Normal Things (Tate Langdon FanFiction)

Chapter Fifteen:

I was sitting in a chair, waiting outside of the principal's office, my hand wrapped in a damp towel, the whiteness of it slowly being stained with the pink-red color of my blood.

Finny was seated three chairs down from me, holding an ice pack to her mouth, the brown paper towel soaking through with her blood. Her cheek was already beginning to bruise. She cast a poisonous glare at me, but I ignored her.

After ten minutes of silence, Mrs. Harper, the vice principal, came out of the principal's office and ushered Finny inside, looking at me with a look like appreciation. I nod at her, purse my lips, and return my attention to staring at a discolored spot on the floor.

I could hear Finny yelling through the walls, only to silence moments later with a whimper, her hand probably going to cup her cheek where I had socked her. All I remembered was winding back my left arm and feeling Finny's teeth biting into the soft skin of my knuckles. I uncovered my hand, looking down and assessing the damage.

Of my four knuckles, three were bleeding. The fourth was pink and bruising quickly. A large bruise was decorating the skin above my wrist, off-centered and nasty. I'd forgotten that she had swung at me with a book and I had deflected the hit with my hand. I wiped gently at my bleeding knuckles, noting that pieces of skin was peeling away, and listened as Finny hit the climax of her bitch fit.

"THAT BITCH HIT ME!!!!" she yelled, loud enough that three girls walking at the end of the hallway looked over with looks of confusion. I could hear Mrs. Harper and the principal trying to reason with her, telling her to lower her voice. I could also hear Finny whimpering.

I wrap up my bleeding and again, resting it in my lap.

Minutes later, Finny stalks out, accompanied by the vice principal, who shoos her away and calls me in. I stand and follow her inside.

Mr. Crandall has been my principal for almost six years and it never ceased to amaze me how old he was. He looked like a wrinkled up white bed sheet, with a puff of fuzz growing from both sides of his head. When I stepped into his office, he took off his thick bottle glasses and huffed onto them, rubbing them on his button-up shirt.

Mrs. Harper closes the door and we both take the empty seats in front of the principal's desk. For a moment, we sat in silence, watching as Mr. Crandall polished his lenses.

Mrs. Harper cleared her throat and folded her hands in her lap, crossing her legs and smoothing the invisible wrinkles from her pencil skirt. I look at her, look at Mr. Crandall, and adjust my towel, feeling as it dragged painfully over sensitive, new skin. I suck in a sharp breath and the principal dons his polished glasses.

"Now," he said in a voice that sounded like creaking wood, "why did you hit that girl?'

I didn't say anything for a few minutes. I watched wondering how a man so old could possibly still be alive. Mrs. Harper clears her throat again.

"Ms. Andrews, please answer the question."

I look at her and then back to Mr. Crandall. "I hit her because she deserved it."

The head and vice principal stared inquisitively at me. I sigh and recount what happened.

I told them of what she said to me, how her speech was disgusting and provocative. After I'd hit her the first time, she had retaliated, clawing at me, yanking hair. I'd pushed her off, planning on just leaving, but she had swung at me with a text book, which I blocked and acquired this lovely bruise. I'd hit her a second time, this time in the teeth, which is how I wrecked my knuckles. One of Grant's cronies had tried to cut in, but the History teacher had pushed him away and sent both Finny and me to the office.