Page 83 of My First Kiss

“Thank you, Mr. Prescott. We’ll see you then.”

She ends the call without saying goodbye, which is just plain rude in any society. I stand there for several seconds trying to think of a reason Ella might have been fighting, but I can’t think of anything that would cause her to be violent. She’s just not like that. Something extreme must have happened to cause her to act in such a way. I need to talk to Ella to find out what it was.

I find my foreman and let him know I’m taking off for the rest of the day for a family emergency. He’s competent and capable of running things without me there to babysit and he tells me just that when I ask him if the crew will be okay without me. I laugh as I leave him to it. I know my crew will be fine without me there to supervise them. They’re hard workers and they strive for perfection—or close to it. It’s why I handpicked each one of them for this job. I knew they wouldn’t let me down.

I wrack my brain as I drive across town to Ella’s school, trying to think of something that would draw her into a fight. I still can’t come up with anything. I can’t even picture Ella fighting. It’s not like I’m one of those fathers who thinks their kid can do no wrong. If the school had called to tell me that Ella was in trouble for convincing her classmates to sneak lizards inside from the playground, I’d have believed it. But fighting just doesn’t sound like her.

By the time I park my truck in front of the school, I’m almost convinced there’s been a case of mistaken identity. Or someone got the story wrong. Maybe other kids were fighting, and Ella tried to break it up. Or maybe she was standing up to a bully who was picking on another kid. That, I can almost believe. When I walk into the front office and see my daughter sitting in one of the plastic chairs, arms crossed and an angry scowl on her face, I start to reconsider my stance. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her look so angry.

When she sees me, her expression shifts to one that’s slightly more nervous and less angry. But I can still see the anger simmering in her eyes. I don’t see any signs of injury. She looks perfectly fine, aside from her obvious anger. That’s when I notice another kid seated in a chair on the opposite side of the waiting area. He’s holding a napkin to his nose that’s spotted with red. Blood. I quickly fill in the gaps. Ella hit another kid.

I sigh.Shit.

I walk over to where she’s sitting and peer down at her.

“You okay?” I ask in a low voice.

She nods but doesn’t say anything.

“Mr. Prescott?”

I look up to see an older woman behind the counter. She’s giving me an expectant look which I suppose means I need to walk over and talk to her instead of my daughter.Double shit.There have been a few times since I’ve become a father in which I've been reminded just how unqualified I am for the job. This feels like one of those times. I’m supposed to be mature enough to handle a talk with the principal? I’m not sure I’m ready for this. But I give the woman a small smile and approach the desk as if I know what I’m supposed to be doing.

“Hi, I’m Ella’s dad,” I say, trying for a friendly tone.

“I know who you are, Mr. Prescott,” the woman replies without smiling. “Come with me.”

I glance back to where Ella is still sitting. “What about her?”

“The principal would like to meet with each parent one-on-one before bringing the children in,” she says, turning to walk down a hallway located behind the large counter. I turn back to Ella.

“I’ll be right back,” I say, trying to reassure her. I still don’t know what happened today or why that other kid is bleeding, but Ella looks scared now, and I can’t stand that look in her eyes.

“It’s going to be okay,” I tell her. She nods, but I can tell she’s still worried.

I turn and follow the other woman down the hall to an office at the end. The door is open and seated inside is a man who I’d guess to be maybe 10 years older than me. He’s seated behind a large, mahogany desk with a name placard on it that declares him to be Principal Ramirez. He gives me a brief smile when I enter.

“Mr. Prescott,” he says, gesturing toward one of the empty seats. “Take a seat, please.”

I nod and do as he says. I don’t care how old I get or how far removed from school, there’s something nerve-wracking about being sent to the principal’s office. Principal Ramirez looks like a nice enough guy, but he still represents an authority figure that young me was always trying to avoid. It seems adult me isn't any more inclined to spend time with the principal.

“What happened?” I ask, unable to think of another way to phrase the question.

Mr. Ramirez sighs and folds his hands on the top of the desk. “Your daughter punched a boy in the nose during recess this morning.”

He says it quickly and matter-of-factly, as though he’s ripping off a band aid. My shock must show on my face because he nods before continuing.

“That’s what I thought too,” he says. “Mr. Prescott, I know every kid in my school. I know the ones who like to cause trouble and the ones who don’t. Ella isn’t a troublemaker. Which is why I wanted to try and get to the bottom of what might have caused her to act in a way that’s clearly out of character for her.”

I nod at his assessment of Ella, but I’m just as confused as he is by this behavior. “And you’re sure it was Ella?”

He nods. “There were several dozen witnesses,” he says. “And Ella isn’t denying it. I even gave her ice for her hand, but I don’t think she needed it. Girl can throw a punch.”

I will not feel proud of that statement. I will not feel proud of that statement.

“Did she say why she hit the other kid?” I ask.

Mr. Ramirez looks a little uncomfortable now. “I think he was saying some things to her that she didn’t like. Playground teasing. That sort of thing.”

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