My Little Brony

by K. M. Hayes

  “Everything okay?” Emma and Skye asked at the same time.

  “Relatively speaking. Nothing’s broken.”

  “That’s good,” Skye said. “We’re staying so we can tell the principal what really happened.”

  “Yeah.” It didn’t escape my notice that Dad had hardly looked at me, probably ashamed that I had sullied his good name even more. “And you might wanna get a restraining order on Teagan because he’s stalking you basically.”

  “I’ve thought about it,” she admitted.

  Emma frowned. “Maybe I should walk home with you, Skye.”

  “That would be nice.” The moment Skye said it, they both looked like two peas in a pod. “I’d feel a lot safer.”

  “You know what?” I said, smiling even if it hurt my face. “Friendship totally is magic.”

  They looked at me for a split second before laughing their heads off. Then I laughed, too, and even though I was in this horrible situation, it didn’t feel so bad. I had them. The rest of the school didn’t matter. Whatever happened next didn’t matter.

  “Where in the world did that come from?” Emma asked.

  I shrugged.

  The principal appeared from her office. She did not seem happy to have her lunch interrupted by this drama. “Andrew Morris?”

  “Here.” I stepped forward.

  “You’re first.” She looked at the other guys. “I’ll speak with you each individually in order to see how the stories line up. Mr. Morris, make sure they don’t talk amongst themselves while I’m speaking with Andrew.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” my father said. Then he nodded at me. “Don’t go easy on that one, either. He coulda avoided all this if he wanted.”

  All the good feelings disappeared with his cutting words. He blamed this on me. In his head I had started the fight by being there and making myself a target with my sissy interests. If I weren’t so pathetic, I wouldn’t be a victim.

  I felt like kicking him in the stomach, too.

  “This way, Andrew.” The principal went into her office, and I took the first available chair as she closed the door. She sat in front of me and watched me for a few seconds. I had to hand it to her, she did seem neutral at least. “I was told there was a fight in the lunchroom.”

  I nodded. “Yes, ma’am. Sorry, ma’am.”

  “Do you know our policy on violence at school?”

  I shook my head.

  “Even if it’s a first offense, you will receive punishment—detention and possibly suspension if I determine it suitable. There are no exceptions. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” This wasn’t surprising, but it did suck. I was the one who had gotten beat unfairly, and yet because I had defended myself, I’d be punished, too. Would I have to be in detention with all of them? That would sure be fun.

  “Tell me what happened in your own words.”

  I explained the situation, why I went to the cafeteria and how Teagan threatened both me and Skye. I told her I wasn’t going to risk Skye’s safety to get out of there, and I admitted to kicking Teagan after he bloodied my nose. The principal took notes throughout my story, not asking a single question.

  “Thank you,” she said when I finished. “A couple questions.”

  “Okay . . .”

  “How long have you and Skye been bullied about this?”

  I sunk in my chair, not expecting it to go this direction. “Uh, she’s been harassed about it from the first day of school. Me? Since I stood up for her a month ago and admitted I liked the show.”

  “Has Teagan been one of her harassers for a long time?”

  “I think so. I don’t know all the details . . .” I touched my phone in my pocket, remembering the video I had of his threats about Homecoming. Never had I gone so far to stand up for myself, but this wasn’t me—it was Skye. And after what I’d seen from Teagan, I had to. “But, well, I took this video. This was before we were friends and when I really started worrying about her.”

  I pulled it up and showed it to the principal. As she watched Skye being pinned to the lockers, she was now clearly concerned. “Thank you for showing me this, Andrew. How do you feel about emailing this video to me? I might need it as I investigate what’s going on here.”

  “Sure.” I sent it to her school email address as she directed.

  “I think that’s it for now,” she said, standing. “Once I’ve heard from the other boys I will let you know how long your detention will be.”

  “Okay.” I walked out with her, feeling slightly relieved that she had said detention and not suspension.

  I waited until everyone had given their stories, which ended up going well into the class after lunch. My father left to teach and was replaced with another beefy teacher who coached the wrestling team. Once everyone talked, we waited for our sentences. I then went back into the principal’s office

  She handed me a peach-colored sheet of paper with DETENTION SCHEDULE printed on top. Two more peach sheets were on her desk, plus a red one. Although I didn’t know what red meant, it seemed bad. “Considering all the circumstances, I’ve decided that you will have two weeks of detention. I wish you would have come to the administration sooner with what has been going on. Next time, please talk to me instead of kicking people, okay?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I looked over the sheet. An hour and a half detention after school every day didn’t seem so bad, considering I’d been here after school since day one anyway.

  “You may go.”

  I left as fast as I could. I would have kept going all the way to Emma and Skye and out of the office, but Miss Overly appeared. She was not smiling like usual. “Drew, may I talk to you?”

  “Uh, sure.” I stepped inside her office, not knowing what to expect after what had happened. But I hoped it wasn’t what I thought it was. “Do I have to get counseling because of this or something?”

  “No. Though it never hurts.” She looked at her door like she was wrong to talk to me. “But, well, your father spoke with me.”

  “He did?” For a second my heart soared, like maybe this was proof he cared about me on some level. Maybe he couldn’t express it himself, and he still watched out for me in some way. “What’d he say?”

  “He said you’d changed your mind about pursuing art, that you wanted your schedule changed back to how it was,” she explained with marked skepticism in her voice. “It seemed odd to me, since you were so excited about it the other day. I thought I would check before I reverted anything.”

  I let out a dry, short laugh. What was I thinking? Here I’d been beat up, so of course, he tried to ruin my life more. “No, I don’t want those changes. He lied to you because he thinks I’m a pansy for liking art.”

  “I see.” Miss Overly put a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but maybe now I am recommending you come see me. All of this can’t be easy.”

  “It’s not,” I admitted. “I’ll think about it.”

  Because at this rate, Dad would drive me crazy, crazier than all the jerks in the school combined. But it wasn’t me who needed therapy. I was pretty sure he did—and I planned on telling him that.

  Chapter 34

  I STOOD OUTSIDE on our front lawn, holding a football and waiting for Dad to come home. My detention would start tomorrow—which would jack up my schedule yet again—so this was my only chance to confront him.

  I had it all planned out. First, I would tell him he was wrong to blame me for what had happened today. I was the victim. Not that he would believe me, but I decided I had to stick up for myself at least. My face was swollen and bruised, may as well. He couldn’t hit me when I looked like this.

  Then I’d tell him that I knew he had tried to change my schedule, and explain how messed up he was to take my dream from me. The more I thought about it, the angrier I got. He had no right to stop me from taking art—he was completely out of line. Maybe if I explained how much I liked it, how it made me happy, he’d get over it.

 
And then, after all that, I’d dare him to watch My Little Pony. He’d get mad for sure, but it was only fair that he knew what he insulted. It was one thing not to like it after seeing it, but another entirely to judge it without even trying to understand.

  Of course, first I had to get him to look at me long enough to say any of this. That’s what the football was for. I figured maybe we could play catch. He liked stuff like that.

  I didn’t mind it so much either. As I tossed the ball from one hand to the other, I remembered a time when Dad had talked to me and we’d thrown this thing back and forth. I had liked those parts of my ill-fated football life the most, just throwing the ball for fun with no pressure or expectation. I wouldn’t mind doing that again, if he’d let me.

  The sun had set, and the light was going quickly when his truck appeared on the horizon. I prepped myself. This was no big deal. I wanted to talk to my dad, to stand up for myself and ask him to understand me. That’s what I was supposed to do as a son, wasn’t it?

  He pulled into the gravel driveway, and the headlights blocked my vision of him. Surely he saw me—I was right there with a spotlight on me.

  The truck’s engine turned off, and Dad stepped out. He didn’t look at me for even a millisecond. I thought the football would at least get me half a second. He walked toward the house like I was a ghost he didn’t know was there.

  “Hey, Dad!” I started. “I thought maybe we could—”

  Slam.

  He was in the house before I finished the first sentence. I stood there, stunned, but then anger flared in my chest. I went after him, right to the kitchen since he would probably go for dinner. But he wasn’t there. Mom was putting leftovers on a plate.

  “Where’s Dad?” I asked.

  “Said he was tired,” she replied as she put the food in the microwave. “Went upstairs to rest.”

  “So that’s how it’s gonna be.” I took a deep breath. “I’ll take that food up to him.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “What happened?”

  “Nothing.”

  She folded her arms, ignoring the microwave beep. “Since when do you ever voluntarily go see your father?”

  I cringed, knowing I didn’t have a good answer. Mom knew about the fight today, both from my wounds and from the school calling. I spent most of the drive home telling her about it, how Teagan had harassed Skye, and how I felt like I had to stand up for her and me. She wasn’t happy, but it seemed like she understood.

  But I hadn’t told her what Dad had done. It meant a lot to me . . . and yet, it was also not that big of a deal. He hadn’t gotten my classes changed. Everything was still on course for next semester. But the idea that he’d gone to that length, that hurt so much.

  “Andrew Scott Morris,” Mom said sternly. “What are you hiding?”

  I sighed. No avoiding it now—she knew something was up and she’d hound me until I told her. “When I was in the office today, after all the fight stuff got sorted out, Miss Overly talked to me. She told me Dad wanted her to change my schedule back to what it was, but she wanted to check with me first.”

  Mom looked absolutely disgusted. “Is that the truth?”

  “That’s what Miss Overly said.” I put my hands in my pockets, withdrawing. She looked so angry I worried she’d lash out at me. “It’s just art, I don’t get why it bothers Dad so much.”

  “Because he’s being an idiot.” Mom went to the microwave, grabbed the food, and pointed at me. “You stay here. I’m talking with him about this.”

  She stomped out of the kitchen, mumbling something under her breath I didn’t catch. Her feet pounded up the stairs, the bedroom door opened and slammed shut, and I heard muffled-but-obvious yelling from both my parents. It reminded me of the time when I was in the hospital and my mother had put down the ultimatum that I wasn’t playing football anymore.

  Except it seemed worse this time. I wasn’t in a hospital. I was a bit banged up, and Dad’s attempts to stop me from pursuing art frustrated me, but this was not a life-threatening situation. And they still yelled at each other.

  They yelled at each other a lot.

  When they weren’t yelling, they snapped at each other.

  Or no interaction at all.

  I leaned on the kitchen counter as reality sunk in. I’d been so focused on my own problems—on figuring out what I wanted in life, on accepting that I liked MLP, on making friends with Emma and Skye—that I hadn’t thought about how many problems my parents had.

  CRASH.

  The sound of breaking glass jarred me out of my thoughts. In the silence of the house, my father’s voice boomed, “GET THE HELL OUT!”

  “You first!” Mom’s voice was much quieter, but still clear.

  Chills ran down my spine, and guilt filled my stomach. I shouldn’t have told her what had happened. This fight wouldn’t have existed if I’d kept it to myself. What if they were serious? What if they split up? While I hated my dad . . . I didn’t want that.

  “Drew?” Holly popped her head into the kitchen, and I saw her tears. “I’m scared. Can you stay with me?”

  “Yeah.” I had forgotten that if I could hear all the yelling, so could my little sister. If I was worried, Holly was probably terrified. I went to the living room with her, and she grabbed onto me tightly. She hadn’t been this close to me ever, but I held her and tried to be strong.

  She watched My Little Pony, the show that had started the fight. I didn’t know how to feel about watching it while my parents yelled about this very thing upstairs. All I’d wanted to do was figure out my life and be happy—I had no idea it would make my parents so unhappy with each other.

  “What if they keep fighting?” Holly said quietly.

  I gulped, knowing I couldn’t say the D word to an eight-year-old. She’d lose it. I was kind of losing it even. “They’ll work it out.”

  “How do you know?” she asked. “They might not.”

  “They have before. It’ll be okay.” I squeezed her arm. “Don’t worry.”

  Holly nodded into my stomach, and I felt my shirt getting wet from her tears. “Will you at least be my big brother best friend forever? You won’t go, right?”

  My laugh was pained. Holly definitely knew her MLP references. “Sure, as long as you stay my little sister best friend forever.”

  “I promise,” she said.

  I squeezed my eyes shut on the tears forming there. Maybe my parents were fighting upstairs, but I had Holly. I couldn’t have said that at the beginning of the school year. I hadn’t felt close to any of my family, but now Holly and I were real family. And the same show was ruining the other half of my family.

  Honestly, I didn’t know what to do or how to fix it and still keep the things I’d come to love. And if I didn’t figure it out soon, I’d lose it all either way.

  Chapter 35

  DETENTION WAS WORSE than I thought it’d be. Mostly because I couldn’t use my phone, so therefore I didn’t have Skye or Quincy to entertain me through texting. Emma asked if she could hang out in the detention room with me, but that wasn’t allowed either. So it was me and two of the guys who’d hit me a few days ago.

  Teagan had been suspended.

  Apparently Skye spent extra time with the principal recounting the creepiness she’d suffered from Teagan. The school wanted to get him serious counseling outside of school. As Skye said, he was “legit messed up.” It made me feel kind of bad for him, but not bad enough to think he didn’t deserve it all.

  “Okay, guys, you’re free,” said Mr. Rivera. He was on detention duty this time. It had been a different teacher each day of the week. “Go and sin no more.”

  One of Teagan’s lackeys groaned. “You’re not funny.”

  “Now you know how people feel when you joke around,” Mr. Rivera replied.

  I smirked, but said nothing. I wanted to get out as much as they did, so I rushed for the door. Just one more week. I could survive that.

  Emma waited outside for me, and she smil
ed when our eyes met. “Hey.”

  “Hey.” I looked around but saw no girl wearing brightly colored pony clothing. “Did Skye leave?”

  Emma shook her head. “Still in the Home Ec room. She said she had to finish something today and figured I could handle picking you up from detention all on my own.”

  “The next Brony meet-up is coming up. She probably wants to show it there.” We walked toward the art hall. Since I had detention, it only complicated my schedule even more. Mom couldn’t wait for me that long, so I ended up hanging out at Skye’s until Dad got home and she could come get me.

  It hadn’t escaped me that this schedule was rough on Mom and definitely not sustainable. If I went to the high school I was supposed to, she wouldn’t have to drive two hours every day to get me. Problem was, I liked being at Yearling High now. I didn’t want to leave my friends and go back to the people who had bullied me for years. If being bad at football was enough to get me beat up, adding MLP on top of it would make it even worse.

  Of course . . . if my parents kept fighting, I might not have a choice at all.

  “Hey,” Emma snapped me out of my thoughts. We were almost to the Home Ec room, and I hadn’t even noticed. “Are you okay?”

  I sighed. “Not really.”

  “What’s up?”

  “My parents are still fighting a lot. Mostly about me,” I admitted. Talking to Emma made it a bit easier, at least until I thought about how I would lose her and Skye. “I’m a home wrecker. Because I like My Little Pony.”

  She frowned. “C’mon, it’s not your fault.”

  “Sure feels like it though.” I’d seen enough TV shows to know this was what people told kids of divorced parents, and here I was already getting it. Talk about foreshadowing.

  “Also, it sounds completely stupid that so much drama could come from watching one show,” Emma said. “Now I know why you thought I was overreacting.”