THE FLOOR-TO-CEILING BOOKCASE stood as a silent sentinel filled with curated literature, art books, and academic journals. The plush seating area consisted of high-quality leather armchairs and a coffee table where a tasteful fresh floral arrangement sat. No doubt a gift from one of the many appreciative parents of the students.
Santiago absently perused the titles tuning out the caterwauling of the parents as they ganged up on the principal.
“Expelled is the least of what this boy deserves for what he did to our sons!” The woman's shrill voice reached a fever pitch, the chalky make-up hid the vibrant scarlet that creeped up her neck and tinted her ears.
Scott and his cronies sat smirking from across the coffee table still bruised from the beating. Santiago could not put into words how little he was vested in the conversation transpiring around him.
Santiago yawned.
“Oh am I boring you!” Scott’s mother, Linda, spat at him.
“Yeah.” Santiago said.
Linda’s ears lit up crimson, cerulean eyes bugged. “Listen here you little degenerate, you have no place here.”
Santiago yawned again..
She let out a furious shriek.
“Ma’am please take a step back.” John stood between the two, his arms extended in a flimsy barrier.
It would be a lie to say he did not want to see if the wild Karen would actually come in swinging. Santiago was certain she probably hit harder than her weakling of a son.
“It’s too early for all this, sign the paperwork already so I can bounce.” Santiago said.
“On that we can agree.” Cynthia folded her arms tersely from where she stood between her husband and her son Kevin. “Give the boy what he wants and send him on his merry way.”
Rosenia stalked through the door, “I do hate to disappoint you but nothing of the sort will be happening today.”
No sign of her usually tranquil smile was present on her face today. Her decorative skirt whipped about her ankles as she spun on the parents.
“Rose, thank you for joining us.” Said John visibly the tension in shoulders lessened.
“You came in time to see him sign off on my lucky seven.” Santiago snorted. This was not his first rodeo when it came to disciplinary action. His only solace was knowing he only had a year left of this nonsense.
“This is madness, you’re trying to get the boy expelled over a fight that was not even on school grounds.” Rosenia said.
Tristan’s father, Bill, spoke his voice as monotonous as his stoic expression. “Regardless of whether the act occurred on campus or not is irrelevant. This boy has created a hostile environment and threatened the safety of our boys.”
Rosenia looked to John who nodded, “That is true and Santiago did swing first.”
It was true enough that the boy could be punished for things that occurred outside the campus. As long as they could prove that his presence would have a lasting negative impact they could very well get what they wanted.
“They goaded him into that fight.” Rosenia said, “Did your boys also tell you about their harassment of a young woman that took place in that very same parking lot.”
Linda hissed, “How dare you!”
“According to whom? Do we have a statement from this mystery girl?” Bill said, “We have proof that this boy beat our children. We will press charges.”
Proof is what they were after. It would make sense as they could clearly show the damage Santiago inflicted which told nothing of what led up to it. Everything before that first blow was contingent on Santiago’s word which meant less than nothing to those who were already certain of his absolute guilt.
“I see, so this is how you want to play this.” Rosenia gave a terse smile, she reached in her bag handing over her phone to John.
Principal Dugan gray brows knitted together.
“What is this now?” Cynthia motioned, her sharp nose scrunched in distaste.
“Text messages, from your boys.” John Dugan sighed.
“And? This changes nothing—” Cynthia started.
“Regardless of how it happened, the boys intended to fight Santiago that day. They had texted their friends on the basketball team to join in. It was dumb luck that he ended the scuffle before they came along.” Said Rosenia. “A peculiar thing when an entire sports team ditches class. I suppose they forgot to mention that part.”
“How exactly did you come by these messages?” Bill’s face darkened.
“Simple. Not all those children are as cruel and violent as those boys of yours.” Rosenia snapped acidly.
That much was true. It helped that Mia was friends with one of the boys on the team. She had been with the boy when he started receiving the texts. It took some pressure but she got the boy to fess up to what was going on. Unfortunately by then the damage had already been done.
Cynthia took the phone from the principal scanning the screen before quickly hiding a smug grin, “Well this has nothing to do Kevin, he didn’t say anything according to this.”
The room echoed with the overlapping voices as each parent tried to out shout the other. Now they had all begun to turn on one another to protect their own children. Hurling insults and curses blaming each other's son for coercion.
Dugan tried pitifully to wrangle the adults that were a hair away from a brawl themselves.
Santiago let out a shrill whistle.
All of them spun to look at the boy.
He motioned to John, “Go for it.”
“Thank you, Santiago.” John cleared his throat. “Listen, given the murky circumstances and for the sake of these boys I will suspend all parties involved for three days.”
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None were satisfied with that response. Though before any could argue John quickly and firmly asserted. “That decision is final. Now please, I have a meeting I am now ten minutes late for.”
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One thing Santiago had to give to the old woman is that she had good taste in cars. She did not often pull the classic car out from the garage. Which he understood had he spotted the sleek flowing lines on the candy apple red Mustang done up with chrome accents he would not have hesitated to swipe it.
Seats upholstered in supple black leather, polished wooden steering wheel with analog gauges keeping with the theme of accented chrome on the exterior. When the engine roars to life the 1965 Ford Mustang emitted a distinct and captivating rumble. A raw blend of a power and refinement which suited the woman behind the steering wheel well.
Santiago knew that behind that carefully crafted mask of a matronly saint there was something far less tame.
“You didn’t have to do that.” Santiago said.
He meant it too. It made little difference to him whether or not he had to mill about the polished halls for hours on end.
Rosenia clicked her tongue, “You won’t be driven out of that school because of their bigotry. Those boys will get what’s coming to them.”
“Not like it matters.”
“It does matter, Santiago. You deserve to be there as much as any of them.”
It was never about deserve. People never got what they deserved, they got what they could afford. Whether it be financially or morally.
“I don’t care about them or this school. This crap doesn’t mean anything.” Santiago glowered at the blur of evergreen, the breeze whipping his curls about.
“It matters for you future, you will be able to get into a good college—”
Santiago let out an obnoxious laugh, “College? Be for real. I’m not going to college. It’s a waste of time and money.”
There was nothing housed behind the brick in mortar universities he wanted. Nothing but a flood of directionless young adults hopped up on caffeine and an assortment of prescriptions to carry them through sleepless nights of preparing for exams. All to earn a piece of paper that said they learned something in four years they could have learned in four weeks on youtube. With the added bonus of spending the rest of their living days struggling to crawl out from under a mountain of debt.
“That is not true. Is there nothing you have a passion for that you might want to do for a living?”
Santiago grimaced, “No. I know how to make money.”
“That’s not what I asked you. I asked if there was nothing you had a passion for.”
Laying his head back against the seatrest he closed his eyes. He did not want to entertain this introspective psycho analysis outside of his state mandated therapy. Though he knew he could either play along or listen to a lecture on the importance of higher education.
“I don’t know. I used to like boxing. Wanted to go pro when I was a kid.” Santiago said.
“Well, I imagine you had quite the talent for it.” She chuckled, “I could see that for you. You know they have a boxing team.”
“No, no, no. I see what you’re doing.” Santiago smiled, “I wanted that when I was a kid. I’m not a kid anymore.”
“Why rob yourself of something that makes you happy. You have to move forward to Santiago. Start living for yourself and the bright future you have ahead of you.”
Again with the spiel he hoped he would be put down permanently before he reached the age of harping on someone about their lost potential. Counselors, social workers, teachers, foster parents, even his own mother during her lucid moments. When they screwed up their lives everyone else never got to hear the end of it. It was not his problems they had regrets. If she wanted a degree she should be registering for classes.
“I don’t need you to save me Rose. I’m not another one of your charity cases.” Santiago folded his arms over his chest.
“Charity.” She echoed, “It is not charity what I do. In this world you know well enough that for people like us at every turn where others have a clear path carved out for their success we have mountains to move before we can reach the same. It doesn’t have to be this way. There is no shame in accepting help.”
“I don’t want it.” He snapped.
“What don’t you want, Santiago? Help or a future?”
Santiago’s jaw tightened as he stared at the woman.
He hated that they always tried to force him look into the days yet to come. Santiago did not want to. What was the point about stressing about a tomorrow that was not promised. Building up to ambitions that would never come to fruition. His reality however grim was the reality.
Santiago had already died once. If not for a miracle he knew nothing about, that was where his story would have ended.
A surprise to none, not even himself.
All he ever wanted was to live a stable life with his mother. Even that was reaching. He would have settled for her safe and recovering.
None of that would ever come to pass.
Now all that laid in his future was being hunted by people he did not know. Pulled deeper into a world he wanted no part of.
If he had to choose. If he had to decide on what he wanted his life to be it would not be this.
Santiago had never let himself consider a life steered by his own desires. There was a cold hollowness in him buried deep. The one that ached for things he could not have.
Despite how he tried to starve it, her words caught a spark in the pile of cinders. However small something in him burned with a longing for something more.
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Thompson sat in his office, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. Bennett wanted to meet with him face to face. The last time that happened did not go well for Thompson. The older man was livid over him signing off on the release of Santiago even more so when he refused to reveal any further details about it. The fury etched into the older man's already dour face was permanently burned into his memory.
He had made the decision driven by his own fear. A decision that upended a young boy's life. Thompson struggled to form words to justify his actions.
Bennett would hear none of it. His imposing figure casted a shadow over the room. He slammed the door behind him, the sound echoed in the small space.
“What the hell were you thinking Thompson?” Bennett’s voice boomed, “You know damn well that boy needed guidance, structure, a chance at a better life and you took it away from him!”
Thompson swallowed hard, his throat dry. “Bennett I don’t believe that I had the skills or resources to help him. I thought it was best to send him to someone who could.”
“That boy needed our support, Thompson, not to be cast aside like some broken toy.” Bennett’s voice lowered, “People like you are the reason kids like him fail to get the help they need. You can’t cherry pick which damaged child you feel like saving to feed your hero complex. These kids have been turned away by everyone else. We’re supposed to be the ones they can trust to be there for them and guide them when they lose their way.”
Thompson felt a pang of guilt pierce his heart at Bennett’s words. He knew deep down that Bennett was right. He let his insecurities influence his decision making. It was too late to undo what he had done. Yet, there was still a chance he could make it right.
It was what pushed him to continue with Santiago despite his own misgivings. Thompson was glad he had heeded Bennett’s words. Still it brought him no comfort to be face to face with the man again.
“Bennett, good to see you.” Thompson cleared his throat, “I am surprised you called.”
Bennett stared at him flatly for a lingering moment before digging in his pocket to procure a slim black USB. He placed it lightly on the desk that separated him from the young therapist. “You were wrong about Santiago.”
“I’m sorry,” Thompson eyed the device and Bennett. “I don’t follow.”
“Santiago was telling the truth. He was the boy who was shot and killed by the police. Raphael Santiago doesn’t exist. It’s all there. Including him breaking out of the morgue.” Said Bennett.
Thompson's mouth opened and shut again, unable to form words.
“Whether you decide to help me or not I am going to find him.” Said Bennett darkly, “People are dying. Someone is after that kid. I don’t know why or what they want but he is not safe. Call me when you pull your head out of your ass.”
With that the door slammed behind him echoing in the small space much like before. This time the silence rang in Thompsons ears louder than Bennett’s booming voice.
Delicately he turned the USB over in his hands wondering what exactly was he going to find on it.