Setting
INK
Emerson Klein wasn't the type to care much what anyone thought of him. Indeed, one could almost go so far as to say that he cared little for anything at all, and they wouldn't be too far from wrong. Which was why at this moment, sitting in the principal's office, he was betraying absolutely no emotion at all.
The Principal, a balding, middle-aged man who generally had good intentions but tended to come off as excessively ingratiating (not to mention condescending) was attempting to stare him down, and failing miserably. Nobody ever really won in a stare-down with Jack. There were maybe two people who could hold his gaze long enough that he got bored and moved on, but pretty much everyone else lost. Mr. Waters was no exception.
"Emerson-" the man began, but was quickly cut off.
"It's Jack." He hated it when people called him Emerson. His given name was so damn pretentious, just like his entire family. Might as well have broadcast the news live: attention all citizens! The Kleins have more money than they know what to do with, and they're not afraid to rub it in your face.
"Jack," Mr. Waters allowed, trying once again to sustain eye contact with the young man and fixing his gaze on the bridge of his nose instead. "I know that sometimes you feel that Mr. Crowther doesn't use the best teaching methods, but-"
"'Doesn't use the best methods?' He made fun of Bailey Rivers for being short-sighted. What kind of a dumbass teacher does that?" This was, in fact, the latest in a string of abuses (as Jack saw them) against not only Bailey but the students of his class in general. Jack had been raised with just the right mixture of pride and indignance that he wasn't going to let that sort of thing slide for very long. Today had been the final straw. He actually didn't mind Bailey; she wasn't a huge jerk behind his back like most people were, and that sort of crap was uncalled for as far as he was concerned. So he'd gotten stuck in to the arrogant good-for-nothing, and called him out in a scathing monotone. He had, of course been sent to the office straight afterward, and was sitting there even as the bell rang.
"Language, Jack," Mr. Waters reminded him. This was a conversation they'd had before, obvious in the weariness of the principal's voice. In truth, the man didn't care for Sam Crowther either, but the school board wouldn't let him fire the teacher and replace him. "Look, all I'm asking is that you avoid direct confrontation with him. I know you don't respect him, but I want you to respect this school and do your best in the class anyway. We both know you can succeed when you apply yourself, and you don't want your chances at getting into a good college ruined by a failing grade, okay?"
Jack made a sullen grunting sound that meant he grudgingly agreed, and Mr. Waters smiled. "Good. Now, I do believe you have track and field practice this afternoon, so I won't keep you any longer. I hear the team's going to be great this year, so work hard."
The young man didn't bother to respond as he exited, headed for the locker rooms to change. He needed a good run to get the angry out of his system.
The Principal, a balding, middle-aged man who generally had good intentions but tended to come off as excessively ingratiating (not to mention condescending) was attempting to stare him down, and failing miserably. Nobody ever really won in a stare-down with Jack. There were maybe two people who could hold his gaze long enough that he got bored and moved on, but pretty much everyone else lost. Mr. Waters was no exception.
"Emerson-" the man began, but was quickly cut off.
"It's Jack." He hated it when people called him Emerson. His given name was so damn pretentious, just like his entire family. Might as well have broadcast the news live: attention all citizens! The Kleins have more money than they know what to do with, and they're not afraid to rub it in your face.
"Jack," Mr. Waters allowed, trying once again to sustain eye contact with the young man and fixing his gaze on the bridge of his nose instead. "I know that sometimes you feel that Mr. Crowther doesn't use the best teaching methods, but-"
"'Doesn't use the best methods?' He made fun of Bailey Rivers for being short-sighted. What kind of a dumbass teacher does that?" This was, in fact, the latest in a string of abuses (as Jack saw them) against not only Bailey but the students of his class in general. Jack had been raised with just the right mixture of pride and indignance that he wasn't going to let that sort of thing slide for very long. Today had been the final straw. He actually didn't mind Bailey; she wasn't a huge jerk behind his back like most people were, and that sort of crap was uncalled for as far as he was concerned. So he'd gotten stuck in to the arrogant good-for-nothing, and called him out in a scathing monotone. He had, of course been sent to the office straight afterward, and was sitting there even as the bell rang.
"Language, Jack," Mr. Waters reminded him. This was a conversation they'd had before, obvious in the weariness of the principal's voice. In truth, the man didn't care for Sam Crowther either, but the school board wouldn't let him fire the teacher and replace him. "Look, all I'm asking is that you avoid direct confrontation with him. I know you don't respect him, but I want you to respect this school and do your best in the class anyway. We both know you can succeed when you apply yourself, and you don't want your chances at getting into a good college ruined by a failing grade, okay?"
Jack made a sullen grunting sound that meant he grudgingly agreed, and Mr. Waters smiled. "Good. Now, I do believe you have track and field practice this afternoon, so I won't keep you any longer. I hear the team's going to be great this year, so work hard."
The young man didn't bother to respond as he exited, headed for the locker rooms to change. He needed a good run to get the angry out of his system.