This took a lot longer to write than normal becuase I had to catch the rigth emotions. I hope I succeeded. Tell me if the emotions are all wrong and I'll see what I can do.

Keep in mind though, this will probably be re-written when I finish it.

Unedited.

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Outside the door I knock gently, waiting to be called in. whilst readying myself. I have no idea what I’ll find on the other side of the door—I’m not even sure I want to know. Too late now.

“Yes?” I hear from the other side and I can’t tell what the emotion in the principal’s voice is. Fear? Anger? Probably both.

“It’s Alyson. I was called in—”

“Come in, honey,” mum yells back, thinly veiled anger in her voice.

With a sigh I follow her orders, pushing the door open. It squeaks loudly, and if they weren’t looking this way they are now. Great.

Chaos greets me the minute I step through and I have to stop to take it all in. And there’s a lot to take in. The principal is frazzled—and quite terrified—, something I’ve never seen before. It doesn’t take me long to figure out why. Mum is leaning over the desk, expression so fierce it scares me for a second. In all my life I’ve never seen her as mad as she is now. Mum doesn’t get mad. She’s either the most level-headed person around or she’s in tears.

“Ally,” dad says, waving me over to him. I walk over, standing by the seat. Of all the people in the room, did is by far the calmest. I can see him cast worried glances over at mum, and a glare in his eyes but he’s not shouting. He doesn’t need to shout. In his uniform he look more intimidating than anyone in the room, without even trying.

“What’s going on?” I whisper, watching as mum continues to glare at the principal.

Dad pulls me onto his lap and I sit without complaint, leaning against his shoulder. “Nothing and yet somehow it’s escalated to this,” he says, waving his hand in the direction of the two people attacking each other verbally. “Your mother just snapped. Though I can’t say her reaction isn’t warranted. If I wasn’t the mediator right now, I’d be the same.”

I look over, just in time to see the principal stare at dad, fear evident in his expression. I follow his line of sight to the gun in dad’s waistband. “Uh, dad, he’s terrified of you.”

Dad raises an eyebrow. “I’m not the one screaming at him. I’d be more scared of your mother if I were him.”

“You have a gun.”

Dad just rolls his eyes. “What? Does he think I’m going to use it? That defeats the purpose of being a cop.” He pauses, just staring down at me. I smile back, still watching the disaster out of the corner of my eye. “How’s Rick?”

“Fine. He’s off in his own world—”

“Excuse you?” mum snaps, voice bothering on hysterical. “None of this is your fault? Get a clue.”

Dad stands, gently pushing me off him. I stand next to him as he kisses my forehead. “Time to mediate. Before this situation gets worse.”

Too little, too late.

Dad seems to catch the look on my face. “Worse than it is already.” He nods to his chair. “Sit. I don’t want to put any strain on your lung.”

I sit, even though standing won’t strain it at all.

“Mrs Adams, you’re out of line. You are unaware of what took place on the day. For all you know, your daughter could have lied to you,” the principal says and I watch mum’s face go cold.

“Are you trying to tell me that my daughter didn’t die that day? That she was in a coma and your school isn’t to blame. That you aren’t at fault.”

I stare at mum, only remembering one other time when she’d gotten so mad—to the point of exploding. I’d been 11, a year into my cancer diagnosis. When you’re 11 you think you’re the coolest kid to exist. And I’d been the same. Six years had seemed like a long time then—little did I know how time flew when you wanted it to last a lifetime. My lungs had both worked all those years ago and I’d been an average child, just with a side effect of cancer. When one of my friend’s parents had invited me to an amusement park I’d accepted. It had turned out to be one of the worst decisions in my life. When roller coasters meet lung cancer the outcome isn’t good. Disastrous, even. I could attest to it. On one of the rides I’d had a panic attack and I’d almost died. It was safe to say that mum had been pissed off; more than a little pissed off.

Like she was right now.

Dad steps forward, placing a hand on mum’s shoulder. “Honey, calm down. Yelling won’t solve anything.”

Mum just shrugs his hand off, her eyes never leaving the principals. “Maybe, but it’ll make me feel a lot better.”

“Ma’am, please. I did not mean to imply that your daughter was a liar—”

Mum’s laugh is a bitter sound. “Really? That’s what it sounded like to me.”

I can see the principal swallow, eyes looking anywhere but mum. “—I just meant that she may not have remembered all of it. She could’ve missed vital details.”

For the first time since entering the office, I speak up. “I can assure you that nothing I said was twisted. Everything was the truth.”

The principal’s eyes meet mine and I can see a drop of sweat dripping down his face. “You can’t know that for sure. You went through a very traumatic experience. Your mind might not—”

“My mind is perfectly sane. Ask my therapist.”

Like he’s talking to a child, he repeats, “It was very traumatic for you—”

Mum interrupts before I can. “I don’t like what you’re trying to say about my daughter.”

“Ma’am her condition—”

“She has no condition,” dad snaps.

“Sir . . .” Staring at dad, the principal swallows heavily, looking down at his desk. 

I stand, moving next to dad. He wraps his arm around my shoulders and I lean into him. “I have cancer. Not a mental condition that makes me cripple.”

At the word ‘cancer’ his eyes widen and he leans back into his chair as if something knocks him off his feet. Then he seems to catch himself, sitting up straighter in the chair. “Yes, Miss Adams, you have cancer. I’m aware—”

“Then is it not your job to make sure that other teachers are aware,” mum snaps.

“Well, yes ma’am, but . . .”

Mum is relentless, her mask never slipping. “But what?”

The principal sighs. “She was in a coma. People are never the same when they come out of comas. The events of the days might be completely inaccurate.

Mum raises a sardonic eyebrow. “So, you’re still refusing to acknowledge that you’re solely to blame.”

“Your daughter is fine, ma’am. Clearly, nothing happened—”

Dad laughs mockingly, his arm around me tightening. “I have to disagree with you. She almost died and you think that’s nothing?”

The question is clearly rhetorical but the principal answers anyway. “Of course not sir.”

“So you admit to the attempted murder of my daughter?” dad demands.

Visibly pale, the principal stutters out, “M—murder? I did nothing—”

Dad just cuts him off. “Do I need to define the word for you?”

“Uh, no sir. But I did not attempt to harm your daughter.”

“But one of your staff did. Which, by default, connects you to the crime.”

The principal fails at covering his gasp. “Crime? There was no crime!” Standing, he glares at dad. “I refuse to be bullied in my own office. I didn’t do a thing to deserve this. Get out. Now. Before I call the police.”

I almost laugh but I stop myself—in this situation it’d just be wrong.

Dad smirks. “You want to call them? Do it.”

The principal glares at him, smirking right back. “Fine. I’m calling them now.” Then he starts to dial the number.

On the second ring dad holds his fingers to his ears. “Yes. This is the police. What’s seems to be the issue?”

I can help but grin, hiding it in dad’s side.

The smirk drops off the principal’s face. Realisation sets in—dad is the police. “But— but . . . there was no crime. You can’t accuse me of that!”

“I beg to differ. You risked my daughters’ life.”

“Sir, she’s fine. She said so . . .”

“And if she wasn’t?”

That shuts the principal up. His mouth opens and closes repeatedly, eyes wide. Silence encompasses the room.

A knock on the door breaks the silence. Clearing his throat the principal says, “Come in,” in a shaky voice.

We all look to the door and I watch as none other than Mrs Becker walks in, standing proud. I can’t help but glance between her and dad. Mrs Becker pales in comparison to dad; they’re both built but she doesn’t hold a candle to dad in any other aspect.

“Sir, why am I here?” she asks, eyes flicking to the principal. It seems like she hasn’t even noticed us yet.     

“Mrs Becker, thank you for coming,” the principal say, almost desperately.

The only response he gets is a raised eyebrow. “It’s not like I had much of a choice. . .” She trails off and I watch as her eyes land on me, her expression turning into one of disgust. She doesn’t even attempt to hide it. “Oh, it’s you,” she spits. “What now? More sob stories to tell me.”

I swear I hear dad growl beside me—an actual, honest-to-god growl.

I just glare at her. Mum’s reaction is the same.

Then dad smiles, though I can tell it’s forced, before he walks over to Mrs Becker, holding his hand out. “I’m Constable Becker. I’m not sure we’ve met.”

She smiles at him and the respect shining in her eyes, makes me want to vomit all over her. The way she stares at dad—as she’s eating with her eyes, a hint of something I don’t even want to think about in them—, disgusts me even more. “We haven’t. I’m Erin Becker.”

“Nice to meet you Mrs Becker,” dad says, false sincerity in his tone. It’s the opposite.

“Erin is fine.” She nods to his badge. “The work you do in town is marvellous. I’m in awe. You save lives.”

And you try to end them, I think sourly, glaring at her.

“Thank you, Mrs Becker. I’m glad someone notices. There are just people out there that shouldn’t be on the streets. They’re so evil I don’t know why they’re not locked up. Who takes pleasure in hurting people? Sociopaths, that’s who. Sometimes they’re right in front of you and you don’t even realise.”

Mrs Becker doesn’t even notice the insult against her. “Too true.”

I can hear the anger in dad’s voice, but it’s so well hidden that Mrs Becker doesn’t even notice. “Lives aren’t something to play with, don’t you agree?” When Mrs Becker says nothing, he holds his arm out to mum. “Honey, come here.”

Mum walks to him, the harsh steps giving away her anger. “Nice to meet you, Mrs Becker,” she says, voice dripping with sarcasm. “I’m Anna, but you can call me Mrs Adams.”

Mrs Becker nods. “Nice to meet you too.”

“So, you’re a teacher?” mum asks conversationally, but I can tell where it’s going.

“Yes. Well, I’m a substitute, but I’m still a teacher.”

Mum hums. “And your kids like you? The way you teach?”

Mrs Becker looks offended, like the idea that anyone doesn’t like her teacher is impossible to comprehend. I can’t help but roll my eyes. “Yes, they do. I’m hard on them but I’m fair.”

Ha. Sure, you’re fair when you’re not trying to put someone in hospital. I just wish that she would look over and see me.

“You’re fair?” mum asks, voice with a tinge in anger this time.

“Yes, ma’am. I’ve never had one complain.”

The laugh of disbelief that escapes me is louder than I want it to be. Everyone in the rooms looks at me. Including Mrs Becker, who glares at me. I glare right back. “What are you doing here? Your excuses don’t work. I feel sorry for whoever raised you. They didn’t do a very good job.”

Dad raises an eyebrow, expressing cynical. “Oh, really?”

Mrs Becker looks at him, nodding. “Yes. In my class she did nothing but while. Excuse after excuse.”

“Was she justified?” dad asks as if he’s not about to explode in anger.

Mrs Becker laughs. “No. She’s just lazy and undisciplined. Everyone else ran. She was the only one giving me excuses.”

“And if I told you that she ended up in a coma? Was she justified then?”

“I’d tell you that it’s all lies. She just wants attention.”

“Excuse me?” mum hisses, seemingly done with keeping up being polite. “Are you trying to tell me that my daughter didn’t almost die because of your ignorance?”

“Daughter?” Mrs Becker echoes, eyes wide.

Dad glares, crossing his arms over his chest. “Yes, my daughter. The same daughter you put in a coma. The same daughter with lung cancer. The same daughter you almost ended the life of.”

Mrs Becker’s mouth opens. Closes. Nothing escapes.

“What? Nothing to say anymore,” mum spits, with disgust she doesn’t bother to hide. Mrs Becker opens her mouth but mum cuts her off. “Think carefully. I’m liable to get violent. And my husband is a cop so I wouldn’t try—” mum leans in close, sneering “—anything.”

 There’s silence in the office, the tension so thick I can feel it. I want mum to hit Mrs Becker. She deserves it. Nothing right now would be more gratifying.

Finally Mrs Becker, turns to me, glaring. “What lies have you told them?” she demands, but I can hear the panic behind her words.”

I shrug, glaring back. “No lies. Just the fact that you made me run when I clearly said that I couldn’t. That you treated me like crap. That you didn’t believe a words I said.” I stopped, lowering my voice into a hiss, “I told them everything.”

She can’t her panic, eyes widening, face paling. “You’re full of it. You don’t have cancer. You’re just spoilt.”

My voice is emotionless when I say, “I don’t have cancer? Well, tell that to my doctor who told me that I have less than a year to live.”

The principal gasps but I ignore him, my focus on Mrs Becker. She goes ashen, staring at me like she’s seen a ghost. “What? No.” She shakes her head. “No. No.”

Mum backs her into the wall, voice hard and cold. “I suggest you shut up before I do it for you. One more word to my daughter and I’ll hit you.”

Mrs Becker nods.

               “So, I see this playing out two ways. One, I send you to jail. Or two, I sue this school for everything its worth.”

               The principal stutters. “Sir, that’s not necessary.”

               Dad glares at him before turning to me, his voice gentle. “Ally, go and keep Rick company. I don’t need you to see the rest.”

               I nod walking over to dad. He gathers me in his arms and kisses my forehead. “We’ll be okay.”

               “I know, dad,” I whisper.

               When he lets me go I walk to mum, whispering in her ear, “Hit her. For me.”

               I can see mum smile, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Trust me, dearest daughter, it’s very tempting right now.”

               I nod and walk to the door but not before stopping and turning to glare at Mrs Becker. “I hope you get everything that’s coming to you.”

               Then I leave, still feeling the tension even when I close the door. I try to let go of the anger but it’s futile.

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All the heavy emotional stuff is over now! Happy days only!

~ Littlemissflawed