The office of Principal Peter Johnson, a usually quiet affair, is thick with the ear-ringing tension of two school children sitting across from his desk.

To his left is an eighth-grader named Sally. Her well-kept blonde hair has turned messy from the floor of the school bus. She holds firm an ice pack against her eye, which has a growing purple swelling around it. Her face has turned red from anger, and her eyes burn holes in everything she looks at. To stir her anger even further, her favorite shirt is dirtied; it is pink and has bubbles on it.

To the right side of Mr. Johnson is a seventh-grader named Billy. He is chubby with short brown hair. His glasses have thick plastic frames with lenses that are only half as thick. The knuckles from his right hand are red. Billy is staring off into nothingness, completely disassociating himself from the reality surrounding him. Mr. Johnson types away on the computer beside him before turning his worn-out office chair to face the two.

Mr. Johnson can barely get a word out before Sally switches the hand holding her ice pack and points directly at Billy, her fingertip mere inches from his face. Billy flinches, partially breaking from his trance. 

“He did it!” Sally cries. “He’s the one you want! What he did to me was awful and he should get, like, the worst punishment you have!”

Mr. Johnson takes a deep breath. “Alright Sally, if you could just slow down and recap what happened earlier today, we could coordinate… something.”

“Well, I was sitting on the bus today talking with my best friend Jackie when HE tore me from my seat and punched me in the eye over and over again. He was unstoppable! He was a bloodthirsty animal! A freak! I want him gone and away from me!”

Mr. Johnson sits there, his lips pressed into his hands, managing eye contact with Sally, before turning toward Billy. “Do you want to add anything?” he asks.

Billy’s lips are pursed, his eyes condensating.

“Okay,” says Mr. Johnson, massaging his temple.

A look of exasperation washes over Sally’s face. “Are you not going to do anything? Why aren’t you doing anything?”

Mr. Johnson holds up his hand. “I’m trying to hear both sides. I don’t want to jump to any conclusions here.”

Sally removes the ice pack from her face and points with ferocity at the black and blue spread over the area around her eye. “This is your conclusion! You don’t need to hear it from anyone else! This is assault! My dad’s a lawyer and my mom’s a cop. They could have you arrested and dirt-poor in a week. Even though you already are, let’s be honest.”

Billy looks up and wipes his nose. “We all know that isn’t true,” he remarks.

Sally and Mr. Johnson look at the boy with confusion.

“I’ve seen your house, Sally, while bike riding,” he continues. “It’s smaller than mine.”

Sally’s mouth forms an “O” shape. “Oh, so you’re stalking me now!”

“Not stalking, just generally observant.” Billy wipes his eyes. “A lot of people tend to leave their drapes open when they’re home. Sometimes people take quick glances inside and… you know, you can tell a lot from someone just by glancing at their living room furniture.”

“Oh yeah, what could you say about me?”

“Less than perfect. That unhappiness probably explains a lot.”

“What might that explain?” Mr. Johnson cuts in.

Billy turns to face the principal. “Have you ever been harassed, Mr. Johnson?”

“I’d say so. As a former Navy seal, a lot of people aren’t happy with what I’ve done overseas.” Mr. Johnson admits.

“And what would that be?” Billy inquires.

“Absolutely nothing.”

“Exactly. You and me, we’re quite similar.”

“You punched someone. This could get you in serious trouble.”

“I know, but I just want you to know that I feel regret for my actions, Mr. Johnson. I was pushed to the absolute brink of my own… anxieties, shall we put it.”

Mr. Johnson reclines in his office chair. Billy, a kid who has fallen under the radar, a kid who is viewed as quiet and “out there” by his peers and teachers. What could he possibly be on about? As he ponders the situation that hides a second layer under its skin, Billy pulls out his phone and scavenges through it like a man trying to find a grail in his inbox.

“You’re not supposed to have your phone out,” says Mr. Johnson.

Billy holds up his pointer finger, his gaze barely retreating from his screen. “I know, it’ll be just a moment.”

Billy taps a bit more on his phone before showing the screen to the principal. The thumbnail is a blurry shot of bus seats, possibly mid-movement from pocket to subject.

“My friend texted this to me a bit ago,” Billy mutters, urging the principal to take his phone. “I feel like this could explain where I’m coming from, Mr. Johnson.”

Mr. Johnson takes the phone from his hand but before he can play the video, Sally leans forward and snatches the phone from his callused hands. Billy tries to take his phone back as Sally, whose chin sits above his forehead, holds the phone over her head. Mr. Johnson only stares in shock as Billy pushes against Sally’s bruised eye, which distracts her enough for him to take his phone back and toss it at the confused principal.

“Sit down, the both of you!” Mr. Johnson cries after catching the phone in his chest.

Billy places himself calmly back onto his seat as Sally stares daggers at the side of his well-kept hair.

“I am not going to sit here and watch as you two paw at each other! This is a school, not a prison yard. Get your heads in the game!” says Mr. Johnson as he readjusts his tie and opens Billy’s phone.

“Sorry,” Billy and Sally say in unison.

Mr. Johnson looks at the two for a short moment before redirecting his attention toward Billy’s phone in his hands. He presses play and is immediately met with the cacophony of other middle schoolers conversing with each other about mundane things. Did you hear about this one thing someone did? Have you played this yet? Dude, you gotta watch this movie, it’s sick! Normal things like that.

The person filming isn’t concerned with whatever everyone else is talking about. Rather, the camera is focused on approaching the back of the bus. Moving past staring eyes and whispers about other things, the camera reaches what it is gunning for. Billy. He sits at the back of the bus, staring idly out the window at people and houses whirring by. His head rests at the rim of his hand near his wrist, burrowing a mark in it.

“Hey!” calls a taunting voice behind the camera. Sally.

In the video, Billy looks up from the window, but the moment he locks eyes with her, his look sours, and his head quickly turns away.

“Hey, dummy! Are you sitting at the back of the bus because nobody likes you? Or are you back here because you’re so ugly that you’ll make everyone’s eyes melt with how ugly you look?”

For the next minute, Sally berates Billy, getting into every single insecurity he has, he doesn’t have, obvious lies, possible truths that he didn’t want to get into, even a quote she pulled from a really old YouTube video that was scathing to say even today.

The entire time, Billy just sits there taking it all in. His gaze to the outside never breaks, but Mr. Johnson can see his eyes beginning to water and his lips tense. Billy is trying so hard not to react, and it is apparent he isn’t succeeding. Aside from his face, he barely even musters a look as Sally continues to pester him with awful jabs.

Sally stands there, completely unmoving, and starting to get extremely furious at Billy’s lack of reaction to her words. She takes one step forward and shouts, “Why aren’t you saying anything, you fucking retard?”

This sets Billy off. It takes two frames of footage for Billy to fly at her. He jumps out of his seat, smacks the phone out of her hands, and knocks her to the ground. The bus falls completely silent. Her phone is positioned in a way so that all it gets is her feet and the legs of the bus seats. Mr. Johnson listens as he hears three distinct hits before Billy gets up, walks back to his seat, and cries mournful tears.

Mr. Johnson looks up from Billy’s phone and stares at the kid. Billy looks at the principal with moist, reddened eyes. “I lost my grandfather yesterday,” he says, nearly choking himself with emotion. “I watched him take his final breath before I had to leave. I could’ve stayed home, sure, but I wouldn’t have felt right. I care about my education, Mr. Johnson. Many of my teachers should’ve told you this.”

Mr. Johnson leans forward. “Billy-”

“And this wasn’t even the first time she’s done this!” Billy pointed at Sally, whose face begins to show guilt. “For several months, I had to deal with her… nonsense before I had the nerve to take my anger and grief out on her. I didn’t want to do it! I swear on both of my parents, Mr. Johnson! But I have seen this kind of behavior before!”

“Billy-”

“My grandfather, the dead one, was bullied just like how she’s been doing it. The same goes with my father. You know, he always said, ‘don’t fight back,’ and I listened! Violence never got anybody anywhere but this was the first time any one of my family laid hands like I have done today. Now, we could get into the semantics of all of this, but if I have to-”

“Billy!”

Mr. Johnson’s words had turned to frustration as the disheveled seventh-grader kept going but, reading the situation, Billy stopped.

“I understand how you feel, but you can’t just start hitting people! What would your parents think?” Mr. Johnson pulls out a document and writes something down. “I’m giving you four weeks of detention, starting today. Now get back to class.”

Billy takes the document and stands up from his chair. “I understand,” he mutters before shaking Mr. Johnson’s hand and walking out of his office to head to his eighth period class.

Sally watches him leave, the ice pack in her hand reduced it to a numb sensation in her limb, but before she can thank the principal for his cooperation in the situation, Mr. Johnson clears his throat, bringing her attention back to his face. The bags under his eyes compliment his five-o’clock shadow, but Sally doesn’t want to say it out loud.

“As for you,” he starts. “This has to be the most awful thing that has ever been brought to my attention. What kind of sick person do you have to be to think this is okay? Did those seminars teach you nothing? Jesus Christ, at least have some dignity with yourself, Sally!”

Mr. Johnson rests his elbows on his desk and pinches his eyes. Sally’s eyes dart between the principal and the door to his office. She does this for what feels like eons before the principal takes a deep breath.

“Alright, look,” Mr. Johnson says, knocking Sally out of her anxiety-fueled rhythm. “If Billy was to be believed, I’m not going to expel or suspend you. However, I am giving you detention for the rest of the year here, and I am removing you from the cheer squad. Take your belongings and head back to class.”

Sally takes a deep breath. “Okay,” is all she can muster.

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featured image graphic by EMILY STEPHENS