PART I: BAD BOYS GET PUNISHED
"Close the door behind you," he said. He looked like he could have been a fireman in his younger days. That's because he was large with a big body frame. Perhaps he had been in-shape at one point but now he was a decidedly heavyset man. Because firemen, when they reach a certain age and become fire chiefs and sit behind desks instead of running into burning buildings, well, they tend to let themselves go. And they all have mustaches. And this man, he was a large, overweight man with a mustache. But he never had been a fireman. He had been a teacher. And now he was a principal.
Peter closed the door behind him.
"Sit down," the gray mustached man, Principal Kelly, instructed.
Peter sat down. Earlier in the day, Peter had pummeled two kids senseless in the boy's bathroom. He stuck one of their heads in the toilet and flushed it. Peter was known for being the type not to mess with, partly because of his age, mostly because of his attitude. He was a real badass.
"Do you want to tell me what happened?"
Peter stared at the burly man on the other side of the desk and said nothing. Then he stretched his jeaned legs forward, crossed them, turned his head to the side and rolled his eyes; the type of move a James Dean might pull were he caught up in the same circumstances.
"You don't want to tell me? That's okay. I already know. Nurse Steiner is in the other room bandaging up one of the boys you attacked."
"Had it comin'," Peter mumbled.
"I'm sure he did, I'm sure he did." Mr. Kelly's tone thus far was not what Peter had expected. Not strict. Not stern. Somewhat bemused. Perhaps a bit condescending.
"You do realize that because of your age... those boy's parents have a right to go to the police? I'll bet you hadn't thought of that."
Peter hadn't thought of that.
"Up until today it was just graffiti, talking back to teachers... but now you've got yourself in a real pickle. Oh my, yes you have, Peter. You might be facing assault charges. And that doesn't mean detention, or a light vacation in juvie. No, Peter. Not at your age. At your age, if convicted, that means prison time. And do you know what happens to young, skinny men like you in prison?"
Peter un-stretched his jeaned legs and pulled them back to a regular sitting stance. Principal Kelly had gotten his attention.
"Peter... you're 19-years-old. You should have graduated two years ago. Now you're an adult in a child's world pretending to still be a child. But you've gone too far this time. You've seriously hurt those boys. And there are consequences for this type of destructive behavior."
There was still something off about his voice. There was a lilt to it, and Peter couldn't understand why, unless the old coot was just so happy to finally be able to get rid of him.
"Now... this is the important part, Peter. Peter: the perennial high schooler. I can either call up the boys' parents and let them know that you will be dealt with, sternly. Let them know that there will be serious repercussions for your actions. Assure them that I will personally handle the matter. And maybe, just maybe, that will satisfy them and they won't feel the need to reach out to involve any type of law enforcement agencies.
Or... I can not make that call. And you can end up as prison meat."
He left it at that. He left it floating. He wasn't out and out grinning, but the far edges of his mouth were slightly curled upward. Peter stared forward in bewilderment, knowing full well there was something here that wasn't added up. Mr. Kelly sat, pleasant expression, hands folded and resting on his desk. Peter continued to stare at him. It was almost now as if they were playing a game of chicken... neither one breaking the silence. It was a power play. Finally, Peter gave in.
"I don't understand. You're going to call them and tell them not to call the cops on me? Not to press charges?"
"That's right," said a slightly smug Principal Kelly, taking satisfaction in winning the war of silence.
Peter studied the floor, a moment of reflection, and then looked up. "But why is that? I mean, what are the serious repercussions?"
"Peter... for too long you've strutted through these hallowed halls like you own the place. Like you were some sort of alpha male, top dog. A hoodlum king. This isn't a back alley though Peter, this is a place of education. All of your outrageous posturing and backtalk has caused so many disruptions... I get complaints from teachers about you daily. Quite frankly, your attitude has to change. And I," Kelly smiled, "I happen to be an attitude adjuster."
Peter wondered what he meant.
"You see, in the case of minor infractions like missing homeworks, too many tardy slips, a day or two of playing hooky, writing on bathroom stalls... well, detentions were in order. Notes home to your parents. Conferences with social workers. But this latest outburst... oh my. We're way past all that. This, this calls for something a bit more drastic."
"Like what?"
"Like what? Like a good old fashioned spanking, Peter. Like the kind your father should have been giving you all along." Peter had no father. At least, not one he had ever known. "You need to be put over someone's knee and spanked like the petulant child you are."
"No way. You can't be serious."
"For the past several years you've insulted us... your educators. Your teachers, your guidance counselors, your principals, the nurses here, Ms. May, my secretary... you've given us all lip. You've gone out of your way to be defiant. To be snide and rude and crude. But now the tide has turned. You're past your prime Peter. You've been retained twice, and we're at the midway point of this school year and your grades are still just as low as they've ever been. At this rate you will never receive a high school diploma unless I pull the strings to make it so. And if you don't get a high school diploma, never mind not going to college... you can say goodbye to ever holding down a decent job in any capacity anywhere in town. Which means no money, no family. Which means a shopping cart full of your belongings and wearing piss stained pants while you waste away on the side of the road begging for pennies and hot dog buns. Basically, the quality of the entire rest of your life lies in my hands, Peter. Let that sink in."
Peter let it sink in. He imagined himself shuffling around the neighborhood, the town derelict, the Hoodie of the next generation. Hoodie was the obese homeless man who hung down at the train station. Peter had spent many an afternoon throwing empty soda cans at Hoodie, laughing as Hoodie mumbled loudly and incoherently in response to the torment.
"So what's it going to be, Peter? Possible prison sentence followed by a wasted, aimless life? Or one final shot at making something of yourself? A or B? Spanking or no spanking?"
A moment passed. Principal Kelly finally had him right where he wanted him. Peter's head lowered. "The spanking, sir," he mumbled.
