“You’re going to be very very sorry you did that,” he growled.
And it was true, because Graham wasn’t small by any stretch of the imagination. Even his boyish baby-fat features managed to look menacing as his face twisted up.
Anthony took a step back and bumped into someone. He glanced over his shoulder and saw the guy with red hair. When he looked forward again, he was barely able to register a blur of movement before something struck him on the cheek hard enough to knock him to the floor.
“Hey!” Anthony heard Omar shout.
He looked up and saw his best friend leap on the back of the redhead, wrapping an arm around his neck and dragging him down. Anthony was distracted from their struggle when a shadow stepped in front of him protectively. Cameron! His boyfriend’s presence made him feel even more fearful than a moment ago, because he did not want Cameron to get hurt. Even in his defense.
A surge of adrenaline shot through Anthony. He shifted to the side before launching himself at Graham’s legs, which worked but came with a price, because most of that weight fell on top of him. He could already hear other students chanting, “Fight, fight, fight!” as they closed in around them.
Graham elbowed him in the side as Anthony began kicking, both of them trying to disentangle from each other while inflicting the most possible damage.
“Break it up!” a voice boomed.
The mob of students around them withdrew. A teacher grabbed Anthony’s arm and yanked him to his feet. The school security guard was standing between him and Graham, who slowly got to his feet with a murderous glare.
“He started it!” Omar shouted, jostling his way to Anthony before pointing an accusing finger at Graham. “I saw everything!”
“That’s a lie!” the guy with red hair said. “This jerk came over here and started throwing stuff at us. Graham was defending himself!”
“Who the hell are you?” Omar snarled at him.
“Be quiet!” the teacher shouted. “We’ll let Principal Preckwinkle sort this out. And no doubt your parents. Think about that before you open your mouths again!”
His threat did the trick. Graham looked away with a sullen expression.
“You okay?” Omar asked.
Anthony searched the crowd, unable to answer until he located Cameron, who was trapped behind the security guard’s extended arm, as if he’d been trying to reach him. But he wasn’t hurt. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m fine.”
“Come along, you two,” the teacher said. “You’ve put on enough of a show.”
The security guard began escorting them away. The teacher followed, muttering in disapproval.
“You’ll be all right!” Omar shouted after them. “You didn’t punch anyone!”
That was true! Anthony might have thrown some fries, and tangled once on the ground, but Graham had hit him. That had to count for more. Judging from how bad his left cheek hurt, there would be damning evidence on display.
“Just a moment, sir!” a voice said. They stopped and turned as a group. The guy with red hair was catching up with them while waving Anthony’s article. “He was trying to force people to read this,” he said, handing it to the teacher. “Graham didn’t want to. That’s why he got upset.”
The teacher peered at the paper, no doubt taking in the headline—I’m Gay. So What?—before he raised an eyebrow at Anthony, his nostrils flaring in disgust.
“I figured the principal might want to see that,” the redhead continued. “For context.”
“Thank you,” the teacher replied. “What’s your name, young man?”
“Troy Mitchell, sir.”
“Very well, Troy. We’ll take it from here.”
“Best of luck Graham,” Troy said. “Sorry I couldn’t stop that guy from attacking you.”
“That’s not what happened,” Anthony snarled.
“What did I say?” the teacher chastised. “Not another word out of either of you! Let’s go.”
Troy waited until the teacher had turned his back before flashing a victorious smile. What an asshole! Anthony fumed all the way to the principal’s office, which he had visited only briefly before, usually to drop off a doctor’s note or similar. Now he had plenty of time to soak it all in, because after he and Graham were directed to seats on the opposite sides of the room, a grueling wait began. Even the security guard left after sticking around long enough to ensure nothing else would happen, although the receptionist continued to watch them with a disapproving air. Anthony mostly ignored Graham, who didn’t seem eager to interact with him either, although he did leap on the opportunity when the receptionist became distracted by a call.
“I’m going to kill you, faggot,” Graham murmured.
“Are you sure you don’t want to fuck me instead?” Anthony replied. “Because you seem awfully fixated on the whole gay thing.”
Graham scowled in response, but quickly hid his disdain when Principal Preckwinkle strolled into the room. She was a short and stout woman with large round glasses and a wig of blond curls. A copy of Anthony’s article was in her hand. He could tell from the perforated edges. Preckwinkle peered at them both before gesturing for Anthony to stand.
“In my office, Mr. Cullen,” she snapped.
Good! That meant he got to tell his side of things first, which had to be an advantage. Especially since Graham wasn’t the most eloquent guy. Anthony followed her down a short hall to a small office. The only decorations on the wall were framed diplomas and an anti-drug poster. He sat in one of the two chairs facing her desk and waited. Preckwinkle got settled, placed his article before her, and considered him with an expression that was anything but friendly.
“Tell me what happened.”
“Graham punched me,” he said, cutting to the chase.
Instead of expressing shock or sympathy, she asked, “Why?”
“Does it really matter?” he asked.
She raised her eyebrows at this. “Did you provoke him?”
“No! Well…” There had been plenty of witnesses, so he decided to stay close to the truth. “Graham threw something at me. So I threw something at him. That’s when he punched me.”
She studied him a moment before looking down at his article. “Who gave you permission to distribute this?”
“I didn’t realize I needed permission.”
“Were you not told previously that this topic is off limits?”
Before he could answer, someone knocked.
“Come in,” Preckwinkle said.
Anthony turned, not hiding his puzzlement when he saw Mr. Finnegan standing there.
“Sit down,” Preckwinkle said, as if she was addressing a student.
Mr. Finnegan quietly complied. He nodded at Anthony in greeting, but his face remained drawn.
“I’m sure you recognize this,” Preckwinkle said, sliding Anthony’s article across her desk.
“Of course,” Mr. Finnegan replied after a cursory glance.
“Did you not explain to Anthony that such topics are inappropriate for an educational environment?”
“He did,” Anthony answered for him.
“I wasn’t addressing you,” Preckwinkle said coldly before fixing an icy stare on Mr. Finnegan. “Well?”