm too shy to communicate with someone new.
In the cafeteria there was already lively hustle and bustle. Ted - the tallest in our group, was waving at us from a table in the corner. Charlie was explaining something to Alex, waving his hands, and Alex, was trying to eat his lunch like a starving stray dog and at the same time chatting about what he had in his Social Studies class, just as you had predicted...
"Finally!" - Ted shouted. "Charlie was afraid that you got called to Anthony's office again."
"Got lucky," - I sat down on the chair next to you and Alex. "Mrs. Evelyn is an angel in the flesh." I said it while looking straight at you, and immediately felt my ears start to traitorously heat up. To hide my embarrassment, I opened my lunch box with exaggerated enthusiasm. Mom, despite my morning rush, had shoved a turkey sandwich, an apple, and that very chocolate pudding in there yesterday, she knows what a clumsy and eternally late guy I am.
"By the way, about the pudding," - you held out your hand with a dramatic look. "Payment for protection from boredom. Alex already started."
"Hey! I can hear everything!" - Alex snapped back, not looking up from his food. "This is my future, guys! Just imagine if I..." His voice faded into background noise.
I slid the pudding toward you, our fingers lightly touched. For a second. A thought flashed through my head: "Why do such simple things make my heart beat a little faster?" You smiled, opening the pudding. And at that moment, someone’s shadow loomed over our table. I raised my head. Standing in front of us was our class president, perfectly dressed, with an expression of mild contempt on his chubby face. His father was someone important on the school board, and he never let us forget it.
"Jonathan," - he began in a squeaky voice, ignoring everyone else and calling me by my real name. This bastard has no right... "Mr. Anthony asked you to come by after classes. It seems he has accumulated some questions regarding your attendance. And," He threw an appraising glance at my slightly wrinkled tie, "...the dress code."
My stomach went cold. All day I had tried not to think about it. Ted froze with a sandwich in his mouth. Charlie snorted. You stopped eating the pudding. Even Alex, the perpetually talkative guy, fell silent...
"Got it," - I muttered, trying to look indifferent. "I'll be in his office after classes..."
"Good luck." - the class president spat out the word sarcastically and walked away. A short pause followed.
"Well then," - Charlie sighed, adjusting his blue glasses. "Looks like you won't wriggle out of it today, John."
"Maybe say you felt a sudden surge of piety and were praying in the chapel?" - Ted suggested, those words made everyone except me smirk. I snorted, but anxiety was already spreading through my body. A meeting with the principal... That always meant either extra after-school duties, or worse, a call home. And mom is already worried about dad, about his constant trips away.
I felt a light poke in my side. You were looking at me, and there was no mockery in your eyes, only understanding and that very determination that always saved me.
"Don't hang your head," - you said quietly, sliding the pudding back toward me. "You'll need the energy. And after classes I'll wait for you by the exit. So you definitely won't run away. And so there will be someone to feel sorry for you when Anthony finishes his "educational talk"." Your words, as always, eased some of the tension. Even the upcoming meeting with the principal didn't seem so scary, if you know that someone is waiting for you behind the door.
"Deal," - I smiled, and this time the smile was genuine. "But only if you don't finish all my pudding. You need strength for pity."
"And probably for complaints too," - you still took the spoon and scooped up half of the pudding, leaving me exactly enough not to feel deprived.
Lunch flew by in the usual conversations and jokes. Alex, finishing his food, launched into a long explanation of some social theory they were covering. I only listened halfway, thinking more about what awaited me after classes and about your promise to wait for me.
The rest of the classes passed quickly. In math, the numbers danced before my eyes, refusing to come together into meaning. In English, I mechanically read a passage from Shakespeare, hearing only echoes of the class president’s voice in my head: "Jonathan..." Damn it. He’s the only one in the school who does it out of spite, knowing how much I hate it. Everyone else - except the teachers - calls me the way my friends do - Schlatt. The final bell rang like a funeral march. The guys patted me on the shoulder in farewell.
"Hang in there." - Ted muttered, slinging his backpack over his shoulder.
"Let us know if they make you clean the school grounds. We’ll all come to morally support you." - Charlie grinned.
Alex was already muttering something about the injustice of the system, but I barely heard him.
"I’ll be waiting at the main entrance, by the oak tree." - you reminded me, gathering your things. "Don’t stay there too long."
I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat, and trudged through the corridors, which by the end of the day seemed deserted and ominously long. The door to the principal’s office was massive, dark wood. I knocked, feeling my palms sweat.
"Come in!" - the voice sounded from behind the door. Mr. Anthony was sitting at a huge desk piled with folders. He looked at me over his glasses, his face expressing neither anger nor condescension - only cold formality. I was unsettled by his overly long look at my hips, but he began to speak: "Schlatt," - he began, and I was embarrassed that he called me by my nickname rather than my real name... He had the right to call me by my name like the teachers, since he’s the principal, and how would he know what my friends call me? "Sit down." - Mr. Anthony interrupted my thoughts. I lowered myself onto the hard chair opposite him.
"Your attendance, especially in the morning hours, leaves much to be desired. And today you arrived at the first class in a wrinkled uniform. In an institution that is built on discipline and order, this is unacceptable." - he opened the folder with my name. There were quite a lot of papers in it for my peace of mind, and again that unpleasant look of his ran over my body, I crossed one leg over the other to somehow cover myself.
"My mom... she worries a lot," - it suddenly burst out of me, and I immediately fell silent, surprised by my own stupidity. But I couldn’t hold it back, the thought that they might call her was unbearable. "My father is constantly away, she’s alone... If they call her because of me, it will upset her. I won’t be late anymore. And I’ll keep my uniform neat. Honestly."
Mr. Anthony measured me again with a long look. In his office, the clock was ticking, measuring out the seconds of agonizing waiting. "I sympathize with your mother," - he finally said, and a shadow of something that could have been understanding flickered in his voice. "But sympathy does not cancel the rules. Two weeks - additional work in the library after classes. Put the old archive in order. And not a single tardy. And not a single wrinkled shirt. This is your last chance, Schlatt. Step outside its bounds - and the next proceeding will involve your parents. Is everything clear?"
"Yes, sir. Everything is clear. Thank you." - I almost choked with relief. The library! That’s not cleaning toilets or painting fences! And no call home. It was a victory.
"You’re free to go, Schlatt." - Mr. Anthony said barely audibly at the end.
I quickly left his office, closing the door with almost reverent quiet, and then exhaled as if I had been carrying that very door on my shoulders for all the minutes of the conversation. Down the corridor I almost ran, my backpack bouncing on my back. I needed to get to the oak tree faster. To you.
Bursting outside, I saw you. You were leaning against the trunk of the old oak, reading something on your phone. Hearing my footsteps, you looked up. "So? Alive?" - you asked, slipping the phone into your pocket and studying my face.
"Alive." - I smiled broadly, and the tension finally left my body. "Two weeks of library duty and no call to mom."
"Wow, Schlatt, you got off easy!" - your eyes sparkled. "I thought it would be worse."
"Not without the help of a guardian angel," - I said, feeling myself blush again, but this time not trying to hide it. You were that angel. Your presence here, your "don’t hang your head" gave me the strength not to fall apart in the principal’s office. "Thank you for waiting. Really."
"An empty pudding obliges," - you joked, but your smile was soft. "Shall we go? Ted texted, they’re waiting for us in his yard. Says he wants to beat you at that very new game to cheer you up after a hard day."
"Let’s go." - I nodded, and we walked along the path leading away from the school.
Your shoulder occasionally brushed lightly against mine, and thoughts of the class president, of Anthony, and of the archive evaporated, replaced by a simple, clear joy. From the fact that the hard day was over. From the fact that an evening with friends lay ahead. And from the fact that the most important person in this story was walking beside me, teasing me about my wrinkled tie, which I still hadn’t fixed.
"You know, there’s something else..." - I began to say, and a shiver ran through my body when I remembered the principal’s far too indecent look at my teenage body.
"Go on, Schlatty, I’m listening." - your eyes sparkled and waited for what I wanted to say.
I sighed and began to speak: "When I was in Mr. Anthony’s office, or rather when I had just walked in there, he looked at my body like that... Ugh... Well, the way he looked, more like he was evaluating it or something, especially my hips." - I said it all in one breath, your eyes widened and we both stopped in the middle of the sidewalk at the same time.
"What?! What the hell!?" - you got angry. "That’s creepy and disgusting... What got into him?" You tried to understand, but no one would give us answers to those questions.
"I don’t know, maybe my pants looked kind of sloppy around the hips? Mr. Anthony is a hardcore perfectionist and notices every detail of untidiness." - I tried to justify our principal, but something made me, just like you, not really believe that there was something wrong with my pants at that moment.
"No, Schlatt, that’s not an excuse," - your voice became firm. "Sloppiness is a wrinkled tie or an unbuttoned shirt. And what you described... that’s different. It’s inappropriate and it’s not normal." You abruptly fell silent...
We started walking again, but now our steps were sharper, and the mood was completely ruined. My small victory over the library punishment faded in the face of this new, slimy and incomprehensible feeling.
"What are you going to do?" - you finally asked, not looking at me.
"What do you mean, ‘I’?" - I shrugged in confusion. "Nothing. I’ll forget it. I’ll sit out my two weeks in the library and that’s it. Maybe I imagined it... Maybe he was just looking at how I was sitting, evaluating my posture or something like that..." But even to my own ears it sounded false.
"Imagined it?! Schlatt, he made you feel uncomfortable! You yourself said you crossed your legs to cover yourself! Your body was signaling to you!" - you stopped abruptly and turned toward me, blocking my path. In your gaze now there was more than just anger - there was protection. "If something like that happens again to you or to anyone else, you have to say something. To someone. To me or to other teachers, the class president, parents in the end!
"Or to the class president?" - I gave a bitter smirk. "The class president’s father is on the school board. He’s practically a god here. Who’s going to believe me? Everyone will say: "Schlatt is making things up again to get out of punishment"."
"Then I’ll wait for you tomorrow by the library, after your detention," - you declared, and there was no room for objection in your voice. "Every day. So you don’t walk alone. And... be on guard, okay? If anything, shout right away. Or call. Or anything."
I nodded, feeling a strange mix of shame and the deepest gratitude, why did I even tell you this? "Okay. I’ll be on guard. Thank you for... for being like this," - I muttered, again feeling the heat in my ears. "Shall we go to Ted’s? They’re probably already waiting for us."
"Let’s go." - you sighed, and your shoulder touched mine again, this time as if intentionally, for support. "But we won’t play for long. You look exhausted."
Ted’s yard greeted us with shouts and laughter. The guys had already spread a blanket on the grass, and familiar music was pouring from the speaker. Ted waved the game box at us. "Oh! Alive! So, tell us, how was it with the old geezer named Anthony?" - he shouted, calling our principal an old geezer.
"Library, archive, two weeks," - I said briefly, dropping down onto the blanket next to Charlie. "No details, please."
"Hey, why the sour face?" - Alex whistled. "You got lucky!"
I caught your gaze. You barely shook your head: "Not now." And I was grateful for that. Right now I didn’t want to talk or think about it. I just wanted to be here, among my own people, where everything was simple and safe.
"Just tired," - I lied, taking the controller from Ted. "So, what do we have here? Get ready to be humiliated." The game, the jokes, the shoulder nudges when I lost, gradually the icy lump inside began to melt. I caught myself laughing again, arguing with Charlie about tactics. And every time the laughter died down, my gaze found you on its own. You were arguing about something with Alex, gesturing, and again looked so... alive and real. My personal antidote to all that filth.
When it started to get dark, we began to pack up. The guys went their separate ways, agreeing to meet again tomorrow. You and I were the last ones left by Ted’s gate.
"Tomorrow, by the library, at five," - you reminded me, zipping up your windbreaker. "Don’t be late. You have perfect attendance now." A light, encouraging joke sounded in your voice again.
"I’ll try," - I smiled. "Good night."
"Good night, Schlatty."
I watched you walk away until your figure dissolved into the dusk, I thought too late about offering to walk you home, but it was already too late. Then I turned and headed toward my house. My phone buzzed in my pocket, mom was asking when I’d be back. I wrote that I was already on my way.
At home it was quiet and smelled of pie. Mom met me in the kitchen with a tired but warm smile. "How was your day, son?"
"Fine," - I answered, hugging her and peeking into the oven. "Everything’s great."
I didn’t tell her about the principal’s look. I didn’t tell her about the strange chill of fear. I told her about the library, and she just sighed, saying: "The main thing is that the punishment isn’t too strict. You’ll be more careful next time."
Going up to my room, I felt the same heaviness as in the morning, but now for a different reason. I went to the window. Across the street, in the window of your house, a light was on. I caught myself thinking that I was just standing there and looking at that light, like at a beacon. Then I sighed, shook off the heavy thoughts and reached for my textbooks. Life, even with all its nasty nuances and Catholic school, went on. And tomorrow, at five, by the library, a guardian angel with loose hair and my half-eaten pudding would be waiting for me again. And that was the main thing.