Fake Me To Church

Chapter 1.2 - The Prodigy Son

- STEVEN -

I got sent to the office after inciting that little uprising in psych class.

Not like I cared.

This made my sixth trip to the office since August, when senior year'd started.

I knew my dad wouldn't be happy. He'd probably hock some crap about how I should apologize to Carl, or maybe he'd try to guilt me into being a better person by saying I should take my status as heir to the church seriously. He'd spit out a bunch of empty words, and then he'd "request" that the principal drop this incident from my school record. The principal would complain, maybe whine about how all the clean slates she kept giving me weren't setting a good example—and then she'd do precisely what my dad asked.

I'd have to go home and listen to my father whine about how a man of God was supposed to be above reproach, maybe nod my head a few times so he felt like he was getting through to me. But honestly, we both knew the score. 

Dad was wasting his breath.

I walked into the principal's office and winked at the secretary, Ms. Fest. She rolled her eyes, but I just chuckled. For someone with such a massive pole up her butt, she's actually pretty cute.

"Nice to see you again, Mr. Hall," she sneered. "I'm afraid Principal Turner is out of the office at the moment."

"Bummer." I puffed out my lower lip. "And here I was hoping to hear another of her world-famous lectures." I fished the write-up slip out of my pocket and slid it across the table. "Put this on her desk, would you? Oh, and say hi to the kids for me." I winked again.

Just as I turned to leave, Principal Turner walked in the room through the door behind Ms. Fest's desk. At her heels was this olive-skinned kid with a nametag that read Ahmed. His eyes were wide, his face young—must've been a freshman.

"Who's the Muslim?" I blurted. "I thought this was a Christian school."

Principal Turner rolled her eyes. "And this is Steven Hall," she announced to Ahmed, gesturing toward me. "Pastor's son, basketball star, and bombastic brute extraordinaire. He's such a good student that he visits me at least twice a month." She turned to face me. "What've you done this time, Mr. Hall?"

I motioned to the write-up slip I'd given Ms. Fest. "It's on the slip. I'm pretty sure you still know how to read, and I'm way too hungry to deal with this right now." I pushed past her and Ahmed, bumping his shoulder as I walked.

"See you at lunch, Osama."

As I headed for the lunchroom, I faintly heard Principal Turner apologizing to Ahmed for my "unacceptable behavior" and promising him that all the students at this school weren't as "given to such uncouth remarks" as I was.

I chuckled. It was just a joke. Kid needs to lighten up.

Lunch was one of my favorite times of the day. No tests, no classwork, no stupid presentations—just fun with the bros. 

Passing through the line, I grabbed a hefty chicken sandwich and a smattering fries, then picked up a small salad plate and topped it with cheese and Ranch dressing. I rounded out my balanced meal with Gatorade from the cooler at the front of the line, swiping my student card and brushing past the smiling lunch lady to head to my usual table.

My girlfriend Grace was already there, and I was about to go sneak a kiss when I saw that Indian guy Ahmed come steal the seat next to her.

What the...?

She turned to him and smiled, and he reached inside his backpack for something. I slammed my lunch tray down on a nearby table, then stomped up behind the two of them.