My principal, Mr. Moorman, otherwise known as Napoleon, the name of a pig from a book called animal farm. He had a few straggly bits of grey hair that were plastered to his head by sweat. He had beady, watery blue eyes, a snub nose and chubby round cheeks. He had six fat, sausage-like fingers that he drummed on his round stomach constantly. His smooth, sweat slick skin was stretched too tightly. And of course the feature that led to his nickname was the colour of his skin. It was a undeniable pink. As I looked at him now, his resemblance to the animal was obvious. He was sitting too close to his desk and it cut into his bulging stomach. It didn't look comfortable but he didn't seem to notice, he was sucking something off his fingers. He didn't seem to notice me either. I coughed but he was distracted by the gross slurping noise and my nose wrinkled in disgust. I coughed again, louder this time and his eyes swivelled in my direction. I felt uncomfortable under his gaze. It was different to Flame's smouldering stare. Napoleon looked at me as if I was food.
"Ah Ebony, I was looking for you,"
He moved the half eaten chocolate box to the side with one hand and he held the other out to me. I shook it reluctantly, his handshake was warm and sticky, and I resisted the urge to not immediately wipe it on my jeans.
"Yep," I said trying to sound upbeat but it came out shaky and my voice changed octaves halfway through.
"You seem a little tense, relax, you're not in any trouble." This did nothing to calm my nerves but I forced a smile anyway.
"You're dad is the one in trouble," he said giving a chuckle.
My eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
"What?"
"Your father landed himself in a spot of bother, the police will explain more I expect,"
The police?
"W-what?" I stuttered.
"Yes, they contacted me to bring you to them, but as I have more important matters to attend to-" I saw him eyeing the box of chocolates. "My assistant will escort you,"
He clears his voice.
"Amy!"
An attractive, young, blond woman appeared out of the adjoined room.
The woman motioned for me to follow her and I did. I heard chocolate wrappers crinkling as I closed the door.
My escort directed me to her car, a pretty, red thing. When I got in I was hit with a strong perfume. So strong, my eyes started to water. Amy hummed to herself as she started the car. I fidgeted in my seat. I wasn't used to cars, my dad didn't own one. I can't remember if my mum did, all my memories of her were a blur. A colourful, cheerful blur. She left when I was eight and I blocked out most thoughts about her. I was still confused about my feeling towards her. I convinced most of myself that I hate her. She left me to deal with my mess of a father and never even visited me. But there's still that tiny piece of me that misses her. Me and that piece disagree a lot.
My thoughts turned to my father. My drunk, violent father.
What did he do this time?
The car ride was relatively silent, aside from Amy's humming that got on my nerves roughly three seconds after it began. She didn't seem like much of a talker, which I was very grateful for, I needed some time to sort out my thoughts. I had to comfort myself. My dad had committed minor crimes before, shoplifting mainly. This was normal in Marybrook, where everyone had a few petty crimes to their name.
The gravel crunched as a greeting when we rolled up to the police station. The squat grey building looked daunting. It had dark marks that stained the stone under the windows, giving the impression that the building was crying.
Amy clicked her tongue and shook her head then beckoned me.
The reception room had mustard colored walls and grey plastic chairs that were lined against a wall. There was a desk against the other wall. A young woman with frizzy brown hair and freckles dotted across her face sat there, sorting through a box of files.
Amy walked over and rapped her nails on the wooden surface.
"I'm here to drop off this one," she jerked her head towards me.
It was the first time I heard her speak and she had a surprisingly low, dry voice.
The woman gave me a bored glance. "Name?"
Since Amy didn't seem inclined to speak again unless it was absolutely necessary, I spoke up.
"Ebony Whister,"
The woman tapped a few keys on her computer and nodded slowly.
"Yes, I see, you can go through that door. She pointed to one of the battered doors that led off this room.
"Go to room number seven," She said before turning back to the box of files.
I turned to Amy, but it seemed as if her duties ended here. She gave me a single curt nod and left.
