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...and came face-to-chest with the principal. A former University of Minnesota wrestler, Mr. Swenson was a middle-aged guy who still carried a lot of muscle. Being sent to his office was a punishment spoken of with the greatest dread.
“Come with me.” Swenson’s grip on his collar didn’t lessen. “Now.”
His harsh words fell like bombs of doom. And suddenly the tooth that hurt and the blood in Josh’s mouth and everything else turned his legs to rubber. He bowed his head and trotted along meekly, dimly aware of the stares and whispers as Swenson marched him up the front steps of the school and down the gleaming hall to the main office.
Dottie, the school secretary, looked up in disbelief as they passed her desk. “Joshua?”
“Call his mother. And get the school nurse. I think she’s over at the middle school.”
Josh had already felt fear. Now he felt sick. Like he might throw up his lunch.
He could face any punishment here, but the look of heartbroken disappointment on his mom’s face would be far, far worse.
Mr. Swenson marched him into his office, released him, then stepped back and took a good look. “Need the bathroom?”
Josh took a hard swallow. “N-no.”
“Then sit there.” He gestured toward the stiff wooden chair in front of his desk, then moved behind the desk and sank into his own chair. He folded his hands on his desk and stared at Josh. “Mind telling me what’s going on?”
It was so unfair. So totally unfair! Josh shot a quick look out the window. The Weatherfields, as always, had gotten away with their cruelty. And now he was facing a lifetime of detention. Maybe he’d even be expelled.
But ratting on them would only make things worse. He stared down at the scrapes on his hands and numbly shook his head.
“Tell me.”
Josh blinked at the tears burning beneath his lids. He would not let anyone see him cry. But at the odd note in the principal’s voice, he ventured a quick glance at him.
The man pushed a box of tissues across the desk. “Here, son. Take care of that lip.”
Instead of towering anger, there was almost...sympathy in the man’s eyes. Sympathy? That couldn’t be. Even kids at other schools had heard about the principal at Ryansville Elementary.
One corner of Mr. Swenson’s mouth curled. “At least four kids rushed in here a few minutes ago to tell me what was going on. I could barely get past them to go outside.”
Josh stared at him, feeling like a rabbit frozen at the approach of a predator. Swenson would have heard a lot, all right. And none of it good.
“Well?”
“I shouldn’t have been fighting,” Josh mumbled.
“And?”
“I...won’t do it again.”
“Can you tell me why this one started?”
Josh gave a sharp, single shake of his head, but the motion made him feel so dizzy his stomach gave a warning lurch.
At a soft rap at the open door, Mr. Swenson shifted his gaze to the secretary standing there. “Did you reach his mother?”
“She’s on her way. The nurse said she’d be here in ten minutes.”
“And the Weatherfields?”
“I left a message. The housekeeper said Yvonne was at a meeting in Minneapolis, but she’d try to reach Mr. Weatherfield at his office.”
At Mr. Swenson’s growl of displeasure, Josh’s heart sank even further. The one time he’d ever fought back, and the world was going to end.
Minutes later he heard the sound of hurried footsteps, familiar voices at the desk, and then his mother rushed in and knelt at his chair, her face filled with worry.
