Page 74 of The Silence Between

The protective rage that flared in my chest took significant effort to contain. I kept my expression neutral, turning back to Rodriguez.

“Was the other student disciplined for harassment?”

“We're addressing both sides of the incident,” she assured me, but her quick glance at Townsend suggested limited authority in his presence.

“I'd like to understand the normal procedure for a first-time physical altercation,” I said, pulling a small notebook from my pocket and beginning to take notes. The deliberate documentation immediately changed the dynamic, Townsend's expression tightening slightly.

“Typically, detention and conflict resolution counseling,” Rodriguez answered. “More serious consequences are reserved for repeated incidents or those resulting in injury.”

Townsend cleared his throat. “However, given the circumstances, we need to consider the home environment that may be contributing to this behavior. Supervision during after-school hours, for instance. Who monitors Diego between school dismissal and your return from work, Mr. Reyes?”

The transparent fishing expedition for custody review material was about as subtle as a brick through a window.

“Mari is typically home by the afternoon.” I answered carefully. “Diego's academic support program runs until 4:00 on Mondays and Wednesdays. On other days, he reports directly home where parental control software monitors computer usage and smart home systems alert me to entry and exit times.”

The slight exaggeration about technology we didn't actually have was calculated risk. Unless Townsend planned to hack our nonexistent smart home system, he couldn't disprove it.

“And your father's recent appearances around campus? How are you addressing that family disruption?”

Before I could formulate a response that wouldn't reveal too much about our complicated situation, the office door opened.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Ethan said, stepping into the room with a folder in hand. “Principal Rodriguez, I have the classroom context you requested about the incident.”

Rodriguez looked momentarily confused, then quickly recovered. “Yes, thank you, Mr. Webb.”

Ethan's presence was clearly unexpected, his involvement in a routine disciplinary matter unusual. Yet he moved with casual confidence, handing the folder to Rodriguez while nodding professionally to Townsend and me.

“I had both boys in class immediately before the altercation since I was a subbing for another teacher,” he explained. “There was a group discussion about family structures in literature that became somewhat heated. I noted Sullivan making several inappropriate comments that I addressed at the time, though apparently the conversation continued in the hallway.”

The strategic intervention provided both legitimate educational context and subtle support for Diego's version of events, creating balanced perspective where Townsend had clearly been building a one-sided narrative.

“Additionally,” Ethan continued, “Diego's academic performance has shown significant improvement this quarter.”

Townsend's expression soured like he'd bitten into a lemon as the neat narrative he'd been constructing unraveled under this new information. Rodriguez seized the opportunity to regain control of the meeting.

“Given the context and Diego's previously clean record, I believe detention and a written apology would be appropriate consequences, along with participation in our peer conflict resolution program.”

“I have no objection to those consequences,” I agreed quickly, wanting to conclude the meeting before Townsend could redirect it back to custody-related fishing.

Twenty minutes later, Diego and I walked toward the parking lot, the disciplinary matter resolved with reasonable outcome despite Townsend's obvious attempts to escalate it. Ethan had disappeared after providing his input, his timely intervention accomplishing its purpose without lingering to create appearance of coordination.

“Thanks for not freaking out,” Diego said quietly as we reached my truck.

“I'm not happy you got physical,” I replied, “but I understand why it happened.”

“Is it true what that Sullivan kid said? About Dad showing up places drunk?”

I weighed truth against protection, wondering how much Diego had pieced together already. “He's been having some difficult days. We're handling it.”

“By 'we' you mean you,” Diego observed with the particular insight that sometimes startled me from my teenage brother. “Like you handle everything.”

The simple acknowledgment hit harder than complaint would have, recognition of burden I tried to carry invisibly. Before I could respond, my phone chimed with a text from Mari:

Mari

Dad's outside the apartment. Seems drunk. Sophie and I are inside, doors locked. Should we call police?

My stomach dropped. “We need to go. Now.”

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