“Lecter, hey”, I fake-laughed, prolonging the last word. The room was spacious and old-fashioned. It was nice, cozy, and ugly all at the same time. The carpets are probably as old as America. Fusty.

“Aizen.” His voice, stern. “What did we discuss?”

Spoke too soon. I cleared my throat. “Sir.” 

“That’s better. Now let’s hear it. Did your meek self miraculously save a bullied senior again? Or did your cat scratch up your homework?”

“Bombarded with questions already. You know, just a casual family visit. Nothing to... Nothing to worry about” 

“How sweet of you to do so”, his lips creasing up into a smirk. “Why don’t you tell me why you're really here.”

“Look, no and no. First of all, meeks are to be respected. We’re patient and are good listeners. Secondly, you don’t know me well enough. Dogs are superior.”

“You don’t wanna go there Zen.” Lecter’s head shakes lazily from side to side.

“Maybe I do. And I thought we were keeping the formalities?” I eyed him quizzically. Lecter always does this. Says things but does the other. A trait I find to be quite irritating. 

“In my defense, I am your principal. I have rights.” He leans back in his chair. His facial expression urging a would-be regrettable extension of my fist. I brushed it off with a chuckle laced with noticeable sarcasm.

In what dimension does a school principal get themself an over-the-top $7000 swivel chair just to write up detention slips and sign papers in? He mentioned numerous times the stresslessness the chair brings. Absurd. Though I’d like one. 

“Now that’s just rude and discriminatory.”

“Get used to it.”

“Barbaric.”

“Only natural for a man in my position.” A staring contest began. We narrowed our eyes. 20 seconds on the clock. I looked away.

At this, my hands gently slam flat on the leather surfaced desk as I let out an almost inaudible series of profanities.

Lecter says nothing at this, instead, he gives a look of satisfaction at his little victory, silently urging me to spill truthfully why I stopped by his office in the middle of the morning. 

I stared down at my shoes for a moment then sighed in defeat. “Miss Velma sent me for my ‘ignorant behavior’”, I air quoted, slouching into the hard, wooden seat - which isn’t at all comfortable. Vintage and rustic, yes, but that’s missing the whole purpose of a chair. It’s unjust, really. 

“Oh. Your defense?” He raised a brow. His tone as though he is a member of the Supreme Court of the United States. 

“I was observing the football team do their rituals, while the entire class was drowned in what sounded like pandemonium. I was literally muted. Then-”

“Hence your ignorance.” 

“Interruption is unadvisable, your honor.” I shoot him daggers. He let out an amused huff.

“Then,” I emphasized as I adjusted to sitting upright, “she had a foreseeable yet instantaneous outburst.” A pause. 

“An accidental eye gaze between her and myself… And you can probably guess what happens after that.”

“Cool story”, Lecter said mockingly. 

“What? You asked.” I half-glared at the man

Lecter scoffs amusingly at the drama-like scene playing out in front of him. “Just doing my job.”

“Oh, so you’re playing that card.” My voice lowers.

“Part of the game.”

“How crude.” I leaned back and crossed my arms, childlike. He snickers at my comment.

“Stay here for a couple more minutes if you’d like and get back to class.” He rises from his seat and gentleman-walks himself up to what looks like a Victorian Era shelf in the corner of the room, pulling out a perfectly modern-looking file.

“I politely refuse,” I murmured.

“That or I’ll personally write you a detention slip.” He rotates his head to display an even more punchable expression. “Meaning you might wanna, I don’t know, reconsider your options?”

“Sometimes, the probability of you being somebody else’s uncle becomes too high,” I half-spoke, half sighed as I lazily got up on my feet, almost tripping over due to the slight numbing of my left foot. 

“All for your own good.”

“Sure it is. Just hand me a slip. The whole booklet if you will. I choose here over that miserable, dreary thing of a mansion.” My hands did a circular, wiping motion in the air as if to encompass the image of the mansion in front of me. My eyebrows furrowed in annoyance. 

Lecter visibly tenses at the mention of my house. “Aizen.” I sense deja vu. “Don’t say things you’ll regret.” Ahh, I think I hit a nerve. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I scoffed. 

“Badmouth your home again, I dare you.” His glare intensifies. I instinctively returned the same look, hands clenching into tight fists.

“Drop the act. You weren’t there when you were most needed. Don’t play the nice uncle now, not after you turned your back on the people who needed you.” I made sure to keep my volumes in check while still getting my angered message across. Losing my temper means I lose. 

He breaks eye contact. Regret and guilt plastered on his face. The room went silent again. 

“Forget it.” I shot him my ice-cold glare, my ending scene for almost every argument ever. 

I violently shoved open the door, slamming it behind me which then resulted in a loud echo in the hallway. 

A sigh, followed by a groan. I looked out the window at the same football team. ‘Why can’t I enjoy youth like them? Even when I partake in the same activities, why can’t I smile the same way? When can I smile the same way?’ 

The ringing of the school bell snaps me out of my thoughts. I shake my head doglike in an attempt to clear my head. 

“Break time,” I fake mused to myself.

I got through the rest of the day with flying colors, my head brimming with positivity, my thoughts painted with sunshine and rainbows. Man, I wish.