5
Love Makes Room, Or Something
“Um, sorry … what exactly do you mean by ‘disturbing’ …?” I ask, wide-eyed, phone pressed to my ear.
Principal Whitman lets out a hefty sigh. If the man’s known for nothing else, it’s his hefty, burdened, tired-of-the-world sighs. Tanner’s always thought he’s a condescending jerk. The authority-obsessed man has unfortunately, after all these years, not proven himself otherwise. “Instead of having this out over the phone, we should discuss it in person with your son present. Do you think you could manage that today, Mr. Tucker? After school?”
Mr. Tucker, he calls me.
I don’t think I’ve been called that in over eight years.
The next thing I know, I’m sitting in the principal’s office for the first time in my life, flooding me with major back-to-school-nightmare anxiety I didn’t know I had. Honestly makes me regret the bagel with cream cheese I had before leaving the house.
Next to me sits a bored-looking Marcus, who can’t be any less bothered sitting in the principal’s office. It brings me to wonder for the very first time if Marcus has sat in a principal’s office in the past, before he and Joshua became a part of our family.
“This is the offending article in question,” states the principal.
Then slaps down a charcoal drawing in front of me.
It appears to be some kind of amorphous, screaming monster. Oh, two of them, maybe? Or one monster with two heads? Twisted horns coil out of their skulls, and long, sharp objects I can’t make out are gripped in their hands, wielded like weapons.
Maybe I should find it disturbing, like the overly-sensitive and depressingly closed-minded Principal Whitman does. But instead, I find it incredibly expressive, detailed, and artful. It could be the front cover of a gripping horror novel. Or artwork for the latest album of some up-and-coming heavy metal or emo band. Marcus plays a lot of video games and watches anime. What if this is some character he likes, or derivative of one? If Mindy was here, she’d be gagging over how bad-ass this looks.
But that sort of reaction isn’t what the principal is hoping for from the mayor’s son-in-law, I imagine. I glance at Marcus. “What is this a drawing of?” I ask him, sounding as neutral as possible.
Marcus just shrugs.
I frown.Not a usual reaction from him.
“It’s quite disturbing,” states the principal, as if answering on my son’s behalf. “The Art Club teacher himself didn’t even know what to say. He was stunned speechless. And also horrified.”
I highly doubt either of those things are true. “Sir …”
He leans forward in his seat abruptly, causing it to creak. “Are matters okay at home, Mr. Tucker?”
That name again. Tucker, instead of Tucker-Strong.
It feels like something’s missing. Like something’s wrong. All the hairs stand up on the back of my neck with indignation. I want to correct him, yet I find myself frozen in place, an emotional knot stuck in my chest somewhere.
Then the office door crashes open and a sweaty-faced Tanner appears. “Sorry, broke away from the boys as soon as I could! Mr. Whitman.” He comes up to my chair and whispers, “Hey, babe,” with a squeeze of my shoulder before slapping his other hand onto Marcus’s, startling him. “Marco-man, my buddy, what’s goin’ on here? Oh, is this yours?” Tanner snatches the illustration right off the desk. “Dude, this is totally sick! You did this yourself?”
“Yes,” answers the principal, misunderstanding, “thatissick, very sick. An inappropriate interpretation of his assignment.”
“What was the assignment?” I ask, more to Marcus than the principal.
But it’s the principal, yet again, who answers: “To draw your happiest memory, that’s what. And this is clearly a blatant show of disrespect to the club and to this school.” He looks up at Tanner, who seems to still be observing the work of art with an awestruck expression, which only further baffles the man. “Coach Strong?”
Tanner kneels down between the chairs, still gripping the art, and nudges Marcus with his elbow. “I remember this chat.On the first day we brought you back to our house, wasn’t it? You said … if I can remember it right … that Billy and I were like the angels who saved you and Joshua from the smoky demon monsters your little brother kept having nightmares about. Somethin’ like that?”
Marcus blinks at Tanner, appearing totally lost.
Tanner faces the principal. “Happiness looks different for us all. I don’t know about you, but my happiest memory is the first time I tried the insanely spicy Tackler Burger at Biggie’s Bites, back when Billy worked there himself and his pastry-chef dreams were just dreams.” He glances at me. “I can still feel the tears of agony in my eyesandon my tongue.”
I find my throat catching, thinking of that day. “You were so stubborn,” I murmur quietly, remembering. “I warned you, too.”
“You did,” he agrees, “and I dived into danger anyway, just to impress you. Like some kinda lovesick schoolboy.”
I swallow, struck by the moment. My heart dances, as if evenitcan remember the feeling of being entranced by Tanner Strong’s charm way back when, how devastatingly irresistible he was, even when he angered me, even when he didn’t listen, even when he—like most of the Strongs—exercised his stubbornness to the max.