Victor sits in a straight-backed chair, his hands resting on his knees. His knuckles are bruised, red and swelling, and he absently flexes his fingers as though testing them. His father is beside him, leaning back with crossed arms, eyes sharp and unyielding. Across the desk, the principal's mouth is set in a line so tight it looks more like a scar than a mouth.

"Victor," the principal says, drawing out his name as though he's chewing it over, "do you understand why you're here?"

Victor glances up, his expression flat. "Because they wanted me to react," he says, his voice measured, almost as though it's an answer he's memorized.

The principal sighs. "No, Victor. You're here because you broke another student's nose."

Victor tilts his head, eyes narrowing. "I broke a student's nose, because he pushed me. "Another student's nose" means that I've done this before. I haven't."

The principal sighs, likely deciding not to point out the many nosebleeds that Victor has handed out recently. His history of backhanding other pupils. Victor knows that he knows this. He wonders why the principal isn't correcting him. His father would've corrected him.

"Yes, but there are... there are better ways to handle these things than violence. You could've just walked away. Told a teacher." The principal's face softens slightly, like he's trying to coax Victor to see reason. "We don't solve things with fists here."

Victor stares back, puzzled. Why do adults always say "better" without telling him what "better" means? Better to who? His face remains blank. "That way doesn't work. They wanted me to react."

Victor's father shifts in his seat, scoffing softly, all sharp edges and stubble. "Didn't seem like a fist was the start of things, though, did it?" His voice is low and hard, like gravel under a boot. "The other kid laid hands on him first, right?"

The principal clears his throat, his gaze flickering to Victor's father before returning to Victor. "That doesn't give him a free pass to hit back. The school has rules for a reason, Mr. Blanc, and we can't just ignore them because your son decided to break someone's nose."

Victor's father raises a brow. "Sounds like a pretty good reason to me. Kid didn't wanna get hit, shouldn't have started something he couldn't finish. Don't bring the fire if you're not ready for the smoke."

Victor's eyes drift between the two of them, not really following the meaning behind their words, more focused on the pauses, the tension between the sentences. He feels like he's missed something they're both supposed to understand. Like there's clearly some rule here that he violated, and he's trying to figure out what that is.

"He wanted me to react," Victor says again, matter-of-factly. "I did what he wanted. It turns out he didn't know what he was asking for, plus I got him to stop. I think this is a good solution."

The principal's eyes narrow. "But do you think that's the only way to make someone stop? Hurting them?"

Victor thinks for a moment, his eyes fixed on a spot just above the principal's head. "No. But it's the way that works fastest. When I ask them to stop they make faces and mimic my voice like a macaw. I'm not a zoo animal."

He said that without totally believing it.

"I finished what they started," Victor finishes.

His father nods approvingly. "There you go. Kid knows what he's about."

The principal lets out a heavy sigh, his hand pressing to his forehead like he's trying to rub away a headache. "Mr. Blanc," he says, looking at Victor's father, "we need to address this as a disciplinary matter. If you don't agree with the school's approach, you're welcome to take this up with the board. But as it stands, Victor will need to face the consequences for his actions here."

Victor's father leans forward, his face hardening. "Consequences? For - for - for what, standing up for himself? I don't see the point in punishing him for that."

"He can't just lash out, Mr. Blanc," the principal says, clearly holding his patience by a thread. "School is meant to teach children that there are better ways to handle these situations. We're here to help Victor learn that violence isn't always the answer."

Victor's father leans back again, crossing his arms and huffing a short laugh. His clothes crinkle up around him, a size too big. Victor always wondered why his dad wore clothes that were a size too big. Did he think it made him look bigger? "Ain't much here that sounds like help, if you ask me."

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Victor's gaze drifts down to his hands, to the bruises that line his knuckles like badges, some dark purple and others faintly yellow from older hits. He flexes his fingers, feeling the raw pull of the skin over bone.

He tries to explain, his voice quiet but sure. "He laughed when he pushed me. Like he thought it'd be funny."

The principal glances at Victor's father, then back to Victor. "But it wasn't funny to you."

Victor shakes his head, brow furrowing. "No. I told him to stop, but he didn't listen. He just went, 'stop, stop'. Then he called me a 'spastic dago'."

Victor's dad actually gasped, which wasn't a noise he was used to hearing. Less a gasp, no, that was too feminine, gasping was something his mom did. Victor's dad seethed. He sucked air in through his teeth.

The principal sits back, nodding slowly. "Okay. So maybe next time you can find another way to handle it - like telling a teacher."

Victor blinks, tilting his head. "The teacher wasn't there."

"Right," the principal says, struggling to keep his tone gentle. "But maybe you could've found a teacher afterward, or just ignored him. When you ignore them, they go away once they realize they're not getting the reaction they want out of you."

Victor's eyes narrow again, his face blank. "Why would I ignore him? He wanted me to do something."

The principal hesitates, looking to Victor's father with an exasperated expression. "I think... What do you think, Mr. Blanc? Do you think you can explain it a little better?"

His father smirks, shaking his head. "Vic just did what he had to. Didn't start a thing but sure knew how to end it. That's how we did it back in the war, and that's how I taught him to stand up for himself. You need to keep these other kids on a tighter leash, calling him shit like that."

"Language, please, Mr. Blanc," the principal mutters.

"Sorry. Old habits," his father replies, not sounding sorry.

Victor studies his father, sensing the approval in his voice even if he doesn't entirely understand why. He isn't used to feeling approval from people, much less his dad, and he doesn't know what to make of it, except that it feels a little like what he imagines that gorilla felt - the silverback that just sat there, watching, completely certain of itself.

"Look," the principal says, a little more forcefully, "this kind of behavior can't continue. There's a reason we have rules, and everyone has to follow them. You're not special, Victor. You can't act outside the rules."

Victor's father scoffs again, this time louder. "Special? Nobody's saying he's special. But he's sure not gonna sit back and be somebody's punching bag. Not while I'm around."

The principal's jaw tightens. "Mr. Blanc, if you want him to learn that lesson, there are better ways."

Victor's father shrugs, almost smirking. "Better ways, huh? Well, I'll take care of that at home." His tone is cold, almost final, like he's closing a door on the conversation.

The principal's face goes a little white, and then flushes with color. "Victor, if you can make it through the rest of the term without breaking another pupil's nose - or without getting into a fight - I believe we could make it worth your while. Is that a reasonable offer?"

Victor stares at the principal, who looks uncomfortable, his eyes darting to Victor's hands again. His knuckles are lined with pale, raised scars, flecked with newer cuts-hands that look more like a man's than a boy's. The principal takes a deep breath, folding his hands in front of him as though he's not sure how to move forward.

"I'll think about it," Victor says. Then, he clears his throat. "I don't want you to worry about me. I didn't like doing it. I didn't feel bad but I didn't like it either. I'm not like one of those Brooks' boys that tortures caterpillars on the playground. It was just the way to get it to stop fastest."

The principal stares at him, and Victor gets the sense that something in that sentence was wrong. But he's not sure what. His mouth is hanging open a little, and Victor suppresses a tiny his-father-shaped-voice in the back of his head that is yelling at the principal to pick his jaw up or he'll yank it off.

Finally, he clears his throat. "All right. Here's what we're going to do. Victor, you'll be excused from recess this week, and I'm going to inform your teachers to keep an eye on you a little closer. So you don't feel tempted to hit your peers next time. Alright?"

Victor nods once, not really understanding what this means for him, except that he won't be outside. That suits him well enough - he doesn't really like being on the playground with everyone else, anyway.

His father stands, gripping Victor's shoulder. "Fine. We'll leave it at that."

The principal watches them go, his expression somewhere between frustration and resignation. Victor glances back just once, noting the way the principal's eyes linger on his father with that mix of respect and wariness he's come to recognize. The way everyone looks at his father once he starts talking. They recognize him and his eyes. The eyes of someone who's done time in Europe, plucked some of those poor Jews from the camps with his own two hands. Everyone respects his father.

Outside, as they walk to the car, Victor's father speaks, low and firm. "You don't start fights. But you finish them. That's how things are done," he says, before pausing for a second like he's second-guessing himself. It looks weird on his face. It's not something Victor is used to. "That's how things are done," he reaffirms. "Don't forget that. You're my kid, not some sissy like that principal or those other cream puffs. We didn't get those krauts with mean words."

Victor nods, replaying his father's words in his head.

His father glances at him, brow raised. "You got something on your mind?"

Victor shakes his head, though inside he feels a sense of calm, a reassurance he can't quite name. He doesn't need to say anything, just like the gorilla. As they walk, he keeps his gaze forward, feeling the weight of his father's approval as steady as the ground beneath his feet.