Acceptance

“Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!”

As much as James wanted to ignore the chants of the teenagers surrounding him, he could not. He was certain, however, that the shouts were not the worst part of his present situation. His nose was bleeding and his head was throbbing loudly from the blows he had already received. How was it that he got into this mess again?

Brad Peterson, the tall, bulky, red head jock in front of him, aimed another blow. Luckily, James managed to duck this time. He knew Brad was taller and heavier than he was. Brad was probably ten times stronger than he, too. Why didn’t he care then? Why had he recklessly punched the guy for no apparent reason? Had he had a reason?

“Kill him Peterson!” One of the jock’s accomplices called.

The encouraging shout for his opponent roused James’ fury even more. He rushed towards Brad as fast as he could, launching with his left. The jock held the first punch with his hand but didn’t notice James’ other fist coming from the right. Brad was thrown aback. James took the opportunity to hit his challenger straight in the nose, making him bleed and fall to the floor.

“What’s going on here?” The outraged demand stood in the air for less than a second. Then everyone scattered. Only three people stood in the parking lot now: Brad Peterson, James Rolland and Principal Andrew Collins.

“Mr. Rolland! In my office! Now!” said Collins.

“I wasn’t the only one in the fight!”

“I will see Mr. Peterson later.”

“But-"

“I said now!”

James frowned and pursed his lips defiantly but made no other complaints to accompany the Principal.

The office was a small room with a wide window at the back, facing the inner grounds of the school. James sat on one of the two chairs across the desk, and fixed his eyes on the window. Mr. Collins stood a few moments staring down at him, but finally settled down behind the desk. The boy immediately dropped his gaze.

“This is your third fight of the week, Mr. Rolland,” said the old principal.

He shrugged. “Well, it’s Friday so you won’t have to deal with me for at least two days.”

“You live next door, remember?”

“So? Stay away from my house.”

The old man was quiet for a few moments, reflexive.

James raised his gaze, intrigued by the silence, but once his eyes met the principal’s he looked back down.

“Are you going to tell my mom?” As soon as he pronounced the question, James regretted it. He sounded like a seven year old child trying to hide away from inevitable trouble.

“I think she has suffered enough.” The words sounded harsh, almost accusing.

James balled his hands into fists.

“You can’t keep this up James,” said Collins. “Your grades are going down. You dropped out of the soccer team? And during the past months, you’ve been in so many fights I have already lost count.” He waited for a response, but there was none. “I know the past months have been hard on you but-"

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“No. I bet you don’t. Nobody likes to talk about it, but sometimes it helps.”

“Right,” He let out a sarcastic laugh and raised his gaze to the principal. “What’s the point really? Everyone is going to keep saying the same things. Giving me the same pitiful sorry look. What’s the point? He’s not coming back! Talking about him doesn’t help, especially when it’s to people like you.” He stood up. “You should mind your own damned business.”

“Hey!” Mr. Collins stood. “Now I don’t know who you think you are but you respect me boy!”

James gritted his teeth.

“Now, sit down!” He pointed down to the chair demandingly.

“I rather stand.”

Collins took in a deep breath and let it out. “This is my business James, whether you like it or not. This is my school, and you’re a student inside it-"

“So why don’t you just kick me out?”

“Because I know you. And you’re not like this. And because I knew your father and what he meant-"

“Listen. If you’re just going to give me a speech about my dad, save your breath. I’ve heard plenty of those lately.”

“But have you listened?”

James frowned. “I don’t feel like listening now either.”

Mr. Collins sat down. “Well then, my door is open for whenever you’re ready.” He opened a black binder that lay on top of his desk and began to read through it.

James blinked twice. “So that’s it?”

The principal looked up from his papers. “You just told me you weren’t going to listen. I’m not going to waste my time.”

James opened his mouth to say something, but closed it. He turned around not knowing whether he was more confused or angry. Just as he was approaching the door, though, Mr. Collins called his name.

James looked over his shoulder. The old man’s eyes were still fixed on the binder.

“Just remember, James,” he said. “You’re mother is going through a lot too. I don’t think that you’re helping. Just a thought.”

James stared at him for a few seconds, but Mr. Collins never looked up. He left the office full of bewilderment.

*****

As soon as he’d gone past the principal’s door, James became angry. Why did that old fool care any way? So what if his grades were going down? So what if he had gotten into at least six fights the past month? No matter what he said, Collins had no reason to meddle in his business.

When he entered his home through the back door, everything was silent. The kitchen was empty, so he walked to the living room, but here was no one there either. He made his way up the stairs. From the moment he step foot on the hallway he could hear his mother’s sobs coming from the room at the corner end. He wondered when she had gotten home from work. Had she even left the house?

James took a deep breath and walked towards his own room. He placed his hand over the handle but retrieved it. He went into the room next to his, the bathroom. After locking the door, he looked at his face in the mirror. A smear of dried blood ran down his nose. The skin around his right eye was red; it would turn purple in the morning. He took a towel and began to rinse off the blood. As he did so, he couldn’t help but wonder at his reflection on the mirror. For the past few weeks, he’d been arriving home with a similar face; sometimes whit blood and bruises on it, other times clean, but always with the very same frown, with the very same rage filled eyes. But just two months ago his face had been entirely different. His brow had been more relaxed. It had held a frown once or twice, but it wasn’t something normal in his behavior.

He put down the towel and closed his eyes. He could still hear a faint trace of his mother’s sobs coming from the next room.

No. Collins was right. He wasn’t helping his mother. And he wasn’t helping himself either.

He went out and made his way towards his mother’s room. There, she lay curled on her bed, her arms wrapped around herself, her back to him. Only when he sat next to her did she look up.

She noticed the marks on his face. “Don’t tell me you were fighting again,” she said, as she dried away her tears.

He was quiet for a moment. Then he said: “I’m sorry, mom.”

For a second, she only stared at him with confusion, but she finally understood the meaning behind his words. She sat up and opened her arms to him. He hugged her. A sob escaped him, and he soon found himself doing something he had not done since his father’s death: he was crying.

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Apart from critique on the actual story, I would also like to hear your opinion on the title.