Chapter Text
I was just trying to do my calc homework. The period it was due, for the record.
But that’s not important.
I really need to stop bending gravity when I’m stressed. It’s not technically my fault – it’s not like I can control it. But I knew one of these days it was gonna catch up to me. I just didn’t expect it to be today. And I definitely didn’t expect my name to be called over the intercom the second I stepped foot into the cafeteria.
“Laurens Mercer, please report to the principal’s office.”
Great. Just great. I swore through my teeth, a string of colorful expressions that surely would’ve gotten me thrown in detention for the third time this month. Every pair of eyes was on me. I set my tray down, resigning myself to the fact that I was not getting lunch, and walked out of the cafeteria.
I stopped at my locker, taking my sweet time to hide the fact I was shaking. I slipped my phone into my pocket, running a hand through my dark hair. I shut my locker door and headed down the hallway, my beat-up combat boots scuffing on the floor. I’ve had them since I was twelve – the first nice thing I bought for myself. And by nice I mean I didn’t find them at Goodwill or Walmart.
I knocked on the door to the principal’s office, hands trembling. The crisscross of scars on the back of my right hand were pale in the light. I shoved my hand in my pocket just as the door swung open, suddenly self-conscious. The principal – a middle-aged man with greying hair and glasses – stood there and beckoned me inside.
I stepped inside and sank into the lone uncomfortable chair in front of Mr. Becket’s desk, tapping on the armrest. My black nail polish was chipping, and I groaned internally.
“Do you know why you’re here, Laurens?” Becket asked like it was the first time I’d sat in this chair. In reality, I had literally scratched my name on the underside of the armrest with Becket’s own pen when he wasn’t looking the last time he’d called me in. For another unexplainable gravity-related incident. That totally wasn’t my fault. Or anything.
I shook my head, feigning a look of innocence, which wasn’t hard. “No.” After a second I added “Sir,” for good measure.
Becket sighed, pushing his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. I imitated him just for the hell of it. He didn’t seem to notice. “I’m not quite sure either, honestly,” he said after a second.
I blinked, picking at my nail polish. “Well, then why don’t we forget this ever happened and I can just go back to lunch?”
A dark look crossed Becket’s face, though I wasn’t sure why. I hadn’t been rude or anything. Clearly. “Mr. Mercer–”
Oh, that wasn’t a good sign.
“Lately there have been some…incidents reported. Regarding you.”
That was vague and not at all threatening. “I’m afraid I don’t understand,” my mouth said, while my mind was racing. Does he know? What does he know? What can I say safely? If he doesn’t know, what the hell is he talking about? It’s not like I get into fights. That often. Even then, it’s always the other guy who throws the first punch. The worst thing I do is vandalize the so-called motivational posters tacked on the walls. And the students honestly appreciate it. I mean – who wants to walk into school and see some shit like ‘be the change you want to see today!’ with a picture of a smiling mermaid taped to the hallway.
Becket cleared his throat. “You’ve been acting out.”
I blinked. Acting out? The ever-living fuck?
“What?”
Becket nodded. “This is the third incident this month, Laurens.”
What was the incident?! I wanted to scream.
I just nodded like a well-behaved person. “It…won’t happen again?” That wasn’t supposed to be a question.
Becket looked as reassured as I felt. “Laurens, this isn’t an isolated thing. Teachers have reported that you’re disrupting class. Multiple times.”
Disrupting class? I was going to throw hands.
“You’re coming in late, slamming doors, throwing things, kicking over chairs…” Becket sighed, giving me that disappointed parent look.
“I’m not–” I protested, but he held up a hand.
“Don’t.”
For once, I listened.
“It’s…worrisome,” he finally said. “We’re worried about you, Laurens.”
I hate those words. It took literal effort to keep myself from swearing. Instead I nodded and kept my mouth shut.
“Is everything…alright? At home?” Becket asked, treading carefully.
I scoffed, stopping myself from laughing in his face. Was everything alright? Oh, everything was just fucking peachy. Not like I’ve gone through six different foster homes since I was seven years old. Not like I’ve run away from five of them. Not like I taught myself how to throw a punch when I was eight.
Yeah, everything’s great at home.
“I’m fine,” I say, the words sounding shallow even to me.
Becket didn’t buy it. “Look, I don’t know your whole situation. But if this…behavior continues, we may have to get counselors or outside sources involved.”
Great. Just what I didn’t want to hear. I nodded, pretending to care or understand. “Okay,” I managed weakly. “...can I go?”
Becket paused a second and spun around in his chair, during which I had the time to pull a pen from my pocket and scratch a drawing of a cat on the edge of his desk while he wasn’t looking. He turned back around and I stowed the pen back in my pocket with an innocent expression.
Becket didn’t notice the cat. Or he didn’t seem to, at least. He sighed, defeated. “I’m not trying to punish you. I’m just trying to help.” he said.
Sure.
“You can go back to class. But…” he took his glasses off, cleaned them, and replaced them on his face. “Please, if something is going on, talk to someone. A teacher, a counselor, me, anyone.”
I nodded, lying through my teeth. “Alright.” I got to my feet, the chair scraping on the tile, and turned towards the door, ready to bolt. When Becket (thankfully) didn’t say anything, I practically sprinted out of that office.
I muttered a string of curse words directed at Mr. Becket under my breath. I felt the familiar drop in air pressure around me and the door slammed shut behind me, a bit harder than I had intended. Great, now Becket will really think I’m a delinquent.
I walked back down the hallway, fuming at Becket, and before I knew what was happening, I had passed my locker and was pushing open the side door. The side door, for the record, expressly labeled ‘do not exit’.
I exited.