His forehead throbbed from where he’d butted heads with Marty. No matter how much he rubbed it with his hands, the dull, constant pain would not subside. He fidgeted in his seat in the office waiting room, slightly nauseous from the lingering scent of Lysol and getting more uncomfortable as the mud on his arms and t-shirt began to dry and cake.

Avery had never been in a fight before. Though he was now in trouble, he couldn’t suppress the thrilling sensation of adrenaline. His hands shook. His heart still raced. And the memory of seeing Marty fall down and surrender—that was worth the trouble. It was enough to make him smile faintly.

He looked up and saw Ms. Bing towering over him. The assistant principal was a giant with broad shoulders and an awkward posture. When she patrolled the campus she lumbered around knock-kneed. It was almost comical, except that she didn’t have a sense of humor.