Raising Tobias
Tobias Rossi never backed down from a challenge. It was the reason he spent many a school-day afternoon beating blackboard erasers together, and more than one recess period hunched over a desk scribbling rules until his fingers ached. A month ago, he accepted Sam Annesley's dare to climb the oak tree in Old Lady Elise's backyard and hang boxers from its branches. The dwarfish widow brandished her cane from the steps of her back patio when Tobias dashed away in triumph, and in a raspy voice wailed over how boys like him ended up in juvenile detention centers. Two weeks later, Daniel Norton explained the amount of amusement Tobias would reap if he bagged the tarantulas from biology class and set them loose in the girls bathroom. The boys even went so far as to skip class to achieve the feat, but their school's vice principal, upon doing her hourly hall patrols, caught the truant trio and sent them straight to the administration office.
At home, the punishments never motivated Tobias to discontinue his ill behaviour. He could deal with washing dishes after dinner, or bathing the dogs, or even cleaning up food messes left behind by his four-year-old sister, Marisol. Besides, stirring up trouble with his best friends, Sam and Daniel, was a rite of passage of sorts. One that ushered him toward his eleventh birthday. He was notorious at Highland Oaks Middle School for his long-running streak of rebellion, and he wasn't about to renounce his reputation just because adults in tailored suits thought his disciplinary problem would evolve into destructive habits.
When his birthday fully unraveled itself on January 2, however, the principal had dealt with Tobias long enough. The two sat opposite each other, a desk laden with files and writing utensils the only barrier between them. Tobias sat slouched in his chair and stared at the white lettering of "CARTWRIGHT" engraved into the man's nameplate.
Mr. Cartwright peered down the slope of his pointy nose, through the small circular lens of his glasses, and grimaced at the delinquent before him. "Young man, do you know what I was doing at your age?" He paused for dramatic effect. He'd been a thespian in college and knew silence sometimes was more intimidating than strong words. When he saw no evidence of his method's success on the boy's expressionless face, he proceeded. "Involving myself with extracurricular activities. Sports, academics, community outreach. That's how I spent my free time; making something of myself. Not traipsing about causing riots like you've done since school began."
Tobias wouldn't roll his eyes, but that didn't mean he didn't feel inclined to. Mr. Cartwright was so full himself it was ridicolous. His lectures at campus events were always long and boring; it a was common occurrence for the eighth graders to feign loud snores whenever the ten minute mark was passed. Today's reprimand was no exception. Tobias tried to affix his gaze between the principal's bushy eyebrows, but what really caught his attention was how strands of Mr. Cartwright's toupe danced in the draft of the ceiling fan.
"Are you listening to me, young man?" Mr. Carwright leaned forward on the forearms plastered to his desktop and narrowed eyes so light a blue they seemed impaired by cataracts.
Tobias shook his head, realized he'd heard the question wrong, and corrected his error with a nod instead.
The man sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Detention isn't solving this, and you make a party out of in school suspension. Who is it at home who handles the notes we've been sending?"
"My ma," said Tobias, with a shrug.
"And your father?" Mr. Cartwright often dreaded asking for a second parent. In far too many circumstances, the children at his middle school were reared by single mothers or fathers, and the revelation of such facts was always awkward for both him and the student in question.
"What about him?"
The principal sighed. "Has he seen your report cards, your progress reports? Is it always your mother who signs the detention notices?"
Tobias was silent, but his dark eyes were already registering the domino effect that could happen right there in the principal's office. His palms began to feel sweaty atop the vinyl armrests of his chair. A slouch wasn't as suave a position anymore, and he set both feet down from their heels, pushing himself up so he sat straight. "My father's always busy with work," he said, slow and careful, measuring the meaning of every syllable that left his lips.
"Not too busy to discipline his son, I'd hope." The man nudged his glasses further up his nose, but it only took seconds before they started to slide down again.
"My ma's the one always dealing with our sh-, with our crap. She does the kid stuff, y'know? There's five of us. Plus my father's got an office and he's got work to get done, so he's always upstairs with his clients."
"I see." He opened a manila folder set apart from the others and began sifting through the paperwork within.
Tobias watched him and swallowed a developing knot in his throat. He scooted to the edge of his seat and leaned forward some, as if he and Mr. Cartwright were long time chums exchanging tips for an upcoming horse derby. "He's honestly way too busy for this kind of stuff," he said, his voice softer.
Mr. Cartwright wasn't paying the least bit of attention, though. He found the information he was looking for, picked up the handset of his phone, and dialed a number Tobias very well recognized. "Let's hope he isn't too busy today, hmm?" He made an obnoxious smile with his lips and spread the boy's recent recorded trangressions across his desk space.
Tobias could only watch on, horrified. His heart began pounding when his principal made contact with someone on the other end, and said the greeting Tobias would've rather his father never hear.
"Good afternoon. Alfonso Rossi? Yes, this is Principal Cartwright from Highland Oaks Middle School. My call is in regards to your son, Tobias."
Chapter 2=>