Nice meeting you, Nick.” She made sure to step on Stone’s foot as she walked past him.
Stone yelped and mumbled an insult for her under his breath. Then he and his three friends sat down in the chairs that were opposite Nick’s.
Ms. Pantal walked past them to go talk to Mr. Peters.
They’re going to cream me over this. . . .
As soon as she was gone, Stone tossed a wadded-up piece of paper at him. “Where did you get that shirt, Gautier?
Goodwil or did you find it in a Dumpster? Nah, I bet you rol ed a hobo for it. I know you people couldn’t afford even something that tacky.”
Nick refused to rise to the bait this time. Besides, he could handle insults directed at him. It was the ones against his mom that elevated him to fighting mad.
And this was why most private schools had uniforms. But Stone didn’t want to wear one and since his father al but owned the school. …
Nick got to be mocked for the clothes his mom thought were respectable. Why don’t you ever listen to me, Mom?
Just once . . .
“What? No smart comeback?”
Nick flipped him off. … At the same exact moment Peters came out and saw him.
Lady Luck is definitely on vacation today.
“Gautier,” Peters growled. “Get in here. Now!” With a heavy sigh, Nick got up and went inside the office he knew as wel as his own home. Peters stayed outside, no doubt talking to Stone while he was forced to wait. He took the chair to the right and sat there, staring at the pictures of Peters’s wife and kids. They had a nice house with a yard, and in one photo his daughters played with a white puppy.
Nick stared at them. What would it be like to live that way?
He’d always wanted a dog, but since they could barely afford to feed themselves, a pooch was out of the question. Not to mention their landlord would die if they had one in their rented condo even though there wasn’t much more damage a dog could do to the run-down shack.
After a few minutes, Peters came in and went to his desk.
Without a word, he picked up the phone.
Nick panicked. “What are you doing?”
“I’m cal ing your mother.”
Terror ripped through him. “Please, Mr. Peters, don’t do that. She had to work a double shift last night and tonight too.
She’s only going to get about four hours of sleep today and I don’t want to worry her about nothing.” Not to mention she’d beat his butt royal y for this.
He dialed the number anyway.
Nick ground his teeth as anger and fear whipped through his entire being.
“Miss Gautier?” Could there be any more loathing in his tone? And did he always have to stress the fact that his mom had never married? That always embarrassed her to death. “I wanted to let you know that Nick is being suspended from school for the rest of the week.”
His stomach hit the floor. His mom was going to kil him when he got home. Why couldn’t Peters just shoot him and put him out of his misery?
Peters glared mercilessly at him. “No, he was fighting again, and I’m sick of his thinking he can come in here and attack decent people anytime he feels like it for no apparent reason. He has to learn to control his temper. Honestly, I’m tempted to cal the police. In my opinion, he should be sent to public school where they can handle troubled kids like him.
I’ve said it before and I’l say it again. He doesn’t belong here.” Nick died a little with every word. Kids like him . . .
He zoned out so that he wouldn’t have to hear the rest of Peters’s tirade about how worthless he was. He already knew the truth in his heart. The last thing he needed was someone else voicing it.
After a few minutes, Peters hung up the phone.
Nick gave him a sul en stare. “I didn’t start it.” Peters curled his lip. “That’s not what the others said. Who am I supposed to believe, Gautier? A hoodlum like you or four honor students?”
He was supposed to believe the one tel ing the truth, which happened to be the hoodlum. “He insulted my mother.”
“That’s no excuse for violence.”
That went down his spine like a shredder. The sanctimonious pig—Nick couldn’t let that go unanswered.
“Real y? Wel , you know, Mr. Peters, I saw your mom naked last night and for an old broad, she has real y nice—”
“How dare you!” he shouted, coming to his feet to grab Nick up by his shirt. “You foul-mouthed little—”
“I thought you said insulting your mom was no excuse for violence.”
Peters trembled as rage mottled his skin. His grip tightened and a vein throbbed in his temple. “My mother isn’t a Bourbon Street stripper. She’s a good, God-fearing woman.” He shoved Nick away from him. “Get your things and get out.” God-fearing, huh? Strange how Nick and his mom went to mass every Sunday and at least twice during the week and the only time he ever saw Peters or his mom there was on holidays.
Yeah …
Hypocrite to the core. He despised people like Peters.
Nick scooped his backpack up from the floor and left. There was a security guard waiting outside the office to escort him to his locker.