Page 44 of Until Nalia
“Sure,” I whisper while he lets me go, then in a blink, he’s gone with the door chiming behind him.
Twelve
LOGAN
I pull into the parking lot for one of the small shopping malls in the middle of town, and Coop, who has been slumped over in his seat since we got into my jeep after leaving the school, sits up and looks out the window. When I arrived to talk to the vice principal, he was sitting in the office with his chin to his chest and his face red. I could tell with one look that he wasn’t angry; he was embarrassed. He doesn’t look embarrassed anymore; he looks on the verge of tears.
“What are we doing here?” he asks when I slide into a parking spot in front of Drizzles and shut down the engine.
“Getting ice cream, come on,” I open my door and get out, then wait for him at the hood. It takes him a minute to follow me, but eventually he meets me on the sidewalk. Placing my hand on his back, I open the door to the shop, and the girl behind the counter greets us with an exuberant hello. After giving her a smile, we make our way to the back, and I hand one of the cups to Coop, then grab one for myself before scanning the flavors of frozen yogurt they have lining the wall, while he does the same.
It takes him a few minutes to settle on vanilla and chocolate, and he doesn’t load it up with the usual gummy candies, sprinkles, and cookies that he normally would. I don’t say anything, I pay, and then lead him back outside. Taking a seat at one of the tables near the door, I settle in and study him as he moves around the ice cream with his spoon. Without a doubt, he’s scared, and probably confused about why I’m not losing my shit. I know for sure he’s upset about getting into trouble when he’s never been in trouble, not at school.
“Alright, bud, talk to me,” I say, and he lifts his head but doesn’t meet my gaze. “I’m not angry with you.” Should I be? Maybe. But after speaking with the vice principal and getting the story from her, I can’t find it in myself to be mad. I’ve raised my kids to stand up for people who are weaker than them, to do the right thing even when it’s uncool, and, above anything else, to be good people. And from what was explained to me, he was standing up for someone who was being bullied and got into a fight when the other kid wouldn’t stop throwing around derogatory slurs. Although the school might not think that his reaction was the right one in that situation, in my mind and knowing my kid, I’m gonna guess that he didn’t feel like he had a choice. Was it the right one? That’s up to interpretation.
“I lost my temper.”
“Yeah,” I agree, and he rubs his lips together. “Do you want to explain what happened?” Dropping his eyes to his cup of frozen yogurt, I see his chin wobble.
“Matthew was calling David names.”
I nod, letting him know I heard him. I got that much from the principal, and I also found out that Matthew’s only real punishment was the black eye Coop gave him. Now that I’m pissed about, especially knowing Matthew’s recent history. But apparently, since the teachers didn’t hear him spewing shit, it’s his word against Coop’s and his friends’, so they can’t hold him accountable.
I’m also gonna guess that his lack of repercussions has to do with Matthew’s parents and the fact that the school doesn’t want to deal with his mom. It’s fucked, but I’ve come to find out that people find it easier to give the loudest people a grace they wouldn’t allow someone else because they don’t want to deal with the fallout.
“He wouldn’t stop even after David told him to.” He lifts his eyes to mine. “When David started crying, I told Matthew to leave him alone, but he just kept saying stuff, and I got mad and shoved him.” His jaw clenches. “He shoved me back, that’s when I hit him, and the teacher came.”
“Do you think hitting him was the right thing to do?”
“I don’t know.” He lifts his shoulders. “Probably not.”
“You know you don’t put your hands on people.”
“I know, I just…” He lifts his shoulders again. “I got mad.”
“I get that,” I tell him softly, and his gaze meets mine. “But it doesn’t change the fact that you put your hands on him, and you did it first. You weren’t protecting yourself from someone attacking you.”
“I know.” I watch tears fill his eyes, and the sight of them fucking cuts me wide open. “Am I grounded?”
“Do you think I should ground you?”
“Maybe.”
Yeah, maybe, but I’m at a loss for what to do in this moment.
Fuck.
Being a parent is hard, and raising kids while trying to navigate this world is exhausting when there are no guidelines. Did he fuck up by putting his hands on someone, doing it first, and out of anger? Yeah. But I can understand his reaction, even if it was the wrong one.
“I’ll talk to your mom and see what she thinks.”
“Great,” he mumbles. “She’s going to be mad at me.”
“I don’t think she’ll be mad, but she will probably be disappointed.”
“That’s worse.”
It is worse. Growing up, I’d rather my parents yell at me then tell me they were disappointed. But it was during those times I learned the biggest lessons. Knowing you let the people you respect down is a harsher punishment then being grounded or spanked, which is not something I never experienced or have done with my kids.
