“I informed him of the reason that his article wasn’t accepted for the school newspaper,” Mr. Finnegan replied. “I wasn’t aware that your expectations went beyond that.”
Principal Preckwinkle scoffed at this. “You couldn’t extrapolate that the subject wasn’t welcome in this school under any circumstances?”
Mr. Finnegan’s tone remained professional. “The school paper has a policy against publishing violent content, even though historical wars are part of the curriculum here, so no, I didn’t leap to that conclusion.”
“Mm-hm. And did you give Anthony permission to publish this article on his own?”
“He didn’t,” Anthony interjected.
Preckwinkle’s eyes became slits. “I wasn’t asking you.”
“Fine,” Anthony shot back, “but we’re both capable of answering. He never gave me permission.”
Mr. Finnegan cleared his throat. “I suggested that he might pursue publication through the official channels of other periodicals.”
“Which sounds like the germ of an idea,” Principal Preckwinkle said after tsking her tongue.
“Not really,” Anthony interjected. “I didn’t want my article to get published in the Kansas City Star. I wanted it to be published here, where it will actually matter, because it’s people like Graham who keep calling me names and painting slurs on my locker. How come he isn’t in trouble for that?”
Preckwinkle frowned at him. “I don’t remember you coming to me with that issue. Or granting you the right to take matters into your own hands.”
“What did I do wrong though?” he pressed. “Is there a rule against sharing what you write with other students? Because if so, that’s seriously messed up.”
“This is an inappropriate subject matter!” Preckwinkle said, repeatedly jabbing his article like she was trying to murder ants.
“It’s who I am!” he shot back. “Maybe I’m not appropriate for this school!”
“Anthony,” Mr. Finnegan said warningly.
“That’s enough out of both of you,” Principal Preckwinkle said in exasperation. “Return to your class, Mr. Finnegan. We’ll talk later, but please know that I am very disappointed in you.”
“He had nothing to do with it!” Anthony cried in protest. Was he losing his mind? Or was this woman insane?
Mr. Finnegan left without saying another word, but he did risk a sympathetic grimace on his way out.
“Stop trying to blame him,” Anthony said after he was gone. “I wrote the article. I printed it out. I distributed it. At this rate, you might as well blame my parents for giving birth to me.”
“We’ll see how they feel when they show up,” Preckwinkle said with a gleeful tone. “I certainly don’t expect as much sass from them.”
Anthony pressed his lips together before trying to reason with her. “I was getting picked on,” he said. “Even if you don’t believe that it was Graham, you must have heard about the word that was painted on my locker. I wrote that article in response and wanted the bullies to read it. Isn’t that reasonable? More so than picking on someone for who they are?”
“How you choose to conduct yourself is of no concern to me, once you leave here for the day.” She brushed at his article disdainfully. “But you aren’t spreading this propaganda in my halls.”
“Propaganda?” he repeated in disbelief.
“Yes. That’s what it’s called when you create and distribute material that furthers your own agenda.”
Anthony grabbed the article off her desk before she could stop him and read one of his favorite lines aloud. “‘If we can learn to accept each other’s differences—if we can recognize the strength that comes from diversity—then perhaps we can be the first generation to finally set aside needless conflict.’ Is that the part you have a problem with?”
“Of course not,” she spat, “but you’re using that argument to justify your own questionable actions. Perhaps you should join the debate club, since you seem to enjoy arguing so much.”
“Maybe I will,” he said, tossing the article back on her desk.
“Wait in the front room,” Principal Preckwinkle said. “I’ll speak to you when your parents are present. Perhaps they can rein you in.”
Anthony stood and went to the door. “Should I send Graham in next?”
“That won’t be necessary,” came her reply.
He clenched his jaw on the way back to the reception area but forced a smile when Graham eyed him. “She agrees with me that it’s all your fault,” he said, which was petty of him, but he needed to vent somehow, because he felt like the entire world had stopped making sense. And maybe he wasn’t the smooth talker he’d imagined himself as. With any luck, he had pissed off Preckwinkle enough that she no longer blamed Mr. Finnegan. That hadn’t been Anthony’s intent, but he welcomed the possibility. He couldn’t stand the thought that he’d made things worse for his teacher.
Graham’s father was the first to show up. He had the same build as his son, albeit flabbier, his hair dark brown instead of blond. Mr. Fowler wore a full suit and tie. The first thing he said after sizing up his son was, “This better not be your fault.”
“It’s not!” Graham insisted.
“Good.”
The receptionist alerted Principal Preckwinkle, who soon appeared and returned down the short hall with both men in tow. Anthony’s father showed up while they were gone.
“You all right?” Joe asked. “Jesus, who did that to you?” His father took his chin and turned to get a better look at his cheek.
“Some jerk took a swing at me,” Anthony explained.
“Did you hit him back?”
“No.”
Joe shook his head. “I’m sure he deserved it, but that’s good news. You shouldn’t be in much trouble.”
“There’s more to it than that,” Anthony said, his throat constricting.
He didn’t get a chance to explain himself. Preckwinkle reappeared and introduced herself without much warmth. Then she ushered them down the hall to a conference room where Graham and his father were already seated. Joe sat across from them, Anthony settling down next to him.
Preckwinkle sat at the end of the table and laid it all out. Sort of. She didn’t focus much on Anthony getting punched in the face, choosing to describe it as an altercation. Instead she focused on the “inappropriate material” that Anthony had been distributing.
“You mean the article he wrote?” Joe said at the end of her summary.
“Correct,” Preckwinkle confirmed.
“His mother and I both read it. I didn’t see anything controversial. In fact, I’m proud of him for speaking his mind with such… Whatdya call it?”
“Eloquence?” Anthony suggested. “Or maybe finesse?”
“See what I mean?” Joe said, gesturing at him with a broad smile. “The kid gets straight As. He’s a thinker, like his mother.”
“Yes,” Preckwinkle said after clearing her throat. “I see the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. The issue here, Mr. Cullen, is not how proud you are of your son’s academic achievements, but how he openly disregards the rules and has no respect for authority figures.”