The principal's office is exactly how I remember it - a sterile, lifeless space that seems designed to suck all the warmth and cheer out of the air. The cheap wood-veneer desk looks as battered and scuffed as ever, little pits and divots pocking its surface like the remnants of some long-forgotten battle.
And sitting ramrod straight in the pair of hard plastic chairs facing that sad, abused desk? My parents, of course.
The moment I step through the doorway, my mom is on her feet, lips already pursed into a thin, bloodless line as she regards me with a look I've seen far too many times before - one part concern, two parts disappointment, stirred together with just the faintest undercurrent of fear.
"Samantha Elisabeth Small," she starts in a tone of voice that immediately kicks my gut into overdrive. Behind her, my dad rises as well, looking somehow both sheepish and faintly accusatory all at the same time. It would be comical if it wasn't so painfully, soul-crushingly awkward.
So much for getting this dealt with quickly.
"What in G-d's name have you gotten yourself into this time?" my mom demands without preamble. Her dark eyes bore into me with an intensity that makes me want to squirm. "The things the principal just told us... attacking a security officer? Assaulting school staff? I thought we raised you better than that!"
I open my mouth to respond, to try and at least get a few words in edgewise before this whole situation spirals completely out of control. But before I can so much as inhale, the principal is shoving his way out from behind the desk, arms folded across his chest as he fixes me with a look of profound disapproval.
"I'm afraid the situation is even more serious than that, Mrs. Small," he rumbles in that irritatingly paternal tone all authority figures seem to adopt when dealing with rambunctious teenagers. "Based on Officer Ridley's report, it would seem your daughter willfully interfered with him carrying out his lawful duties, verbally abused and threatened him, and then - when he tried to detain her - assaulted him outright. Threw him to the ground, if you can believe it."
My dad lets out a strangled little noise, like he just got punched in the gut. I'm sure he can believe it. Mom, on the other hand, simply closes her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose over top her glasses, exhaling a long, weary sigh.
"Oh, Samantha..." she murmurs, more to herself than anyone else. For a moment, she looks utterly defeated - her usual boundless energy and enthusiasm draining away to leave behind a hollow, empty husk.
There's something in her eyes when she looks at me again, a faint glimmer of uncertainty and... is that fear? My stomach turns over, panic clawing at the base of my throat. I never wanted to cause them this much worry, this much stress and heartache. Not after everything we've already been through together.
"We always knew there might be... difficulties, after everything that happened with... you know, life," she continues softly. "But to act out like this? To become violent? I don't even know what to say."
I feel anger flare, hot and bright, in my chest. How dare they? How dare they look at me like that, like I'm some kind of ticking time bomb or rabid animal waiting to snap? I open my mouth, furious words bubbling up from deep within -
And then I pause, realization slamming into me like a bucket of ice water to the face.
They have no idea.
Of course they don't know what really happened - all they have to go on is that bastard officer's side of the story. One look at my mom's ashen, stricken expression is enough to tell me that he hasn't exactly been sparing with the embellishments or flourishes. For all they know, I just snapped for no reason and went full Kung-Fu Badass on the poor, innocent security guard.
No wonder they're looking at me with that haunted expression, like the daughter they knew and loved has been replaced by some feral, violent stranger.
My anger cools, leaving behind a kind of resigned determination as I pull my phone from my pocket. If they aren't going to listen to me, then I'll just have to show them the truth for themselves. I start tapping out a quick message to Jordan as Principal Heckerman continues monologuing, his voice a dull buzz in the background.
"--n't just go around sharing security footage with anyone," flies around my ears like a moth. Something something process, subpoena, not really necessary... Good idea though, teach.
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
Jordan, I type out, keeping one eye on my parents to avoid arousing suspicion. Please tell me you got one of those videos from earlier. I need proof.
The response comes almost immediately, a simple thumbs-up emoji that fills me with a sense of profound relief.
On it, Jordan's follow-up reads. Sit tight, boss.
I tuck my phone back into my pocket just in time for Principal Heckerman to turn towards me, arms folded across his broad chest as he regards me with an expression that can only be described as grim disappointment.
"Under normal circumstances, an incident like this would merit immediate expulsion," he intones, each word carrying the weight of finality. "However... given your history, and... Ahem, service to the city, I'm willing to downgrade to an in-school suspension for one month."
Mom flinches, her hand fluttering upwards like she wants to reach out and grab my arm. Dad just stares at the ground, jaw working silently. I can tell that both of them want to cry, but for different reasons.
"But make no mistake," Heckerman continues in that same grave tone. "One more outburst like this, one more violent episode... and you'll be out before you can blink, young lady. No second chances. No appeal. Am I making myself abundantly clear?"
I nod once, keeping my features carefully schooled into an expression of meek contrition. Inside, I'm seething - at his condescending attitude, the unspoken allegations, the assumptions of guilt. But I know there's no point in pushing the issue, not until I have the proof I need to turn this whole situation on its head.
Proof which, thankfully, seems to be arriving right about... now.
My phone buzzes insistently, Jordan's number flashing across the lockscreen. I meet Principal Heckerman's eyes, holding his gaze as I draw in a slow, steadying breath.
"Sir... if I may?" I ask in my most polite, almost whimpering tone, like a baby puppy. "I think there's been a terrible misunderstanding about what happened earlier. And I can prove it - if you'll just give me a chance to explain myself?"
Heckerman's brows knit together, lips pressing into a tight line of displeasure. For a moment, I'm certain he's going to refuse, to shut me down and dismiss me out of hand. But then, grudgingly, he gives a curt nod.
"Very well," he allows, arms unfolding as he leans back against the edge of his desk. "Let's hear this 'explanation' of yours. I'm sure it'll make all the difference."
Without wasting another second, I pull up the video file Jordan forwarded me and tap the play icon. The tinny sound of raised voices and shouting immediately fills the small office, the shaky camerawork lending an almost cinéma vérité sort of realism to the proceedings - at least, that's what my Mom called it when she showed me those weird art movies.
I watch my parents closely as it unfolds - their sharp intakes of breath as Ridley manhandles the student, the look of shock and outrage passing over their features as I try to defuse the situation. When the part comes where Ridley actually shoves the kid to the ground, my mom lets out a little gasp, her hands flying to cover her mouth.
And throughout it all, I can see the emotions playing out across their faces as they're confronted with the reality of what happened. The anger. The fear. And then, slowly but surely, a dawning sense of righteous indignation as they realize the true extent of what their daughter just went through, flushed embarassment across my father's pale face as he realizes where the battle lines lay.
By the time the video ends - with Ridley getting his just desserts, as it were - both of them are shaking, anger and pride and disgust warring for dominance across their features. My dad catches my eye and gives a barely perceptible nod of approval. Mom, on the other hand...
"This is unacceptable," she hisses through gritted teeth, rounding on Heckerman with a look of cold fury. "That... that thug assaulted a child! And then he tried to do the same to my daughter when she did the right thing and stood up to him?"
For his part, Heckerman looks like he just got slapped across the face. His mouth works soundlessly for a few seconds, opening and closing as a flush of deep crimson begins creeping upwards from the collar of his shirt.
"Mrs. Small, I can assure you -"
"Oh, you can assure me nothing!" Mom cuts him off, stabbing an accusatory finger in his direction. "Rest assured, we will be speaking to the parents of this student and putting them in touch with our lawyer about this appalling violation of their son's civil rights! As for you..."
She trails off into an ominous silence, eyes narrowing to slits of pure, unfiltered Spanish fury.
"Well," she finishes at last in a tone of forced calm. "We'll just have to see about getting the teachers' union involved as well, won't we? This kind of incompetence and brutality cannot be tolerated anywhere, let alone in a place of learning! It's not enough that Mayor Watkins wants to effectively shut down the library with her little martial law stunt, but to bring this sort of nonsense where our children learn - it's disgusting!"
The office falls silent, the weight of the implied threat hanging thick and heavy in the air. Heckerman looks like he's desperately searching for some kind of foothold, some mitigating factor or point of leverage that will allow him to regain control of the rapidly derailing situation. But Mom isn't having any of it.
Finally, after what seems like an eternity, Heckerman deflates with a weary sigh, rubbing tiredly at his brow.
"Very well, Mrs. Small," he says in a tone of deep resignation. "In light of the... evidence presented here today, the most I feel I can reasonably assign is... one week's detention for your daughter. And that's me being exceptionally lenient, I might add."
He fixes me with a stern look, like I'm a misbehaving dog that just shit on his nice, clean floor.
"No more of these 'judo throws' or whatever else you kids are doing these days, understand?" he adds, making little air quotes with his thick fingers. "Next time, I won't be so forgiving."
"It's Aikido, actually," I correct him mildly. "I don't know any Judo."