Madeline
“Sit down, Billy. We need to talk about what you did. This is a very serious matter,” Principal Stevens said with a tone that expressed how severe the situation was. Billy focused his eyes from the beige carpet and onto Principal Stevens. His fingers set gently on the chair in contemplation. After a moment’s thought, he complied with Principal Stevens’ request and he took the seat opposite Principal Stevens so that the large wood desk sat between them.
Although the desk was only what the district could afford, for Principal Stevens, it felt like it was protection enough from such a small child with only so far of a wing span. Principal Stevens glanced out the window and then back at the child.
“What you did to Jennie Lopez was not very nice,” Principal Stevens said in the same tone he used to encourage Billy to sit.
“But she said my picture looked ugly,” Billy said. His eyes were large and his expression melancholy.
“I don’t care what she said. Violence is never the answer. There are other ways to cope with what others say. For one, you can ignore her. Her words can’t hurt you.” Principal Stevens paused before he continued, unsure if what he said next would help or aggravate the situation. “But you know what can hurt someone, stabbing them in the eye with a pencil because she said your picture looked ugly.”
Billy looked down at his hands in his lap. It was still early in the morning and Billy’s hair was perfectly combed to one side and held by gel. Principal Stevens figured that, if allowed to go out onto the playground, his hair would only stay that way for another five minutes before it would get disheveled.
“Are the police coming?” Billy sat on his hands and kicked his feet back and forth. Principal Stevens noticed that the remnants of mischief had left this child between the time it took him to walk from the classroom and into the chair that sat opposite in Principal Steven’s office.
“I’m afraid so,” Principal Stevens said glancing out the window again, hoping they would hurry.
“Will I go to jail?” Billy asked.
Principal Stevens gave a laugh. The subject wasn’t funny but if any child belonged in jail it was little Billy Glover and somehow he found humor in this. Or perhaps it was nerves. He straightened his face and said, “they don’t put six year olds in jail.”
Billy jumped off the chair.
“I told you to sit, Billy,” Principal Stevens was stern.
Billy walked to the bookcase in the corner of the office. It held a few books, an aloe vera plant, and various trophies and rewards he had won over the years during his time in academia.
“What are you doing, Billy?” Principal Stevens asked with concern.
“You have so many trophies,” Billy commented.
“Thank you for noticing,” Principal Stevens responded with apprehension in his voice.
“I got a trophy once. It was for little league. My dad called it ‘a participation trophy.’ It was just cheap plastic painted to look like metal. My dad was right. It was not a real trophy. Not like these.” Billy fingered a trophy Principal Stevens earned for principal of the year a decade prior.
“Do you keep your little league trophy on a shelf like this?” Principal Stevens asked, glancing out the window.
“Nah, I put it in the garbage. I want a real one. One like this,” Billy said, fingering a trophy Principal Stevens earned for teacher of the year two decades ago.
Principal Stevens looked down at his hands and breathed in. He closed his eyes for a second before standing and walking over the shelf. He kneeled so that he was eye level with Billy.
“You will have plenty of time in your life to earn lots of trophies. I didn’t get my first trophy until I was in college.” Principal Stevens said.
“Really?” Billy looked at Principal Stevens with big eyes full of hope. If the kid had aspirations, perhaps he wasn’t a bad seed after all. He may have stabbed Jennie in the eye causing her to be rushed to the hospital by one of the other teachers. Although Principal Stevens couldn’t properly assess the girl’s injuries, she would likely be blind for the rest of her life. But Principal Stevens was sure that Billy must have some good in him.
Principal Stevens could hear the sirens outside shifting his attention to the window. The police were finally here. They were now responsible for the discipline of Billy Glover. Principal Stevens could leave Billy with them and he could continue with his already ruined day.
“I don’t want to go to jail,” Billy said. Principal Stevens glanced out the window again, but before he could turn his attention back at Billy, Billy picked up one of the biggest and heaviest trophies from the bookcase and hoisted it over his head. He then threw the metal cup as hard as he could, landing it square on top of Principal Steven’s head. Knocking him unconscious. Blood pooled from under Principal Stevens’ head, fanning out in a dark patch and into the cheap beige carpet.
Billy dragged Principal Stevens’ desk chair over to the window and hoisted himself up on top of the shelf below. Billy slid his tiny fingers in the crack where Principal Stevens had opened the window for fresh air and opened the window large enough for him to fit his whole body. Billy jumped out and into the parking lot of the school. He turned his head both ways, keeping low.
This was Billy’s opportunity. This was his chance at a new life. No longer would anyone call his pictures ugly. No longer would he live a life for participation trophies. He wanted a life where he got praise for his work and he earned real trophies for real things. He was now a six year old on the run for greater things.
