Israel

“I am fine!,” I insisted. “Really, Flores, I’m fine!” Flores rolled her eyes.

“Israel, you have a broken nose,” she muttered, crossing her arms. “And don’t call me Flores.”

“Okay, Mrs. Gorski, or should I call you doctor?,” I sneered.

“Listen, I’m sorry, but I have to send you home,” she replied, then motioning for the door.

“But my friend needs me here!,” I begged. Flores’ eyes hardened.

“Go wait in your father’s office Israel,” Flores mumbled. “I have other people to see and I don’t have time for your begging.” Is she for real? Aggressively, i propelled myself off the table and then stormed out of Flores’ office, slamming the door behind me.

“I can’t go home,” I muttered as I walked down the hallway, past several kids, probably all older than me. “I can’t! I cannot and will not leave Leo here!” Finally, after a little bit of walking, I reached a bland wooden door close to the end of the main hallway.

In an agitated manner, I violently opened the door to my father’s office, then slamming it behind me. Suddenly, my father spun around in his chair, his black and grey hair shining in the artificial light and his black eyes hard with zero emotion.

“I would prefer if you didn’t break the door,” he informed. “It’s relatively new, and if you break it, I’ll take money from your college account to fix it. But by all means, please sit.” Angrily, I flopped down into the leather cushioned chair in front of my father’s hand carved and intricate desk.

“So, why are you so upset you’ve resorted to door abuse?,” my dad asked sarcastically.

“Flores wanted to send me home!,” I cried in despair. My father’s expression remained unchanged.

“That’s Mrs. Gorski to you, Israel,” he corrected. “And why don’t you want to go home?”

“Because I don’t want to leave my friend,” I said simply. “He’s new, and he also lives in the apartment complex, and he’s super sweet and I can’t leave him alone.” My father’s eyes softened slightly, almost to the point of slight panic.

“I assume your talking about Leo Astelli,” my father filled in.

“Yes and-, wait, how did you know?,” I asked, suspicion rising. My father gave me an agitated look.

“Israel, I feel like you forget that I run this school and I know practically everyone here,” he muttered. “And…well,never mind.” Suspicion level still rising.

“Dad, what we’re you gonna say?,” I questioned.

“Nothing,” he said bitterly, telling me to drop it. “And Israel, you have a broken nose. That needs a little more immediate attention. I’m sorry, but I’m calling your mom.” I groaned.

“Dad, please,” I begged. My father ignored me, instead, picking up his cellphone and dialing my mother’s number. I sighed, leaning back in the chair.

Now what? What if Leo thinks that I left him? Or that I don’t care about him? What if he doesn’t want to be friends? What if…My thought process was cut short when a soft knock came from the door.

“Come in,” my father muttered as he filed through papers. When the door opened, my stepdad, Asher, who was around the age of 40 with soft blonde hair that hung over his forehead and kind, ocean blue eyes walked in. My father dropped the papers onto his desk.

“Oh, hi Asher,” my father said cheerfully. “I’m so sorry you have to pick up Israel again.” Considering how Asher married my dad’s ex wife, they seemed to be in good terms, friends, you could say. Asher shrugged insignificantly.

“It’s no big deal,” he replied, his voice equally cheerful. “Amanda’s caught at work…*again*, but it’s really no trouble.” My father nodded slowly, seeming to get lost in thought, then shook his head.

“Anyway, just rest up Israel,” my father instructed, glaring at me. I raised my hands up in defense.

“Yes sir, yes sir,” I replied assuring. My father gruffly nodded. I stood up and walked towards Asher.

“Well, have a good day Gordon,” Asher murmured.

“You too Asher,” my dad replied, turning back to the papers on his desk. Asher let out a sigh, then walked out the door and I quickly followed behind him.

• • • • •

“So how’d you get a broken nose?,” Asher asked as he was driving towards our apartment complex. For a split second, I hesitated. I mean, I liked Asher. He was cool for a stepdad. But i still didn’t trust him completely. Finally, I sighed and told him all about Leo, how Olivia punched me, and anything else up to the present.

When I was done, Asher was silent, staring out the front window of his car. I didn’t think he would reply, but he sighed and gave me a reply.

“This is advice, and you can take it or leave it, but if I were you, I would get back at her,” he advised. “Not along the lines of violence. But something mentally or socially. What she did Israel was dirty and over the line. So the only way to get back at her is to play dirty and cross the line.” It took me a minute for those words to sink in. My peaceful, quiet, and serene stepdad, telling me to seek rw yon my past friend? My trust bar just went up.

“Oh,” I muttered evilly. “Get back at her.” Asher nodded.

“Just don’t tell your mother I gave you that advice,” he put in quickly. I laughed a little.

“Got it,” I replied, still giggling to myself. For the rest of the ride, the two of us were silent. But revenge on Olivia was heavy topic. I loved the idea. It absolutely fascinated me. And slowly, very slowly, a shallow and humiliating idea sunk into my mind. It was good, no, great. But I would need some help. And in the end, it would be far from worth it.