2
The sound of kids playing was in the air. Well, faintly, among the sound of ambulances, police cars, and gunshots.
Antonio's math class ended. It was break time, and he had gotten an A. He was walking out of the building and into the blind-white of the atmosphere. On his left, he could hear two kids, one girl, one boy, playing what seemed to be hopscotch by what Tony could make out. They looked like kindergartners.
"Okay, what comes after 3?" Said the girl dressed in her purple coat with a dark pink sweater under it, and a blue hat with black boots.
"Uh, 5?" Replied the boy who hesitantly hopped over on the square marked 5. The girl shook her head, "Wrong again, Michael!"
Michael looked like he dropped his icecream. "Fooey!" He shouted at the sky, stomping his foot.
Tony was amused at this scene. Little innocents, trying to figure out what seemed like the basics to him, but to them, it was trying to figure out the answer to ending the war with Vietnam.
The thought of Vietnam made the sweater and coat he was wearing feel nonexistent. The wind shivered his spine to the core.
Given that, he started to think of his brother. How he hoped he had at least brought a scarf with him to battle the cold as well as the communists. He didn't want him to freeze to death before he could see him again. After all, it had been 5 years since they last saw each other. He hadn't written to them in months, and Tony was starting to get very worried. If Vinny was hurt, his army mates would write to them, right? It turned Tony's stomach to think his brother might be...
WHACK! Went something upside his head. The biting cold and the pressure of whatever hit him made him snap his head in the direction it came from very aggressively.
"Who threw that?" He snapped, yelling so loudly every kid on campus looked at him.
As he searched the campus with the rapid movements of his eyes, he could see a boy, about his age, holding his stomach and filled with laughter.
Tony trotted towards the boy with a deadly look in his eyes. The boy wiped his eyes and, through his laughs, managed to say, "Boy, was that gol—" before his sentence was cut short by a vicious blow to the left eye.
Some kids screamed, while others covered half their faces. Some even made ugly faces and muttered, "Ooh!". Some turned the other way.
The boy's friends hurried over to him and Tony, while the boy himself was knocked out cold, IN the cold. His nose was bleeding.
"You monster!" One of two of the friends screamed at Tony. Tony was massaging his fist, which also had a little blood on it.
One of them put the passed out boy's arm on his shoulder and carried him away by himself, while the one who screamed at Tony stayed.
"You shouldn'tve messed with my friend. You don't know who you're dealing with!" Said the friend again.
Tony finally met his eyes with the other pair of eyes. Inside of them, though, was absolutely black.
The boy stumbled back at the sight of this blank look. "Yo-You'll pay for this!" He called as he started to run in the opposite direction.
Tony scoffed, though underlyingly afraid of them telling the principal. At the sound of the bell, he went back inside for Science, his least favorite subject. He wasn't bad at it, it just didn't intrigue him as much. Thinking about what the kid's friend said, about not having the knowledge of who he was, weighed on him. Why would it matter what the idiot is to me? Thought Tony as he made his way up the exterior building stairs. He had to be careful, the snow crowded every step.
Entering the building again, he scanned the hall for Class 509, Science. While he was doing that, a hand had laid itself on his shoulder, colder than the winter's wind.
Slowly, he rounded on what he met as the school principal, who was as red as a tomato. He had a detective moustache that covered his top lip, brown, matching his hair that had a bald top. Most of what he wore was a shade of brown, except his shirt, which was white.
"You're the boy who punched my son a concussion?" The principal said with an intimidating voice. Tony stared, sweat trickling down his head.
"ANSWER ME!" The man boomed, shaking the whole hall with his voice. Some kids giggled at the sight if Tony getting in trouble, but quickly stopped as the principal shot them a hard look.
"Y–Yes, sir... That's me," Tony admitted. The man, not taking his glare off of Tony, pointed behind the boy, shouting, "IN MY OFFICE, NOW!"
Hastily, Tony walked as fast as he could without running in the halls. He could feel the man's breath burning the skin on his neck, even though the principal was probably 2 heads above him.
When they got to the office, the principal slammed the door shut, once again shaking everything around the door. He stomped over to his chair and sat down, but not before snapping at Tony to sit down.
Once the were both sitting down, they stared at each other.
1 minute.
2 minutes.
5 minutes.
Tony was getting uneasy and squeamish at the stare of the principal.
Finally, Barkwood broke the silence. Barkwood being the last name of the man. "Expelled... 3 days... After, you... You have detention... 4 weeks..." He puffed.
EXPELLED FOR 3 DAYS? DETENTION FOR 4 WEEKS? Screeched the voice inside Tony's head, HOW AM I EVER GOING TO GO TO THE GAMES? Oh, God, my parents'll never let me do anything again!
He gulped. "But, but sir—" he began.
"You have the guts to negotiate with me?" Mr. Barkwood said very slowly. "YOU GAVE MY SON A CONCUSSION!" He boomed once again, louder than in the hall. Tony was surprised he still had a voice.
Tony stayed low. "I understand."
"You think you have a say in what you understand, now? You think you're so high up, that you can send my son to the hospital, and get away with it? YOU BET YOUR *** NOT! GET OUT!"
He never forgot how loud that was if anything else. The people in Miami could've heard that one. He had always gotten in trouble for not controlling his anger... He was too much of a hothead for people to tell him off. But the principal? He didn't play. He knew what pitches to hit.
Quickly, Tony shot for the door. When he got out and closed the door, he came to meet all eyes on him. People were pointing, faintly whispering under their breaths, "Like Verez, like Verez."
He knew what that meant. Everyone thought he was exactly like his brother.
He dashed for the exit door, his tears leaving a trail. Their laughs became louder, until it finally blasted his ears.
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—nobodyimportant
