Monday September 23, 2013
North Marion Speedway- Maintenance Lot
Indianapolis, Indiana
3:13 PM Local Time
“Is she okay?!” Wendy Briese called to her husband as she sprinted across the gravel lot towards her husband’s car, “was she hurt?”
“I dunno. I didn’t ask.” Terrence called back, with a grimace. “I’d assume she’s fine.”
“You’d ASSUME?!” Wendy asked, panic and outrage entering her voice. “Why didn’t you ask!?”
“Look, they told us to come to the school,” Terrence replied calmly as he opened the door on his 1971 crimson Dodge Charger, quickly climbing inside and starting the car. Wendy reached the car seconds later, throwing open the passenger’s side door, and practically diving inside. “If she was seriously hurt, they’d have told us to go to the hospital.”
Wendy didn’t speak for a second, catching her breath as she buckled herself, Terrence peeling out and driving as quick as he dared down the bumpy access road. She couldn’t believe that just ten minutes ago, she had been standing in her training ring, attempting to spar with her hired partner, being interrupted every few minutes to deal with one thing or another concerning the renovation of her gym. It was almost done, thank God. The exercise equipment would be installed over the weekend, while she was in Vegas for Sin & Sacrifice. But still, she was getting impatient with the frequent interruptions. She did have the biggest match of her life just five days away, after all.
And then Terrence came in, saying he had just gotten the phone call that no parent would ever want to receive from their child’s school. The one that requested them to come down immediately, because there was an emergency. In this case, Theresa had been…
“Fighting…” Wendy said out loud, looking out the window as they pulled out of the Parking lot onto 177th Street. “Why the HELL would she be getting into fights at school? She knows better than that!”
“Who knows?” Terrence said, shrugging, and Wendy’s irritation flared at his relative nonchalance. “I got into fights all the time at school. Sometimes you’re provoked, or you have to defend yourself, or you’re just screwing around and things go out of control. It happens to kids.”
“But she KNOWS better!” Wendy said, groaning. She paused for a second, taking a deep breath, and finally let loose her true fears. “It’s me. It’s because I wrestle. I’ve known it all along. I’m a bad influence. I taught her it’s okay to fight, and now she’s-”
“Wendy, shut up.” Terrence snapped, gritting his teeth in irritation. His wife did, but she threw a hurt expression his way. He spared her a quick glance, and gestued apologetically with his right hand, keeping the wheel firmly held with the left. His voice softened. “Let’s not jump to any conclusions, okay? Let’s just get there, and find out what happened. She may have just been defending herself. It might be a misunderstanding. We. Don’t. Know. So until we do…”
Wendy nodded, although she gulped down the waves of angst that was rising in her throat. She had always feared something like this happening. She had always thought Theresa had reacted well to her mother’s occupation, but now she saw otherwise. Her career was wrecking her daughter’s life, making her lash out in school.
But this was the first she’d even heard of any outburst from her, another voice echoed in her mind. In fact, her teacher the previous year, Ms. Savage, had always praised Theresa’s attitude and work ethic, although she warned that her tendency for sarcastic backtalk would be best toned down. And she had received great grades… with all A’s except for B’s in Science and Math…
The rest of the ride was silent, with only Wendy’s doubts and reassurances waging an ongoing debate in her head. Terrence was similarly thinking, given the grim expression on his face, and the way he clenched the steering wheel. Every turn of the wheels seemed like both a blessing and a curse, she was dying to make sure her daughter was okay and find out what had truly happened, and was also dreading the answers.
School had just let out as the Charger approached College Park elementary, and Terrence gritted his teeth as he waited for the crossing guard in front of the school to wave them into the parking lot. Luckily, there was a spot open near the building, that Terrence pulled into, and they were soon quickly walking towards the entrance, fighting against the tide of exiting students. Several- to her horror- recognized her, and she heard excited whispering amongst some students, catching her daughters name, along with such statements as “beat up” and “kicked his ass”. She exchanged an uncertain glance with her husband. He had evidently heard the whispering too.
After quickly checking with the school’s secretary, they were directed to the adjacent nurse’s office, and there they saw Theresa, sitting on a small bench, her face buried in her hands, her shoulders bobbing up and down with the sobs that wer wracking her body. “Theresa!” She exclaimed, rushing forward, Terrence following fast behind. “Oh, Theresa, are you okay?”
“I’m sorry, mommy!!” Theresa wailed as she embraced her mother. Wendy held her daughter tight for several long seconds, then forced herself to release, and push her daughter back, so she could get a good look at her.
To her surprise, save for the tracks of tears running down her face, Theresa’s visage was unblemished, although her hair was rather dirty and unkempt, with bits of gravel and dirt nestled in with the brown strands. Her hands, however, were a different story, both were heavily bruised, with some of the knuckles turning purple. Even as she reached out to feel one of her daughter’s hands, the small girl flinched.
Injured hands, and nowhere else, she realized, as her combat sport knowledge swept over her with relief and, in some bizarre sense, pride. Whatever the fight was about, and whoever it was with, Theresa had clearly won.
“She’s fine, for the most part,” the school nurse said behind them, forcing Wendy to turn around. Evidently she’d been watching the whole thing, albeit quite taken aback by the two adults bursting into her room. Still, her eyes were kindly and sympathetic as she held her clipboard. “Her hands are bruised badly, but they’re not broken. I had her put some ice on them for a bit. She’s just been very distraught.”
Wendy could imagine. She knew all too well the feeling of adrenaline wearing off, and it being replaced by weariness, pain, and in some cases, the overwhelming knowledge that she had just done something that was going to have very unpleasant consequences. She wanted to wrap her arms around her daughter again, to assure her that it would all be okay, that it’d be forgotten about tomorrow.
“What happened, Theresa?” Terrence asked, his voice firm, yet gentle. .
Theresa took a shuddering breath, trying to steady herself. “I was playing four-square with my friends, and I looked over, and I saw that some boys had taken Brianna Snitchen’s ball. I tried to make them give them back, but they wouldn’t listen to me, and then Clint threw the ball at my face and…” her eyes welled up with tears, and she sniffled. “The next thing I knew, I was on top of him, and Ms. Dillon was trying to pull me off, and…” her voice failed, and Wendy reached out to embrace her again, nestling her hair.
Terrence stared down at her and snorted. “Wait… Clint? As in Clint Sickles? The kid who lives across the street? You beat him up?”
“Terrence!” Wendy snarled, looking up at him, angry at both the pride in his voice and the same feeling she had earlier. “It’s not funny!”
“It kind of is…” Terrence replied, his voice low. “That little shit’s been having this coming to him for a couple years now. Remember when he stuck a potato in my tail pipe, and his mom was all ‘He was just curious to see what would happen’” He chuckled, which withered quickly under Wendy’s glare.
“I’m sorry!” Theresa moaned again, miserably, and Wendy embraced her again.
Behind her, she heard the phone ring, and the nurse answer. “Yes? Yes. They arrived ten minutes ago. Okay, I’ll let them know. Bye.” She hung up the phone, then turned to the Thompsons. “Ms. Guntherson is ready to meet with you, so you can head next door whenever you’re ready.”
“Thank you,” Wendy said quietly, then looking down at Theresa. She wanted to scoop her daughter up and carry her from the school, to shield her from any repercussions of what happened. But you couldn’t run from consequences, she knew that all too well. It was time to face the music. “Come on, Theresa. Let’s go see the principal.”
Theresa sniffled, and the tears threatened to come again. “What’s going to happen?”
Wendy shook her head, unable to provide an answer, but Terrence just shrugged. “I dunno what they do now, but whenever I got in trouble like this, I had to skip recess for a week. Stay in study hall.” Theresa’s face fell at that prospect, although Terrence smiled reassuringly. “Just get your homework done there, then you’ll have more time for playing at home.”
Theresa didn’t look all too reassured, but she attempted a smile, and the three began to leave the room, Theresa pausing to turn around and throw a small wave at the nurse. “Thank you, Ms. Harper!” she said.
“Good luck, dear,” the nurse, replied, waving back. And then the three were gone, back to the school office. The secretary led them to a row of seats right outside the principal’s office door still slightly shut. Wendy could hear the murmur of angry voices through the door, and she took one simple, pained guess as to who was on the other side.
Her fears were confirmed mere minutes later, when the door opened, and out stepped Clinton Sickles and his parents. If there had been any doubt over whether or not Theresa had won before (not that it mattered, a voice inside her head kept screaming), there was none now. His face had been cleaned up, but Clinton’s eyes were swollen and black, and he had a large dob of cotton had been wedged into both of his nostrils. His lower hip was cut too, and it trembled as he looked sullenly over at Theresa, who stared coldly back at him.
Behind Clint came his parents, Kelly and Erik, two adults who Wendy liked about as much as the average Power Trip member. Kelly’s pinched, blonde-hair framed face, narrowed even further, into a look of savage triumph as she looked at the Thompsons. The expression on Erik’s beefy face was almost identical, and Wendy felt a cold chill crawling up her spine. Suddenly, her memories jolted her- Erik was the coach of the local High School football team, the Pike Red Devils, and Kelly was the treasurer of the College Park PTA. Both held considerable clout in the School District.
The Sickles never said a word as they walked by, although Wendy was left with the distinct impression that they were resisting the temptation. No sooner had they left the office than a fourth person emerged from the doorway.
Wendy had seen Olive Guntherson plenty of times before, but never up close before. She was stern looking, probably in her early sixties, with straw colored hair that was now turning gray hanging like a curtain on either side of her bespectacled face. Wendy was oddly reminded of a cross between the scarecrow from the Wizard of Oz and a librarian.
"Mr. and Mrs. Thompson?". Her voice was low, melodious. "Please come in. Theresa too."
She stood aside to allow them entry into an office that was positively Spartan, then shut the door, and sat down in her chair behind a dark wooden desk, while Terrence, Wendy, and Theresa sat on the visitors chairs.
"Let us cut to the chase," the principal said, offering no other introduction. "Your daughter physically assaulted another student today. She attacked without provocation-"
"Whoah, hang on here," Terrence interrupted, indignation in his voice. Wendy slowly closed her mouth- she had opened up to object as well, but had been beaten to the punch. "Clinton Sickles hit her in the face with a playground ball."
"So he told me already.". The principal looked annoyed at the interruption. "He was tossing the ball back to her, and she got accidentally hit in the face."
"THAT'S A LIE!" Theresa had sprung out of her chair, standing up, her fists balled at her side. "I was turned around when he threw it! He meant to me and the whole playground saw it! Ask Brianna! Or Angela! Or Rose! Or Heather! Or..."
"Theresa, enough..." Wendy said softly, reaching out and gently grabbing her shoulder, trying to pull her back into her chair.
"But..." Theresa protested.
"Enough,". Wendy said again, more firmly this time. She knew her daughter was telling the truth, but she could tell that the outburst was not sitting well with the principal. On the contrary, it was only reinforcing whatever the Sickles had likely said. A horrible sinking came into the pit of her stomach.
Terrence was calmer than his daughter, but hardly willing to accept the point. “Did you talk to the witnesses who saw what happened? Call them in here and let them say what they saw.”
“The children have gone home for the day,” Ms. Guntherson said firmly. “And we do not take the word of children into account. We’ve found that their perception of the events tends to be… rather biased and unreliable.”
“And the playground monitor? I assume you think she’s reliable?” Wendy asked, trying to keep the sarcasm out of her voice.
“She did not see the ball being thrown. She did however, witness your daughter, straddling atop Mr. Sickles, landing at least half a dozen blows to his face before she could pry her off.” the principal said.
“Of course,” Wendy muttered. That sinking feeling in her stomach was growing.
“Alright,” Terrence said, trying to press the issue forward. “Look, Theresa’s a good girl. You look at her file from last year, her grades, you can see that. She shouldn’t have lost control the way she did, and there’s going to be consequences for that, from us as well as from the school, that she will have to deal with, and hopefully learn from. But she’s SEVEN. Seven year olds do foolish things all the time. Getting into fights is one of them.”
“This wasn’t a fight, Mr. Thompson,” the principal replied, looking at the auto racer cooly. “A fight involves two people hitting each other. Ms. Dillon, the playground monitor, never saw Clinton strike her. He never did anything but lie on his back and try to cover himself from her blows. The only one doing the striking was your daughter. That’s assault, Mr. Thompson. And as you no doubt read in the student handbook we sent home at the first of the year, the Pike Township School District has a zero tolerance policy on students assaulting each other.”
Wendy looked down at Theresa, who eyes were wide in fear and confusion. Most of what had just been said had gone right over her head, but she could tell that her parents’ mood had become all the more grim. Swallowing hard, she looked back at the principal. “Alright, we… understand that, and we wouldn’t expect you to have anything different. Schools should be a place where students can learn and interact with their friends in safety. We don’t dispute that, and we don’t dispute that Theresa broke the rules. What we want to know is what needs to be done so that we can move forward from here.”
“Ah,” the principal said, adjusting her glasses, and picking up a folder that Wendy guessed was Theresa’s and opening it. “Well, as to that, due to your daughters youth and no prior history of deliquency, the Sickles have agreed not to press criminal charges against her. However, they ask that you do pay for Clinton’s medical bills, and have expressed that they will file a civil suit if necessary.”
Wendy’s mouth was too dry, but Terrence answered with an accepting nod. “That’s fine,” he said, his voice quieter than Wendy had ever heard it.
“As far as school discipline goes, the District’s policy is quite cut and dry on this. We have a zero tolerance policy on children intentionally harming other children.” For the first time, Ms. Guntherson’s voice wavered. “I am sorry. My hands are tied on this, Mr. and Mrs. Thompson. Effective immediately, your daughter Theresa is expelled from all institutions within the Metropolitan School District of Pike Township. We wish you the best of luck in the future.”
Wendy suddenly found it extremely difficult to breathe, and she looked over at her husband, tears blurring her eyes. Terrence was equally stunned, his mouth open, his expression vacant, as if the words he had just heard were still being processed through the gears in his brain. Finally, he was able to choke out “That’s impos… you.. you… can’t..”
“I have to.” The principal replied grimly, stamping something onto the folder, and closing it. “I am sorry,” and although she looked like she meant it, it sure didn’t make Wendy feel any better.
Nor did it when Theresa, her voice nearly on the verge of tears again, spoke up from beside her.
“Wh-what does expelled mean?”
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