Pieces Of You by Jay McLean
Holden
“No fucking way.”Probably not the best words to throw out the day before I start my senior year of high school, especially since I’m sitting in the principal’s office with both my mom and said principal, but still: No. Fucking. Way. am I doing what they’re asking of me.
Next to me, Mom gasps. “Holden, you cannot speak like that!” She actually has the audacity to sound serious. She’s the one who taught me to swear like a sailor. Not on purpose, obviously, but I’m pretty sure the first word out of my mouth was shit, and I sure as fuck didn’t get it from Sesame Street.
“Your mother and I have spoken, and we both agree that this is a great opportunity for you,” Principal Hemmings says, his cheeks blushing red when he finally trails his eyes from my mom’s chest to me. He knows I’ve caught him leering at her, and it’s not like it doesn’t happen on the regular. It’s the only downside to having a young mom. Still, if he doesn’t check himself soon, I have no problem climbing over his desk and pulling his teeth out one by one.
“I’m sure you’d agree with anything my mother says,” I mumble, earning another gasp from Mom. “Especially when you’re looking at her tits when she’s speaking.”
“Holden!” That came from both of them, in sync.
Shaking my head, I sit up taller. “I’m not doing it.”
“You are.” Mom’s words come with a tone of finality, and I can’t help but narrow my eyes at her.
“I know you have a busy schedule, with football and basketball and baseball, and who knows what else, but I think this would be good for you,” Hemmings says, resting his elbows on his desk, his eyes on me, and nowhere else.
After clearing my throat, I strum my fingers on the armrest of the cheap-ass chairs and say, my tone even, “I don’t know how many ways I can say this, but No. Fucking. Way.”
The pain starts at my ear and quickly makes its way down my neck and then my entire face. A second later, I’m on my feet, screeching, and it takes a moment to realize that my mother is literally dragging me out of the office by my ear. I’m officially calling bullshit on all the times she’s asked me to open jars for her because the woman is way stronger than I’ve given her credit for.
We’re standing in the foyer right in front of the office desk when she finally releases me. I’m quick to rub at the spot she’d just attacked; my eyes thinned to slits as I glare down at her. Then I take a quick glance around the space. Usually, the day before school starts, the office area’s filled with students checking their subjects and schedules and whatever else it is people who care about school do. Luckily for me, there’s only the office lady behind the desk and a girl I don’t recognize sitting in the short row of waiting chairs.
If I were the type of person to get embarrassed, this would be one of those moments.
The girl doesn’t even bother hiding the fact that she’s watching us, eyebrows drawn, her hazel eyes flicking between Mom and me. I wonder what she’s thinking. If she’s thinking at all. She sure as hell wasn’t when she got dressed this morning. She’s in a tweed skirt down past her knees and a white short sleeve blouse with the buttons done all the way up to her collar. Back straight, hands folded on her lap, and next to her black old-lady shoes is a worn, brown, leather messenger bag. She dresses like she’s eighty, but she doesn’t look a day over eighteen. Her eyes catch mine and widen slightly. For a moment—a split second—we just stare at each other. And, because I like to play games, I throw her a smirk and then a wink.
Because why the fuck not?