The rest of my early morning was like usual. I ended up eating a quick bowl of cereal, while Maria chugged down one of her nasty protein-vitamin drinks. The ride to school was, more or less, the same as always. The only real change there was the number of foul glares that I had to endure had increased, but I realized why. Everyone was blaming me for having to write a stupid essay on "responsibility", all thanks to Brock shoving me over the railing and into the pool during yesterday's field trip.
Arriving at school, things were a little different than usual. Plastered all over the walls and doorways were notices for all students to head to their homeroom classes, instead of their regular classrooms. "I wonder what the heck that's about?" Tugging on Maria's arm, I gently pulled her out of her normal auto-pilot mode, and down the hallway towards our shared homeroom.
"Huh? What what's about?" Pulling her nose up out of the book she was reading, Maria was completely baffled about what I was talking about.
"Everyone having to attend homeroom this morning," I told her, pointing to one of the notices plastered nearby. "We didn't have any scheduled assembly or anything, as far as I know." Muttering softly, I tried to ignore the sinking feeling in my heart. Somehow, I can already imagine what this homeroom was all about.
"It's probably just where you ended up over the rails yesterday, or some such," Maria shrugged. "I imagine it's all going to become a boring lecture on school safety and student regulations and whatnot."
"Great," I moaned. "That's what I was afraid of. Everyone's going to blame me for the hassle this morning." Nothing unusual there either. Just life as usual for a nobody, coming out on the short end of the stick.
"Cheer up," Maria laughed. "You're not that lucky. Everyone enjoys wasting time in homeroom. Heck, it might even end up postponing a test for some of them, if it drags on long enough. You'll be a hero to a lot of kids, if you're the reason why they get to postpone going to class this morning."
"If that's the case," I mumbled moodily, sulking into the classroom, and heading back towards my seat. "Brock will speak up and take all the credit. I'll get any blame, if there's any, and he'll take all the credit, if there's any of that."
"You're probably right," Maria teased, chuckling happily as she smoothly slid into her chair.
Plopping down beside her, all I could do is sigh deeply. Opening up my "Art for Idiots" book, I sat and carefully pretended to be all wrapped up in it, as if I was preparing for class.
"The book's upside down, Micky." Laughing lightly, Vicky hovered over my seat for several moments, before easing down into her own, on my right.
"Don't call me Micky," I sighed, turning my book around in the proper direction. Not that it really mattered – I wasn't actually interested in the book, and I certainly didn't expect Vicky to listen to me. I'd been telling her for ages not to call me Micky.
"Sure thing, Mic… Mic… Mic…" Sounding all puzzled at herself, Vicky's voice trailed off and she got quiet for a moment, before finally muttering, "Sure thing, Michael."
Raising an eyebrow, I looked up from where I was blatantly ignoring her, and stared directly at Vicky. She never calls me by my actual name. Just what type of damn game is she playing at this morning?
Blinking back at me wide-eyed, Vicky seemed just as confused and baffled by her own actions, as I was.
"Silence everyone!" Just as no-nonsense as always, Mr. Thompson immediately called for order in the classroom as soon as he entered. "Everyone take your seats, and speak up if you're not here!"
"I'm not here," Brock called out, being a wise ass, like usual.
"It's obvious your brain's not here this morning," Mr. Thompson sighed, pointing towards the door. "Go on. Get out. You're needed in the principal's office this morning."
"Hey! I was just joking around, man!" Looking a little surprised and slightly offended, Brock immediately went on the defensive.
"Well, I'm not," Mr. Thompson said, dryly. "Head to the principal's office. As I said, you're expected there this morning."
"Dammit! I didn't do nuffin!" Brock jumped up so quickly his desk flipped and crashed to the ground with a bang! "Lame ass teacher!" Thinking Mr. Thompson was just being an ass to him, Brock slammed the door behind hard as he stomped out into the hall.
"Well, that's probably the last we'll see out of him for a while." Sighing, Mr. Thomson walked over and straightened up the desk, placing it back in its proper position in the row. Heading to the front of the classroom, Mr. Thompson folded his arms, glaring out at the classroom until he had complete silence. "Now, does anyone know why we're here today," he asked unblinkingly.
"Cause Michael's the dweeb that fell into the off-limit area yesterday?" Jason — one of Brock's buddies and another member of the football team — spoke up, laughing.
"Not at all," Mr. Thompson assured him, dryly. "We're here today because someone unrelated to our school filed a criminal complaint complaint against the young hooligan who just graced us with his exit. The police are waiting in the principal's office to discuss hazing, abuse, assault, and attempted murder with him. Now, do you want to go join him?" Glaring daggers at Jason, Mr. Thompson didn't blink, nor did his gaze waver, as he awaited a response.
"Umm…. Not at all, sir." Whatever blustering teenage rebellion Jason might normally have, was immediately destroyed by the stern seriousness which Mr. Thompson was using with his speech to everyone.
"A… Attempted murder? Brock? Of who?" Debbie — another of the cheerleaders who fawned so heavily over Brock, sounded almost as if she was going to either cry or faint.
"It's not me," I declared defensively to the class, holding up my hands innocently as it seemed every eye turned to me automatically. "I swear guys, I don't have anything to do with any of this!"
"Good," Mr. Thompson glared harshly back out at the classroom, drawing everyone's attention back to him, before warning, "The rest of you better not be involved in this mess either." Mr. Thompson slowly turned his gaze to stare at each student, in order.
"Now, we're not going to talk about that young hooligan's fate," he assured us, refusing to even call Brock by name. "All I'll say is the young man should probably get a good lawyer. Hazing, bullying, and assault are really looked down on in the school setting in today's society, what with the rise of student shootings and such."
"Instead," Mr. Thompson assured us, "we're going to talk about the general state of tolerance in school. We're going to be talking about what to do when one sees bullying. Who to report it to. Where to go to get help. As well as the consequences of such actions."
"Oh God! No!" A collective groan of annoyance and frustration rose from every corner of the room. Not this type of school morality lecture crap again! As unbelievable as it was, the gazes everyone silently cast my way assured me that, once again, my standing amongst my fellow students had fallen ever lower as they all somehow believed this was somehow all my fault.
Homeroom dragged on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and…
…Wait a damn minute! Just what was I saying, again?
Oh yeah! I didn't think homeroom was ever going to end for us!