Pirates Are People Too
by Nico Grey
Chapter 5
Ian was surprised to find Josiah sitting outside of the assistant principal's office. But the reason why became clear enough. Mr. Harding was making no effort to keep confidential the conversation taking place inside that office.
At that moment, Daniel Hartnett was standing in the assistant principal's office. He was in handcuffs. The school's resource officer stood just behind his right shoulder and kept a wary eye on him.
"I won't take but a moment of your very valuable time, Mr. Hartnett," the assistant principal declared. "I know you'll have a pressing appointment somewhere else as soon as the sheriff gets here. But I do need to make a few notes for the disciplinary record."
Daniel seethed impotently.
"We already have dozens of witnesses that saw you assault a much younger and smaller boy and strike him in the head. In fact," Mr. Harding took a moment to refer to the file in front of him, "You're an adult now. Almost nineteen years old. And you punched a small fifteen-year-old boy without any warning.
"You even," he referred to his notes again, "struck him twice more, after he had collapsed and was probably already unconscious!"
"The little bastard asked for it," Daniel was incensed beyond all temperance. "He told everyone in school that little freshman faggot made me cry!"
"Well, Mr. Hartnett," the vice principal cut him off, "Your reaction isn't the way we normally handle that sort of dispute around here. And let's be honest," he leaned forward, his tone venomous, "he wasn't all that far wrong, was he?"
Hartnett tried to interrupt with incoherent rage, but the resource officer brought him to heel firmly.
"To be fair to you," Mr. Harding continued calmly, "I won't use that outburst against you when your case goes to court. You do, as Deputy Williams will advise you, have the right to remain silent, and anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. But for the purposes of school discipline policy, your admission that you struck Mr. Warren three times means that this school is very unlikely to be graced by your presence ever again!"
"And really, Daniel," the vice principal's voice feigned confusion, "Why would it bother you that a younger boy made you cry? I understand that you admitted yourself, in front of the entire cafeteria, that you forced a boy to perform fellatio on you last year in a school restroom. That alone might raise some questions about your masculinity!"
Trapped animals don't usually think clearly.
"He wanted it!" Daniel snapped.
"Oh come on, Mr. Hartnett!" the vice principal phrased the question very carefully, "Why would Ian Corse want you to put your penis into his mouth in the boy's first floor restroom at this school last January?"
"Because he's a little faggot! You've seen him and that Brantley kid around school! I just gave him what he wanted," Daniel snarled.
Mr. Harding nodded carefully. "I see, Daniel. So you were just giving fourteen-year-old Ian Corse what he wanted when you forced your penis into his mouth? Do I have that correct?"
Realization dawned on Daniel Hartnett just a little too late. "Fuck you!" he screamed. "Fuck you! I have the right to remain silent. I don't have to say anything!"
"That's right, Daniel," Harding assured him calmly. "You do have the right to remain silent. Besides, I think your lawyer will agree that you've already said enough."
He nodded at the resource officer.
"Could you please escort Mr. Hartnett to Conference Room 3, Deputy Williams, and wait with him there until your colleagues arrive to take him into custody?"
Mr. Harding took a couple of minutes to collect himself before inviting Josiah into his office. Ian forced his way in behind his friend. The vice principal merely raised an eyebrow at the intrusion before turning his attention to Josiah.
"We will be having a conversation about school discipline, Mr. Brantley. Would you prefer that we meet alone?" the vice principal cocked an eyebrow in Ian's direction.
"Josiah didn't do anything!" Ian interrupted, before Josiah could respond.
"He and I are about to figure that out, young man," Mr. Harding corrected. "Alone is usually best." He glanced at Josiah again.
"Yes, sir. I mean, no," Josiah fumbled. "I mean, I don't mind if Ian stays for our. . . conversation. He'll remain quiet unless asked to speak." Josiah addressed the remark to Ian pointedly.
The vice principal took a moment to consider, fixed Ian with a stern eye, then acquiesced.
"Fair enough, Mr. Brantley. I'll trust your good judgment. You know this miscreant much better than I do." He eyed Ian carefully for his reaction.
"We will have to address the. . . scrimmage. . . in the cafeteria today with the school discipline advisory committee before any disciplinary decision becomes final. But unless I hear that you actually struck Mr. Hartnett, or that you caused him any injury, I believe the committee will conclude that you acted responsibly to protect innocent bystanders.
"But," he raised a warning finger, "our zero tolerance against fighting policy still requires me to do something. So, I think that I'll have you serve an in-school suspension for the remainder of the day. I'll advise Mr. Fisher that you won't be available for soccer practice. But after that, I don't think there will be more consequences for you."
Josiah breathed a sigh of relief. He had acted carefully when he arrived in the cafeteria and witnessed the assault on Jake. But he really hadn't been able to think through all the consequences. There just hadn't been enough time. He was pleased to learn that those consequences were likely to be light.
Ian, however, was squirming in his seat at the injustice.
"Oh, hold your water, Mr. Corse," the vice principal dismissed his reaction. "We have rules for a reason. They aren't always perfect, but they do serve an important purpose. Besides, I suspect that there may be more significant consequences ahead.
"It's almost certain that Daniel Hartnett will have to answer in court for his assault on your friend," he checked his notes, "Mr. Warren. You both may be called to provide a statement. If there's no plea deal, you may even be called to testify in court." He gave both Josiah and Ian some time to let that sink in.
"It could be embarrassing," he directed his observation to Ian. "Mr. Hartnett said some things in the cafeteria today about a certain incident that took place here last January. Once a case goes to trial, I really can't predict what might come up in front of a jury."
Josiah reached out and took Ian's hand sympathetically. Ian grasped back firmly.
"I don't care if it does, Mr. Harding," he insisted. "Half the school will already be talking now. And I want to help protect my friends. Is it too late for Daniel to be charged for what he did to me?"
Josiah shot up in his chair and Mr. Harding eyed Ian closely.
"I'm not a lawyer, Mr. Corse. But the law considers sexual assault on a. . . young man to be a pretty serious offense. I would expect that charges could still be brought against your assailant. It only happened eight months ago."
"Good!" Ian resolved. "Do you think he would have to spend a lot of time in jail for what he did?"
"A lawyer can give you a much better answer than I can, Ian," the vice principal advised sympathetically. "Perhaps the state's attorney. But I should think that his crimes would result in at least some jail time, perhaps as much as a few years, even if Hartnett has no prior convictions on his record."
"Then I want to charge him," Ian insisted. "I'll tell you everything that happened. Then I'll tell the police. I'll tell the entire world, if it keeps Daniel away from my friends for a few years."
Mr. Harding was uncertain about the rapid progression of events. Ian maintained the initiative.
"Last school year, I think it was in January— you should write this down," he directed, "Daniel Hartnett and Russell Hamilton," he glanced at Josiah to make sure he had the names right, "were in a Psychology class with me. For some reason, I don't know why, they started picking on me." Ian continued less forcefully. "I hadn't started puberty yet. I guess they thought that was funny.
"After embarrassing me at lunch one day, they followed me into a bathroom on the ground floor. They took off my pants. And my underwear. I was small then. . . and bare. I'm not now!" Ian insisted.
Josiah was startled into action. He placed a restraining hand nervously on Ian's arm, just in case Ian was considering proving his contention.
"Daniel and Russell kept picking on me. They called me gay. I wasn't then!"
Josiah had another minor heart attack.
"Daniel made me kneel down in a bathroom stall. He pulled down his pants. He forced his penis into my mouth. I even sucked on it a little." Ian hung his head in shame. "I thought he was going to hurt me some more. I didn't know what else to do!"
Mr. Harding nodded sympathetically, "And that's when Josiah stopped them?"
Ian looked suddenly at Josiah.
"Mr. Brantley never told me your secret, Ian," the vice principal assured him. "But I've been in this job for almost twenty years. I have my ways of finding things out."
Ian decided that he didn't need to know more. Besides, there was no secret left to protect.
"I'll tell that to the police, too, Mr. Harding. And in court. I'll even call the newspapers and tell them if it keeps Daniel away from this school and my friends!"
"That's very courageous, Ian," the vice principal said. "I hope it won't come to that. Once the police have your information, unless Mr. Hartnett hires a genius for a lawyer, or an idiot," he added, after consideration, "I should think he'll be delighted to take any reasonable plea deal that the state's attorney offers him. Hopefully, you'll never have to tell your story again."
"I want him in jail, Mr. Harding," Ian insisted. "He hurt Jake. And he said things that really hurt the rest of my friends. I'll tell anyone about what he did to me if it puts him in jail. Besides," he added reflectively, "I still have to tell the whole story to my mother."
Ian wasn't sure why the vice principal exchanged glances with Josiah. Or why Josiah seemed embarrassed.
It was an emotional afternoon for Jake's friends as they awaited news of his condition and prayed for reassurance that he would be okay.
Jake wasn't part of the soccer team. But Mr. Fisher knew him and liked him, and he understood that several members of his team were deeply attached to Jake. He instructed the squad to spend the afternoon working on conditioning.
That gave Josiah the opportunity to spend time with the cross country team. He realized that Ian, Mercury, and Darius, at least, would be deeply affected by what had happened to Jake. But the cross country team would feel his absence quite directly.
"Why did Jake do that for me?" Ish demanded of Josiah. He appeared distraught that Jake might have made an enormous sacrifice on his behalf.
"He likes you, Ish. You're his friend," Josiah explained. "I haven't talked to Jake. I think he did that for you, but for a lot of other people, too. If you had fought with Daniel, you could have ended up in a lot of trouble. Even if you made Daniel and Russell cry in the end," he added with a grin.
"But Ian told me that Jake said something to make Daniel angry. I think he knew what Daniel would do, and that Daniel would be the only person that would get in trouble if he did." Josiah shrugged helplessly. "Jake's just that kind of person. He doesn't want any of his friends to get hurt. He'll sacrifice himself for us."
Josiah was surprised that Ish had shed his customary calm. He was bordering on emotional.
"He really could have been hurt," Ish fretted. "Why would he take such a risk?'
"For us, Ish. We matter more to him than he does to himself. He really is such a cool little guy," he finished quietly.
"He could have been killed!" Ish exclaimed. "Yes. I know this," he added when he noticed Josiah's concern. "My mother was a martial arts instructor in the IDF," he explained. "She taught Krav Maga. And she teaches me. A man can die from one punch! And when a man hits a small person, like Jake. . ." Ish didn't finish the thought. He turned away from Josiah and started wiping furiously at his eyes.
Josiah gave Ish some space for a few moments. Then he wrapped an arm around Ish's shoulder and guided him away from the rest of the team.
"We should run!" Ish announced suddenly. "It calms the mind."
Josiah was pleased that he had contact information for most of his cross country team. When he arrived home after practice, the news was already out on the grapevine that Jake hadn't suffered serious injury.
Mr. Fisher called and assured Josiah that the hospital had evaluated Jake thoroughly. The school's insurance policy required it. He had suffered a moderate concussion and perhaps some mild whiplash. Beyond that, he just had a badly bruised jaw, some surface swelling on the back of his head, bruised ribs, and a nasty black-and-blue forming on his stomach. The hospital would keep him overnight as a precautionary measure, but he would be home early the following afternoon. It was even possible that he could be back in school as early as Wednesday!
Josiah got to work passing the news on down the line. He was relieved to have good news when Ish called. Ish was even more relieved. The emotion came right through the wire of their telephone connection.
"We should run tonight," Ish suggested. "We should do it for Jake."
Josiah wasn't entirely sure what running would do for Jake. But it did seem like a good idea. And it was an opportunity to further strengthen bonds among Jake's friends.
Several other members of their regular training crew were just as eager to run and share their relief over the good news about Jake.
A three-mile run is hard work. But the mood was almost celebratory by the time they ended their session at Maureen's Bakery. It didn't dampen their enthusiasm one bit that Josiah was able to share the news that they had probably seen the last of Daniel Hartnett at BMUHS.
Jake was relieved to finally be back home and lying in his own bed. One night in a hospital was more than enough for him, he concluded.
His homecoming had been a pleasure in more ways than one. Jake didn't know how long it would last, but his father was demonstrating more concern for his son than he had in years. He had cut short his sleep by hours to pick Jake up at the hospital and to allow Jake's mother to avoid missing a day of work.
At first, Jake thought that perhaps his father valued his wife's income more than the sleep he lost. But when Jake was home, his father kept busy making sure his son was comfortable and had everything he needed available at his fingertips. And he didn't complain even once about the deductible that was owed for Jake's medical treatment. He assured Jake that he was just relieved that his son was going to be fine.
Jake finally managed to convince his father to take a break by falling asleep himself.
Ish was eager to get home from school Tuesday afternoon. Josiah had reassured the cross country team that Jake had come home from the hospital, as scheduled, earlier in the afternoon.
But Ish was still concerned. He knew that Jake had been hit hard. His forehead had felt a part of that force when the back of Jake's head bounced off it. He was hoping to speak with Jake in person, so he could be reassured with his own eyes and ears.
Ish was a little apprehensive about knocking on the door of the Warren home. Living in the neighborhood for almost a month had helped him to learn the Warren family schedule. Mrs. Warren wouldn't return home from work until after five o'clock. But Mr. Warren was often home during the day. And Ish already had a powerful intuition that Mr. Warren really didn't like him.
Making sure that Jake was okay was more important than his apprehension, Ish decided. He dashed up Oak Street after the late bus dropped him off. He hurried home. After all, when visiting another person's home, it was just good manners to bring a gift. And Ish was certain that Jake would appreciate the gift he had in mind.
Ish was pretty sure that his mother would have a fresh supply of falafels in their refrigerator. He stuffed a loaf of pita with falafel, wrapped it in aluminum foil, and quickly sliced tomato and cucumber to go with it. He completed his preparations with a small bowl of tahini sauce.
When Ed Warren answered the doorbell, he really wasn't prepared for what was waiting behind the door. The reflexive good manners that most Vermonters learned in childhood prevented him from just slamming the door in Ish's face. But he didn't offer to invite him in. He just glared expectantly at his unwelcome intruder.
"Hello, Mr. Warren," Ish made a sincere effort to be polite. "I'm Ishmael Abraham. I go to school with Jake."
Ed Warren didn't feel any need to reply to something that he already knew. . . and resented.
"I was hoping I could see Jake," Ish hinted. "All of us hope that he is doing well. And I brought something for him." Ish held out the small bag of food he had brought with a hopeful expression on his face.
"What's this?" Ed Warren squinted skeptically at the bag.
"It's falafel. My mother makes it. Jake likes it," Ish concluded dispiritedly. He already had a pretty good idea what Mr. Warren was thinking.
"Something foreign?"
' That is what I thought,' Ish cringed. "Yes, sir. It is very popular," he decided that it probably wouldn't help at all if he provided a more specific answer. "Jake tried it once and he really liked it." Ish made one final attempt to be optimistic.
Ed Warren eyed the bag like it might be full of snakes.
"I don't think so," he concluded. "Jacob is still recovering from his injuries. Perhaps another time," Ed just remembered his manners as he was closing the door in Ish's face.
Lying in his bed, Jake overheard the conversation with a deep feeling of frustration. When the doorbell rang, and he noticed the time, he had tried to get out of bed. But he was still plagued by a headache and some dizziness. So he was forced to lie in bed and listen while his father mercilessly shot Ish down. His frustration left him feeling worse than his headache.
He reached for his phone, then realized that he didn't even know the Abraham's telephone number. But a tone alerted him to a text message he had received.
'Surely not,' Jake thought to himself, before recalling that Ish's mother wouldn't allow him to own a mobile phone.
Jake recognized Ian's number as the sender, so he tapped to open the message.
"Hey, tough guy! You made me so hard!" That was followed by an eggplant emoji. "I hope you're feeling better and are back in school real soon!"
Jake chuckled. Count on Ian to turn a hospital stay into something sexual.
Ian's message helped to complete a connection in Jake's mind. He didn't think that Ian would have Ish's number, but Josiah might! Josiah was the captain of the cross country team. He probably had contact information for the entire team!
He almost dialed Josiah's number. But his head still hurt. He thought that it might be easier to exchange text messages.
Jake carefully entered a message into his phone.
"Hey, Captain!" He didn't usually address Josiah this way. But the message was official cross country team business, he reasoned. "I'm home and doing good. Wondering if you have Ish's phone number."
Then he waited. Belatedly, he was reminded of the benefits of a voice call over text.
A few minutes later, his phone chimed an alert.
"Sorry, Jake. I don't. He called last night, but I didn't save the number. Sorry. I'm real glad to hear you're home now."
Jake summed up his thoughts with a sad face emoji. "Ish stopped to see me and Dad chased him away."
Josiah responded with his own sad face.
"Don't think I'll be in school tomorrow. My head hurts. Please tell Ish I'm sorry about Dad."
"Will tell him. Running together tonight."
Jake was disappointed that he couldn't join them. But he still sent a smiley face.
"Please tell Ish thank you for taking care of me yesterday."
He considered saying more.
"Tell him he made me feel really safe."
Yeah. That might be a little too much, Jake decided. But the message was already sent. Maybe he could blame it on the pain pills he was taking.
Jake felt extremely conspicuous when he returned to school Thursday morning. He was sure that everyone was watching him. His jaw was swollen and sported a large area that was turning a deep purple. Small blood vessels around his eyes had burst from the force of that punch. Petechiae, the doctor had called the bruising. He looked a bit like a raccoon. The neck brace he was wearing as a precaution against further injury also didn't improve his appearance.
Jake thought that he looked like the survivor of a serious automobile accident. And since everyone at school knew that he had only been punched. . . Yeah. . . That neck brace made him look like a gigantic pussy!
You never saw a boxer wearing a neck brace after a fight, Jake groaned inwardly. But he had only been hit in the face once, and now he was padded and protected like his head was a Fabergé egg! He wondered why his parents didn't just bubble wrap him before he went out the door in the morning. It couldn't have been any more embarrassing. That one judgmental word kept coming back to taunt him. Pussy!
He considered taking the brace off once he arrived at school. But his mother had made arrangements for him to check in with the school nurse a few times during the day. He concluded that since he had no other choice, he'd just have to wear it with pride. But when he accidentally offered to let his friends sign his pussy, well. . .! At least everyone had a laugh and forgot about their concerns over his injuries for a while.
Jake was frustrated that he wouldn't be able to run with the cross country team on Saturday. They were participating in a major invitational meet somewhere in the northern half of the state, so he wouldn't even be able to travel with his teammates. The only positive was that Jake's absence would give Ish his first change to run with the varsity squad.
Jake found it hard to just lie around the house all day Saturday. His parents were solicitous. They tried to help keep him entertained. But it was difficult for an active teen to be anchored to his home on a glorious early-fall weekend.
One benefit from being stuck at home all day, at least for Jake, is that he found the opportunity to confront his father over the way he had treated Ish earlier in the week. Ish was simply trying to make sure Jake was all right. He was being thoughtful. It was the sort of thing that decent people do for each other!
Jake managed to avoid being too confrontational with his language. In return, he was surprised to find his father willing to have a heart-to-heart conversation with his son about the people he chose to spend time with. He didn't even rely on very many Fox News talking points.
It didn't really resolve their disagreement. Ed Warren informed Jake that his mother's cousin Nick had mentioned seeing Jake and a new kid often hanging around together in the village. That concerned Jake's father. If people were talking about Jake and this foreign kid, it might reflect negatively on Jake and on his family.
Jake didn't have much defense to offer on that charge. He pointed out that he and Ish were both on the cross country team. They trained together. Sometimes that led to social interactions.
Jake tried to convince his father that Ish was a good person. He was hard-working, thoughtful and kind. He stood up for smaller kids against kids that were a lot bigger and older than him. Jake emphasized Ish's martial arts skills. That seemed like something that would impress his father.
Ed Warren expressed his concerns about the need for people to fit in with their community, especially smaller people like Jake and himself. They really couldn't afford to flout community standards. If a few guys decided Jake needed to be taught a lesson, there wasn't much Jake could do about it. He underscored that point with a not-so-subtle glance at the neck brace Jake was still wearing.
Jake argued that Ish could certainly stand up for himself. And he was smaller than Jake!
"Is he teaching you any of that foreign kung fu nonsense?" Jake's father demanded.
"It's called Krav Maga," Jake explained. "He hasn't yet. But I hope he does. His mother taught soldiers how to do it!"
That prompted a brief digression in their conversation. Apparently Ish's mother had started work as some sort of supervisor in the PPO IT department recently. Jake took it as a good sign that his father didn't have any denigrating observations to make about her.
Jake thought he saw an opening and took a risk. He demanded to know why he couldn't decide for himself who his friends would be. He was in high school. He had made good choices throughout his entire life. And he was sure that Ish was a good person and would be a reliable friend.
"Have you paid any attention to how he looks, Jacob?" His father shivered. "He's short, skinny, with that high-pitched voice? Hair halfway down his back? He wears earrings, for heaven's sake! If that boy isn't some kind of fanny pirate, I'll eat my shorts!"
"His voice doesn't mean anything!" Jake thought it a good way to begin his defense. "He just hasn't started changing yet." He gestured uncomfortably. "You know I didn't start until I was the same age. And you told me that you. . ."
"Okay, Jacob!" his father interrupted. "I get your point! But that doesn't change what people think."
"What if I don't care what people think?" Jake demanded. "Besides, being gay isn't such a big thing anymore. I have friends. . ." Jake realized, perhaps a beat too late, that he might have better arguments.
"You have friends?" his father eyed him quizzically. "Are these 'friends' people that I know?"
"I don't know," Jake deflected. "But being gay doesn't bother the people I know."
"I see," Ed Warren inspected his son closely. It took him a few seconds to decide what he should say next. "Have you. . . done. . . anything, Jake?"
Jake couldn't meet his father's eyes. He really couldn't even look in his direction. He realized far too late that he was walking a tightrope in the conversation, and that he may have just set that rope on fire.
"Jacob?" his father inquired softly. "Have you done anything with your gay friends?"
Jake's mind froze. There was no safe way to respond to that question. The question itself was dangerous!
"I'm almost sixteen. Why can't I make decisions for myself about my own friends?!" Jake blurted.
His father watched Jake intently. His expression was unreadable. Tension was starting to build in Jake until he thought he might erupt.
"In nine months you'll be 'almost sixteen', Jacob," Ed Warren finally chuckled. "You still have some things to learn. What other people think does matter. It can impact your whole life. The wrong choices can make a big difference. They can really hurt you. Or even the right choices," he added. He was looking at Jake's neck brace thoughtfully, his expression full of concern.
"Ish is a good person!" Jake insisted. It wasn't really responsive to his father's point. But to Jake, it felt like it was the central point of their conversation.
Jake's father wandered off in the direction of the kitchen, perhaps in search of another beer. He was nodding to something that was going on in his head. "What is the world coming to?" he muttered.
Jake was confused. What had just happened? Had his father agreed to let him choose his own friends? Had he forbidden him to spend any time with Ish? Was he off looking for one of his mother's knives, to take Jake out of the human gene pool with extreme prejudice? Jake couldn't figure it out.
He decided that his best move was to scurry off to his room and assume he had secured the win. . . until circumstances informed him otherwise.
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