“Hey, Frankie, he really doesn’t look so good,” one said to the red-haired guy.
“Yeah, and he’s got that alarm…”
“Nah, he’s all right, aren’t you, Stratton?”
The guy, Stratton, looked like shit—pale, sweaty, hardly able to stand.
Frankie gripped him by the back of the neck. “You still wearing that little machine stuck in your guts? What would happen if someone took it out? Just to get a better look?”
The fuck?
I strode into the small crowd just as Stratton threw a weak upward punch that caught Frankie under the chin. His jaw snapped shut with aclackand a spurt of blood.
“You fu-ther!” he howled. “I fu-thing bit my thung.”
Frankie charged, fist cocked. Stratton was in my way. I shoved him aside and slammed my fist into Frankie’s oncoming face. Bone and cartilage gave under my knuckles, and he staggered back, crying and cursing.
I could feel the others staring but kept my focus on Frankie, every muscle in my body itching to go if he wanted more.
I hoped he wanted more.
The vice principal, an oily fucker named Chouder, appeared behind us. “What’s all this?”
“Fu-ther broke my nose,” Frankie whined from behind his hand.
“Go see the nurse, Dowd,” Chouder said and turned his hard stare on me. “Mr. Wentz. My office. The rest of you get back to class.”
Stratton’s beeping watch drew his attention and cooled the blood in my veins. He looked like hell. Maybe needed an ambulance.
“Are you all right?” Chouder asked, annoyed.
“Oh sure,” Stratton said, lip curling. “Never better.”
He staggered away toward a bank of lockers with a kind of tired stoicism. He didn’t rat on Frankie or his friends. Didn’t complain.
“He going to be okay?” I asked Chouder as we headed for the admin building.
“You broke his nose. A little late for concern, isn’t it?”
“Not that asshole. The other guy.”
“Miller will be fine,” Chouder said, leading me through the offices of the administration building where counselors and staff talked or worked at their desks.
“Why were they fucking with him?”
“Watch your language, Mr. Wentz.” Chouder indicated I should sit at the chair in front of his desk. “I suspect they were teasing Miller over the fact that he was briefly homeless and lived in a car with his mother several years ago.” He bent to pull a file from a drawer and slapped it down, then frowned at my dark look. “I’m not telling you something you won’t hear by lunch tomorrow. Let it go, Wentz.” He tapped the file. “You have bigger problems. Your little stunt basically amounts to assault.”
“That bullying prick deserved it.”
“Hmm.” Chouder arched his brows and consulted my file. “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree in the Wentz family, does it?”
I gritted my teeth.
“There are other methods, aside from violence, to achieve one’s goals.” Chouder folded his hands. “How about you take a three-day suspension to think that over?”
***
When I got out of Chouder’s office, Miller Stratton was waiting for me.