Practice Practice Practice - Chapter 9

Chapter 9 Martin saw the scene from outside himself. He saw Tommy clutching his cheek, fighting back tears as people crowded around him. The coach was there, standing between them. He said something to Martin and herded him up the hall away from the gym. All Martin could hear were the whispered words: kiss, punch, gay. Coach put him on the bench outside the principal's office and told him to wait. He sat for a long time. His head and shoulders felt heavy, so he stared at the ground.

Pairs of feet walked by: the clacky black shoes of the secretary going from her desk to the copier and back, and the runners of the coach as he left the principal's office to attend the game. And then his mom arrived. She was wearing her black office shoes, so he knew she had been pulled away from work first thing on a Monday to deal with her delinquent son. The principal invited them in. It was a simple white-walled office. A metal desk sat in the centre and the boxy, stoic Mr. Kingsley sat behind it.

Martin kept his eyes on the mug full of pens and pencils on the edge of the desk with the "how do you do, fellow kids?" meme on it while the principal filled his mom in on what had happened. There wasn't much of a conversation. They asked him to explain himself, and Martin said something about it being an argument that got out of hand, that he was sorry. Mr. Kingsley explained there was no wiggle room on the rules and he was being suspended. The fact it was the last week of school didn't matter.

Homework would be sent to him, he was still expected to sit exams next week, and he was not allowed to attend any school events for five days. So no Prom. Martin nodded along and stared at the mug and waited for it to be over. Finally, Mr. Kingsley shook his mom's hand and Martin followed her out the door, through the atrium, and out to the parking lot. She didn't say anything until he had buckled his seatbelt. "Do you want to stop for ice cream on the way home?" He finally looked up, confused. "Or maybe we should just go home and get you an ice pack.

Is your hand ok?" "My hand?" He looked down and saw the pink bruise forming on his knuckles and it was like the connection rewired. He suddenly felt a rush of pain through his wrist as his hand throbbed. The pain must have shown on his face because she started the car and said, "Let's get that ice pack." Martin kept his eyes on his hand, running over every detail of the skin, but trying hard not to think about the reason it hurt. Flashes of Tommy's face appeared in his mind and he struggled to breath. His chest felt constrained, like cold fingers were slowly squeezing his heart.