Page 75 of Here & There

Shit.

“How can I help you today?” the principal asks, his expression bland. He looks extremely disinterested in helping. A little hostile, even.

Confusion knits my brow. “We spoke on the phone about my son, Nate.” I glance over at Shelby. She’s frowning too.

Principal Matthews glances at his watch. “Right. Well, I’m afraid I’m quite busy today. So I’d appreciate it if we kept this economical.”

“Economical?” I’m unable to keep the anger completely out of my tone. “We’re here about my son. I told you I was worried he was getting bullied. You?—”

“Mr. MacGregor, I’m going to stop you right there.” The principal sighs and removes his glasses, pulling out a little cloth and polishing them thoughtfully. “First of all, I’m quite surprised not to have seen you in here before.”

My stomach tightens with guilt. Excuses fill my mouth, but I swallow them down. “So it’s true? He’s being bullied?” We haven’t actually seen it. Shelby saw the kid on the bus being a dick, but it wasn’t indicative of a pattern of behavior, necessarily. Though, paired with Nate’s sullenness about going to school, I should have seen it sooner.

“Is that what he’s told you?” the principal asks, setting his glasses back on his face.

I open my mouth to speak but hesitate.

The truth is, Nate didn’t tell me that. The talk I tried to have with him was a bust.

I met him at the bus stop after school like Shelby suggested. There was a kid in the window with a crew cut and a sneer I knew had to be the one Shelby had mentioned, but he was tight-lipped as Nate thudded off the bus. Probably because I stood there with my arms folded, glaring at him.

I forced myself to be calm as I asked how things were going. I told him I’d noticed he seemed down about going to school. When he didn’t answer, I said, “Nate, is someone bothering you?”

Nate’s temple pulsed, and he picked up speed.

“So it’s true?” I kept pace with him.

I took his silence as confirmation. Better than the other way around.

“Nate. I’m sorry. I should have talked to you about this sooner.” I rubbed my hand over my jaw. “This is all new to me. I don’t know what’s normal. But I want you to know you can talk to me if things are rough at school. We’ll figure this out together.”

But he wouldn’t talk. He wouldn’t answer any of my questions at all. Maybe it was stupid, but as we reached the house, I grew desperate. I stepped in front of the door before Nate reached it. “Nate. Please.”

Nate’s jaw had gone tight, and it was only then that it occurred to me that maybe it wasmehe didn’t want to talk to. Even though that made my chest hurt, I told him there were other adults he could talk to who could help. “Shelby. Your teacher. The principal.”

Nate had given a snort at that. “Principal Ass-ews is adick.”

I was so shocked at his vitriol, and so surprised, since the principal I’d met was nice, that I didn’t even call him out on speaking ill of his elders.

Now it all makes sense.

“I tried to speak to Nate about it,” I say stiffly. “But it’s not something he feels comfortable getting into with me. That’s why I’m here.”

“Mr. MacGregor,” Principal Matthews says. “Since this is your first time meeting with us” he points out again, “let me give you a little advice. The stories students tell at home are often…how do I put this?Embellished.Often fabricated. Kids these days have the attention spans of gnats and expect instant responses to their every complaint. If your son claims he’s getting ‘bullied’”—here the principal uses air quotes—“may I suggest that perhaps he’s looking for a little sympathy?”

“I’m sorry, what?” Shelby asks before I can even formulate words.

The principal waves a hand around absently. “Nathanial is a sullen child. He wears dreary black clothing and mumbles when spoken to. Perhaps, if there is any truth to his claims, he could consider dressing more appropriately and working on his enunciation.”

I cock my head, gripping the armrests so hard I’m sure I’m going to bend the plastic.

Shelby puts a hand on my arm and takes a deep breath. Whether it’s to remind me or herself to breathe, it grounds me at least a little bit.

“Mr. Matthews,” I say.

“Principal Matthews.”

“No. Am I understanding this correctly? First you’re telling me my son is making things up to get attention. Next you’re negating that by saying he…deserves to be bullied?”

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