Chapter 23: Time Served

I really was tired of sitting at home, so on Wednesday I went back to school. My dad dropped me off early, and made sure I got in the door without incident. I was still bandaged up, but I was feeling pretty good. I got a lot of greetings from kids streaming into school, good friends and kids I barely knew.

My first stop was to the school office. I knew I would have to talk to Dr. Osgood, so I thought I should get it done with early. I was hoping that I could talk him into counting the two days I had spent at home already as part of my expected suspension. I was also worried about having this suspension on my school record, for other colleges and scouts to see. I hadn't even thought about it before, but since Pick Cropper had called, I was afraid this incident might just scare off any other scholarship offers. My parents were going to be really upset when they found out I had probably blown my chances for a free college education with this fight. Perhaps Pick Cropper's offer was legitimate, but I had my doubts about any other schools offering me anything but the door, once the fight and my anticipated suspension entered the dreaded Permanent Record. Even Pick would probably modify his offer to only a partial scholarship, at best.

Ayesha Ford's mother worked in the school office, and she was standing at the counter, writing down something on a notepad, when I walked in the door.

"Good morning, Mrs. Ford, is Dr. Osgood in?" I asked.

She looked up, saw me, and smiled. "Good morning, Sean. How are you feeling?" She certainly sounded friendly enough, not all scowly like she was known to act when she was talking to a troublemaker.

"I'm doing okay," I said. "It was pretty boring at home, with no friends to hang out with."

Her eyes crinkled as she smiled. "Another good reason to come to school every day, right?"

"Well," I replied, "I guess there had to be one good reason."

She laughed, a deep belly laugh that shook her large frame. "Just as long as there's one good reason, Sean." She was still chuckling as she opened the gate to usher me into the inner sanctum. "Dr. Osgood's in his office. Just knock on the doorframe and go right in."

I rapped on the frame, and Dr. Osgood's voice floated out of the office. "Come in, Mr. Porter."

"How did you know it was me?" I asked as I headed for his desk.

He smiled and took off his reading glasses. "I heard you talking to Mrs. Ford," he said. "Sit down, Sean." He gestured toward the pair of chairs in front of his desk.

When we had both settled into our chairs, he steepled his hands, the tips resting lightly against his moustache, as he gazed at me with an expressionless face. I felt fidgety, but I concentrated on sitting still, wondering why he didn't begin.

Finally, he dropped his hands. "What can I do for you, Sean?"

Now I was confused. Certainly he wanted to yell at me, tell me what a dunderhead I was, a troublemaker who was skating on thin ice, in danger of being expelled for fighting on school grounds. Why was he asking me this? Is he toying with me before he lowers the boom?

"Well, uh, I'm back, and I... I'm here to apologize... and... Don't you want to tell me... ?" I stopped, unsure of where to go.

He smiled, just a little. "I see," he said, almost to himself. "Let's start like this, shall we? How are you feeling, Sean? Tell me about your injuries, and how your healing is progressing." He slipped his glasses back on again, and pulled a piece of paper over to the center of his blotter. He picked up a pen in anticipation.

"Oh, okay. Well, my lip was split open, and I've got four stitches in it. But it really doesn't hurt, even though it's still a little swollen. I guess you can see that, though, can't you?" He nodded. "Anyway, it only hurts when I forget about it and bump it or something. My arm, you probably know about. It's all stitched up, too, but the doctors say it's all soft tissue damage, no tendons or anything were cut, so they're pretty sure it will all be okay. I'm supposed to get the stitches out early next week."

He wrote something down on the piece of paper. "Continue," he said.

"My ribs are just bruised," I said. "They're taped up, but it's just precautionary, according to the nurse." I paused, and considered my various other scrapes and bruises, and decided they weren't worth mentioning. "I guess that's all," I concluded.

He wrote some more stuff down. Without looking up, he said, "Is there anything you would like to say about how you acquired these injuries?"

I sat there, silent, until he finally looked up, removing his glasses once again.

I sighed. "What don't you know?"

He stared at me for a moment, and then he smiled, and settled back in his big leather chair. "And that's the question of the ages, isn't it? It's hard to figure out what we don't know. For instance, I don't know how the Del Toro family let their sons drift so far afloat without guidance. I don't know why Miss Lipshutz is so attracted to such a dangerous lifestyle, and why her parents can't see the path she is on. I don't know if this community could have stood another tragedy, two years in a row, if Stanford and the others hadn't been so serendipitously present last Saturday night."

It took me a moment to realize he was speaking of Tiny. Only school administrators would call him by his real first name.

Dr. Osgood, gazing off into an alternate future, continued, "I don't know how this will affect our own school security assessment. I don't know if the school board agrees with the actions I have taken so far, or the actions I intend to carry out, concerning this incident. I don't know how safe I can make the school for the peripheral characters in this drama, without bringing in the army reserves to march the halls. I don't know what the psychological damage among the school population has been. The principal players in this drama will be assessed, of course, but the residual ripple effects are liable to be felt for some time to come, and probably will manifest themselves in seemingly unrelated forums."

He suddenly focused on me once again. "You see, Sean? There are lots of things I don't know, and the things I don't know are what are most worrisome. As to the fight itself, I know, second by second, pretty much what happened and why, from interviews conducted by our own counseling staff, by the police, and by my own inquiries. You, of course, carry a unique perspective, and I would be interested to hear your version of the incident. But will it add to the facts of the case? That's another thing I don't know."

So, with no small amount of reluctance, I told him all that I could recall about the dance and the fight. I could tell I was only confirming what he already either knew or suspected. The only time I surprised him, I think, was when I told him about seeing Joey Amonte snorting that shit up his nose.

"I see we're going to have to monitor the restrooms at these functions," he said, making another note on his paper.

After I had finally run out of story, he took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes.

"Thank you, Sean. I appreciate hearing your version. Since the first period classes are well underway, stop by the outer office, and Mrs. Ford will write out a permission slip for you." He stood, and leaned over his desk and held out his hand.

Puzzled, I stood and automatically shook it.

I made a pretense of gathering up my coat, and then broached the subject I had been dreading the most.

"Dr. Osgood? About my suspension. Is it possible to credit me, maybe, for the two days I've been gone? Call it time served or something?"

He looked at me, startled. "Suspension? What suspension?"

It was my turn to be surprised. "Well, I just figured... I mean, I was involved in a fight on school grounds, and I..."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "Ah, now I see why you seemed a little too nervous, Sean." He smiled at me. "Okay, it's a deal. Two days suspension, time served is credited, and, since it's still under investigation, I'll withhold the suspension from your records until further notice. Deal?"