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gleam covering his eyes, but not a single tear formed.
    "Don't leave. I know you want to. I've seen that same face in my own mirror." He had stuck it out this long, what was another two hundred days of hell?
    His chin fell to his chest and he walked ahead toward the office.
    Maybe he'd be here, maybe he wouldn't.

Chapter 8
    Mr. White
    (Javier)

    Punching Nathan got me an undetermined length of suspension. Taunting me, leaving my locker full of shoelaces, and basically torturing me for the past three years got him nothing. I walked home that day knowing what waited for me when I arrived—an angry mother, zero freedom and utter disappointment. Whenever something went wrong, the school notified her. It was a contingency they had put into place since two years ago. Another situation that Nathan was never punished for. He wasn't even haunted with the knowledge of it. Which was good and bad. I didn't want Nathan to have access to my darkest secrets. He had been punishing me for knowing his and the power of more retaliation would be imminent.
    When I reached my apartment, I saw the lights on and my mother cooking. Out of habit, I took a seat on the bench outside and took my slippers off. Gio would be walking by any minute, and my mother would leave soon for work. My ears couldn't take a second scolding. The principal had already done enough.

    ***

    "Javier," he said. "I can't sweep this under a rug. You assaulted a student." His hands gripped the side of his desk, as the ticking of the clock got louder and louder.
    "Why? Why couldn't you just walk away?" he asked.
    Because I was tired of walking away. Because I was tired of Nathan owning me. Because for once, I wanted him to feel reduced to the size of an ant in front of everyone who worshipped him. Because it felt good. Because I legitimately couldn't stop myself.
    You know, it's funny that teachers expect more from the good students and basically want to spear us when we finally make a mistake. There's no grace for the good. But the bad, the bad are expected to do horrible things and they aren't punished equally, in my experience.
    I raised my chin and didn't reply. My blank expression and lifeless body told him how I felt. I was tired of high school.
    He tapped the large ring he wore on his right hand twice on his desk and then stood tall.
    "I expected more from you. You're better than this," he said.
    See, I told you. But how did anyone know if anyone was really better than whatever "this" was? My mother didn't really know me. She pulled from what she had the chance of observing, more often than not, the mistake of observing. Izzy had been through a lot with me, but even with him I was scared—scared to really reveal what my mind processed throughout each day. I felt that only Gio really knew what I could or would be capable of, considering the situation. And we mostly shared silence, but in his silence I knew he was listening.
    Slinging my bag across my back, I stood and left to exit. Principal White, under most circumstances, had been understanding of the situations I found myself in, but I had lost my cool.
    "Mr. Rios." Principal White's voice crawled across the ceiling and waited at the edge like a spider about to drop from its web.
    "Are you going to leave without explaining yourself? Explain why there were dozens, if not hundreds, of shoelaces jammed into your locker? Explain Nate's face? Explain anything?" His suit was extra stiff today, fresh from the cleaners.
    No, I wasn't going to explain myself or anything else. You either explained it all or nothing. Otherwise, lies were bound to unfold.
    I turned around and stared at the carpet, counting the invisible holes where my laces should've been woven into each shoe, had I been wearing them. Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen holes and then I looked up, blinked once and grabbed onto his eyes.
    "No. I will not be explaining myself," I stated.
    He took a seat into his leather, ergonomic, executive chair and crossed an ankle over