Page 73 of Pride High 3: Yellow
“That’s a lie!” the guy with red hair said. “This jerk came over here and started throwing stuff at us. Graham was defending himself!”
“Who the hell are you?” Omar snarled at him.
“Be quiet!” the teacher shouted. “We’ll let Principal Preckwinkle sort this out. And no doubt your parents. Think aboutthatbefore you open your mouths again!”
His threat did the trick. Graham looked away with a sullen expression.
“You okay?” Omar asked.
Anthony searched the crowd, unable to answer until he located Cameron, who was trapped behind the security guard’s extended arm, as if he’d been trying to reach him. But he wasn’t hurt. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m fine.”
“Come along, you two,” the teacher said. “You’ve put on enough of a show.”
The security guard began escorting them away. The teacher followed, muttering in disapproval.
“You’ll be all right!” Omar shouted after them. “Youdidn’t punch anyone!”
That was true! Anthony might have thrown some fries, and tangled once on the ground, but Graham hadhithim. That had to count for more. Judging from how bad his left cheek hurt, there would be damning evidence on display.
“Just a moment, sir!” a voice said. They stopped and turned as a group. The guy with red hair was catching up with them while waving Anthony’s article. “He was trying to force people to read this,” he said, handing it to the teacher. “Graham didn’t want to. That’s why he got upset.”
The teacher peered at the paper, no doubt taking in the headline—I’m Gay. So What?—before he raised an eyebrow at Anthony, his nostrils flaring in disgust.
“I figured the principal might want to see that,” the redhead continued. “For context.”
“Thank you,” the teacher replied. “What’s your name, young man?”
“Troy Mitchell, sir.”
“Very well, Troy. We’ll take it from here.”
“Best of luck Graham,” Troy said. “Sorry I couldn’t stop that guy from attacking you.”
“That’snotwhat happened,” Anthony snarled.
“What did I say?” the teacher chastised. “Not another word out of either of you! Let’s go.”
Troy waited until the teacher had turned his back before flashing a victorious smile. What an asshole! Anthony fumed all the way to the principal’s office, which he had visited only briefly before, usually to drop off a doctor’s note or similar. Now he had plenty of time to soak it all in, because after he and Graham were directed to seats on the opposite sides of the room, a grueling wait began. Even the security guard left after sticking around long enough to ensure nothing else would happen, although the receptionist continued to watch them with a disapproving air. Anthony mostly ignored Graham, who didn’t seem eager to interact with him either, although he did leap on the opportunity when the receptionist became distracted by a call.
“I’m going to kill you, faggot,” Graham murmured.
“Are you sure you don’t want to fuck me instead?” Anthony replied. “Because you seem awfully fixated on the whole gay thing.”
Graham scowled in response, but quickly hid his disdain when Principal Preckwinkle strolled into the room. She was a short and stout woman with large round glasses and a wig of blond curls. A copy of Anthony’s article was in her hand. He could tell from the perforated edges. Preckwinkle peered at them both before gesturing for Anthony to stand.
“In my office, Mr. Cullen,” she snapped.
Good! That meant he got to tell his side of things first, which had to be an advantage. Especially since Graham wasn’t the most eloquent guy. Anthony followed her down a short hall to a small office. The only decorations on the wall were framed diplomas and an anti-drug poster. He sat in one of the two chairs facing her desk and waited. Preckwinkle got settled, placed his article before her, and considered him with an expression that was anything but friendly.
“Tell me what happened.”
“Graham punched me,” he said, cutting to the chase.
Instead of expressing shock or sympathy, she asked, “Why?”
“Does it really matter?” he asked.
She raised her eyebrows at this. “Did you provoke him?”
