User blog:BonnieLizzie/Welcome (Back) to Bullworth

“Dr. Crabblesnitch?”

The mocha-suited man stood in front of his desk, waiting with his hands folded in front of him. That big forehead of his had only gained more creases, the tip of his nose had reddened with rosacea, and his hairline was creeping back on his scalp (though he had the same haircut he always used sport.) His thin lips were pursed in a scowl that slowly tipped upwards into an awkward smile. He raised a hand as a sort of greeting, gesturing for his visitor to step further into his office. “Randall,” his throaty voice had hardly changed over the years either, “it is good to see you back in Bullworth, my boy.”

Randy Douglas closed the door behind him, eying the room before settling his somewhat skeptical gaze on Crabblesnitch’s terribly stiff face. “Mr. Douglas, if you don’t mind.” He sauntered toward Crabblesnitch, shaking it twice with a strong grip, maintaining eye-contact. “I’m not your student anymore, you know.”

“Oh, you hardly were to begin with.” Crabblesnitch chortled and then quickly cleared his throat. “I heard about the accident all those years ago. Yes, unfortunate.” He motioned at Randy’s left arm – or, rather, the lack thereof it. “I didn’t think you stayed in town after that.”

Randy knew Crabblesnitch meant something else. Something more along the lines of “I thought you finally died.” But Randy didn’t address it. He absently scratched his nose with the knuckle of his index finger. “Nah, I stuck around. Did a little soul-searching, I guess you could say.”

“Well,” Crabblesnitch grabbed a few papers that were clipped together, flipping to the third page, “I see you certainly have. No lasting troubles with the law, but I see you spent two years in Happy Volts?”

“Soul-searching.”

“Mhm...” Crabblesnitch’s eyes scanned the papers, his wiry eyebrows raised. “Yes, soul-searching indeed. I don’t tend to bother with the indignity of prying into the private lives of my coworkers, but recent – and past - events in Bullworth history have prompted a sort of hypervigilance from me. I see a stamp of release from an asylum, I feel intrigue. So I’m compelled to dig.”

“It was… nothing, really. Just got out of a divorce, hit me pretty hard. Dealt with it the wrong way. I just needed some help.”

“As one does.” Crabblesnitch dropped the papers back onto his desk, linking his fingers behind his back. He looked down his nose at Randy. “Your business is yours alone, Rand—ah, Mr. Douglas. But if it comes to light that you aren’t fit for this position, mentally or psychologically, I won’t hesitate to remove you from it.” He wagged a finger. He used to do that all the time when lecturing a class. It gave Randy a weird, nostalgic feeling. “I recall your proclivities for rule-breaking. Don’t think I’ve forgotten.”

“I imagine it would hard to forget ‘em. But… I was a kid. I’m nearly 38. I think I’ve had a liiittle time to grow out of it.”

Crabblesnitch gave another throaty chortle, this one seeming less forced. “A few years.” He inhaled, exhaled, contentedly. “Very well. I trust Ms. Denvers has given you the full tour? The campus has made great changes since you were last here. You’ve settled back in?”

“I’m about as settled in as a guy can be on his first day, sure.”

“Excellent.” Crabblesnitch checked the watch on his wrist. “The school assembly will be in 20 minutes. Do not be late.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“I’d imagine not.” Crabblesnitch watched Randy head for the double doors of the office. “Ra— ah, Mr. Douglas, before we’re swept up into the turbulence of the school day…” Randy looked back expectantly. “It is good to see you back in Bullworth. It’s been a long time coming for you, but I’m glad to see you doing something meaningful. Come by my office after school hours. We can properly catch up.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

22 years ago -

“Randall Douglas!”

“Crabblesnitch?”

Randy dropped the student he’d been gripping by their shirt collar and holding up against a row of lockers. The student, a scrawny, zit-faced nobody in a dark green sweater, scrambled to his feet. Randy took a step away from him, distancing himself from the crime.

“I would ask what you were doing out of class, but clearly you already have an answer to that.” Crabblesnitch grabbed Randy by his arm, pulling him to his side. He jerked a finger at the student. “And what are you doing outside of class?”

“I was—I was just getting my English textbook, Dr. Crabblesnitch, honest!” The scrawny student held his hands up defensively. He dug into the pockets of his baggy slacks, pulling out a crumpled piece of lined paper. He shoved it towards Crabblesnitch. “I got a note ‘n everything. See?”

Crabblesnitch looked it over, seeing that it was signed, and nodded. He handed it back. “Quit lagging around then, Rodney. Get back to class. Quickly now.” He started dragging Randy down the hall. “You, come with me. You’re going to your class, and then you’re going to detention.”

“Detention!” Randy exclaimed indignantly, pulling back on his arm. “Come on, doc, it’s just art, and there’s only 20 minutes left of it. You can forget you saw me here!”

“If you plan to bribe me, then you can just forget it.”

“What’s the difference this time?”

Crabblesnitch turned and gave Randy a seething glare. “The difference this time, young Douglas, is that I’ve grown tired of your character dissolving into a pile of money in an expensive sweater.”

“Oh, a moral compass. That’s new. Where’d you pick it up?”

Crabblesnitch stopped them. “Douglas,” he growled through his teeth, “no more of this. Do you understand me?”

“I get you, crystal clear and all that.” Crabblesnitch’s face was leering over Randy’s. The stench of coffee breath invaded Randy’s senses, and he crinkled his nose. “But if you’re not careful, someone’s not gonna get a chunky cheque from someone else’s daddy.” He ripped his arm away from the man. “Do you understand me?”

Crabblesnitch stood, completely still, deliberating. And then he lifted his cleft chin. “Go.” He pointed to the art room. “Go to the rest of today’s classes. And don’t make me have to give you this talk again.”

Randy waved him off. “Whatever…” He muttered, stalking to the art room door. “Don’t make me have to give you this talk again…”

As he opened the door, Crabblesnitch called “I heard that.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Two months later -

Troy Harrington sat down heavily in the sand. He dusted his palms off and set his elbows on his knees. “Sorry, Randy.” The apology felt half-hearted, like it was just to ease his own conscious. “I mean, I told you it wasn’t going to get very far to begin with. My parents want me to marry Carmen.”

“Carmen? Wait, Carmen Ainsworth?” Randy turned on heel in the sand. Behind him, the ocean lapped at the little sandy outcrop they had agreed to meet at. He glared at Troy, his stupidly perfect locks of blond hair framing his stupidly perfect, perfectly sculpted face in the dim moonlight. “Isn’t she your cousin?”

“Well, half-cousin. Our parents want us to marry. They want a merge in the—”

“I don’t care about what they want.” Randy crossed his arms. “This is crap, and you know it.”

“Randy, if I don’t do this, I’m going to lose my inheritance.”

“Who gives a fuck about the money?” Randy dropped to his knees in front of Troy, putting his hands on Troy’s. “Alright? I don’t care about the money. We’re smart, we’re capable. We can make our own money.”

Troy pulled his hands away from Randy’s. “Three things.” He slid back half a foot. Randy fell back on his heels dejectedly. “First of all, I care about the money. It’s mine. Second of all, we’re only 16. We’re not going to be making the kind of money I need for the lifestyle I’m adjusted to. Not unless you can pull it out of your freckled ass like a golden egg. Third of all, and most importantly, I’m not a faggot.”

Randy winced.

“When you’re young, this sort of thing is alright. But we have to grow up some day. Everyone has to move on eventually. You’ll find someone, and she’ll make you very happy. You’ll have a kid or two, and—”

“I don’t—” Randy cut him off, fisting his hands in frustration. “I don’t want a wife! You aren’t listening to me!”

Troy let out a ridiculous sigh, rolling his eyes. “Don’t say it. I swear to god, if you make yourself into a cliché, I’m going to pay a homeless man a hundred dollars to sleep in your bed tonight.”

“I’m going to say it, fuck you! I want you!” Randy held his hands out in an ‘oh well’ motion when Troy let out a disgusted grunt. “I guess I’m just a big faggot, alright? A big, clichéd, stupid faggot. I want to be happy, Troy. I don’t need a girl for that.”

“OK…” Troy pushed himself to his feet, dusting himself off. He looked down at Randy. “I can tell this isn’t going anywhere. If you’re going to keep being so melodramatic, then I’ll leave you to your vagina.”

“Troy!”

“I don’t know what else you want me to say, Randy! I’m sorry you got your hopes up, but it was your own fault. I was clear from the beginning about all the reasons why this wasn’t a permanent fling. Now… get up. If you keep acting like a girl, you’re going to turn into one. Although, judging by your tastes, maybe that would work out better for you.”

Randy hurried to his feet, neglecting the sand that clung to his pantlegs. “You’re goddamn snake, you know that? A real turd.”

Troy shrugged. “It’s nothing personal. You were fun and all, really. But like I said, I’m not queer, OK? It’s not sustainable, not as a lifestyle, and certainly not if my parents find out and decide that I’m no longer deserving of the money in my bank account.”

“It’s just money.”

“Really? So then why doesn’t your father seem to know about us?”

“Not because of the money. I don’t care about the money. All it’s ever done is make people hate me.”

“People hate other people with power, Randy. Just look at it that way.” Troy huffed. He hesitated but reached out, patting Randy on the shoulder. He dropped his hand and lifted one shoulder in a passive shrug. “It’s not the end of the world. Nothing has changed. You’ll get over it, move on, find a new fixation. Trust me.”

As Troy was walking back up the sloped hill towards the road that swept past the front gates of the academy, Randy laughed, perhaps a little too hysterically. “Trust you?” He called after Troy. “You heartless bitch! You move on, with your six girlfriends a year and your bigoted fucking inbred family!” Randy let out a yell of frustration, kicking the sand and sending up a spray of it. “Troy fucking Harrington…”

Randy gave himself twenty minutes to cool down before leaving the tiny shoreside, but he didn’t want go back to Harrington House. Instead, sulked across the bridge and wandered around town. There weren’t any stores open, except for Come Hither, but there wasn’t much Randy could do there other than get kicked out. So he wandered around town for a while, kicking soda cans across the dark roads and dwelling in his own woes and heartaches.

Eventually, he fell into one of the benches in the town square. He sat there for a while. He wasn’t really sure how much time had passed, maybe half an hour. But his silent heartbreak was soon interrupted.

Someone approached him at the bench, stepping into his peripheral with a pair of scuffed up black boots. Randy jumped and pressed himself back in the seat, looking this person up and down. “Jesus Christ…” He breathed, putting a hand over his heart.

The guy tilted his head at Randy, frowning. “Jesse, actually.” He sorta had a Jesus-y vibe, what with a full Spartan beard and long brown hair. He had a baggy knitted pullover on, loose jeans tucked into his boots. He looked like he was in his late twenties.

“I, uh, don’t have any change. Sorry.”

“Wasn’t gonna ask you for change, man.”

“Well, I don’t have anything for you to steal, so just piss off. Alright?”

“Whoa, man. What’s your beef?”

“How about you mind your own damn business and try to sell me whatever drug you’re offering?”

Jesse looked taken aback. “Well, I mean, I got some weed if you want—”

Randy hopped to his feet. “You know what I want?” He prodded Jesse’s chest. “I want to feel complete again. My heart is broken. I’m alone. I have no meaning.”

Jesse took a step back, blinking. “I mean,” he muttered, looking from side to side, “a little bit of reefer might—”

“Fuck you!”

“W-what?”

Randy’s lips trembled. He let out a gross sobbing noise and slung his arms around Jesse’s shoulders. “I’m sorry, I’m just so… so angry, man. I was just broken up with, and I’m… so fucking ruined over it.”

“Sure, man, I get it. It’s cool.” Jesse awkwardly patted Randy’s back. “I-It happens, I guess.”

“I’ll take that weed, Jesse.”

“Oh. Cool, cool…”

“You smell very, very bad, Jesse.”

“That’s… yeah, that’ s probably the weed.”

“Yeah. Let’s go smoke something and hope I didn’t get lice from you.”

“Sure, man. Uh… together?”

“I don’t want to be alone.”

“I- Look, I dunno, man. You’re, like, a kid, aren’t you? I’m not really—”

“I’m not asking you to sleep with me, you pervert, I just don’t want to be alone. Is that so much to fucking ask for?”

“I… guess not.” Jesse pulled Randy off of him. “I got a few friends in Blue Skies. Younger crowd, more your age. Always smokin’ something. Wanna go? Some girls—”

“I don’t give a shit about girls…” Randy interrupted sourly. “Yes, I want to go. Let’s go see these friends. Maybe I can make a few myself.” He pulled off his Aquaberry vest and ditched it on the bench. When Jesse gave him a strange side-eyed look, Randy made a pointed motion. “I don’t feel like getting jumped, alright? Now, lead the way, my new friend.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Randy met Angel in Jesse’s little smoke circle. Angel was two years older than him, a sturdy blond with crooked teeth. She convinced him to go out on a few dates. Randy was sure it was pity, trying to make him feel better about the break-up with Troy. They’d smoke some garbage, get too high, fuck around in town. Occasionally, she’d look at him and say “I love you, Randy Douglas.” Sometimes, Randy would return with an obligatory “I love you, Angel Taylor.” He didn’t know why. It was always empty to him.

Jesse was the one supplying the smoke circle with their muses. Some days it was a smoke circle. Some days it was a snort circle. Every so often he’d show up with a full sheet of X and they’d go fucking nuts, lose track of half the week. Randy was the one who was buying most of it for his newfound ‘friends,’ and that made Jesse want to cozy on up to him.

It didn’t take long before Randy’s classroom attendance suffered. A couple months at the most was when it became blindingly obvious that there was something else preoccupying most of Randy’s time and energy. Some teachers noticed. Some of them threatened to inform his parents that he’d fail. Randy would threaten their paycheques if they didn’t start pumping out passing marks for him. Most of them complied begrudgingly. Crabblesnitch wasn’t so initially compliant.

“You are a problem child,” he said to Randy the first time he caught him. Randy was high in boy’s washroom, hunched over a toilet. One of the students had walked in on him violently throwing up and had run to get the nearest teacher they could grab. Randy’s luck, it had to be Crabblesnitch. “You’re a problem child now, Douglas, but you still have a chance to change that.”

Randy remembered wanting to argue about it, but he felt nauseous every time he opened his mouth. Crabblesnitch locked him in the bathroom inside the teacher’s lounge for two hours, waiting around for one of the hours during lunch to make sure Randy didn’t choke on his own vomit. When Crabblesnitch let him out, he sent Randy to the infirmary to have an eye kept on him while the school day wrapped up. After school, Crabblesnitch checked in on Randy again. There was a back and forth exchange, after which Randy sobbed for an hour before going back to Harrington House and sleeping for 13 hours. Neither of them talked about the incident again after that, but it put Crabblesnitch on high-alert.

The second time, Crabblesnitch was in town and found Randy passed out. Apparently, he was afraid Randy had OD’d on the bench he was laying on. In all honesty, Randy fell asleep and Angel had left to get something for them to eat from the Yum Yum Market. Crabblesnitch quietly scolded him and warned him not to get so blatantly inebriated in front of the Town Hall. Randy laughed at him and then told him that his authority meant nothing outside of the classroom. Crabblesnitch looked like he wanted to smack Randy, but, instead, he went through the trouble finding Angel and driving them both into Blue Skies so that they wouldn’t get picked up by the regular cruisers.

There were a few other times, inconsequential moments when Randy would be caught smoking on school grounds, or he’d show up to his classes high and practically unintelligible, sometimes drooling all over his desk, sometimes seeing things that simply weren’t there. His Preppy peers would rib him for his sudden muses, and he remembered Troy saying “See? I told you you’d find a new fixation.”

The problem Randy had was that he had no proper gauge. His Blue Skies ‘friends’ were already burnt-out addicts, their resistances were established. Randy was having to keep up with them, and it was pushing his body to extremes. Some days, he felt like he was walking on a road of clouds. Other days, he felt like he was going to snap like a matchstick.

And, one day, he really did.

The third time was more serious. It was the incident that sent them both over the edge, each for different reasons.

Randy went into cardiac arrest in class after an episode of terrifying visions. Crabblesnitch had to perform CPR on him until an ambulance showed up. They took Crabblesnitch with him to the hospital to get an account of what happened. Afterward, he stuck around, but only so that he could yell at Randy once he was lucid enough to digest it.

“Douglas, I’m done!” He shouted as he slammed the door and turned to glare at Randy with bugged-out eyes. His suit jacket was off and the sleeves of his button-up were rolled up. He looked like a fucking mess. Randy hadn’t seen him like that before. It almost made him seem human. “You want to destroy yourself so badly, then just do it already. But you have to stop finding ways to drag me down with you!”

Randy was still a little foggy. He made a groggy waving motion at Crabblesnitch, like he wanted him to go away.

“No, no, no.” Crabblesnitch huffed in disbelief, setting his hands on his hips. “No, you don’t get to dust me off this time. Look at yourself, you’re a mess!”

“Eat… my…--”

“Shut up, Douglas. For once in your life, just shut your mouth and listen to me.” When Crabblesnitch was satisfied with Randy’s silence, he let out a long, exhausted sigh. “You’re so close to becoming a lost cause. I don’t know what this is that you’re doing, but I wish you would just do something about it, one way or the other. Ask for help or just leave the school out of it.”

“I… I don’t… need anything from you.”

“You need help. You need some serious, serious help.” He scanned Randy’s face. “You’ve hit rock bottom, my boy.”

“I have my whole life ahead of me…” Randy gave a hoarse laugh. “If I get rock bottom outta the way now, I won’t have to worry about it later.”

“No. That’s just the lie every young delinquent tells themselves on their first ride to prison. It makes stupid criminals with small brains feel better about their lives. But, the truth is, if you hit rock bottom now, you’ll just be forced to find a new low to hit. Not if you don’t clean up your damn act now.”

Randy sat up in the hospital bed, watching this bedraggled man. Crabblesnitch’s eyes were dark, heavy with exhaustion and stress. His forehead had a new crease. He looked like someone had kept him awake with a cattle prod for the last 48 hours. But what struck Randy the most was his tone. What was usually reserved and erudite sounded as stressed as a frayed wire, exhausted, with only a hint of the former poise shining through. To be fair, he had to have been stressed out of his mind. One of his students snorted so much cocaine that they went into cardiac arrest in the middle of a lecture about King Louis XIV. If that wasn’t a PR and internal affairs nightmare, Randy didn’t know what was.

“I called for your father.”

“You what?”

“He almost lost his son. I honestly believe he has the right as your guardian and parent to know what happened.”

“Doesn’t mean you have to tell him!”

“I have other students I have to worry about, Randall. You’re just the one causing the most problems, not the one with the highest priority.”

“Then let me choke next time! Fuck!”

Crabblesnitch looked offended. “You have this delusional concept that the world revolves around you, Randall. But if you stopped to think for one second, you’d realize that letting you accomplish whatever it is you’re shooting for puts me on the line, too. I could lose my job, my livelihood, everything. Because of one problem student with his academic career destroyed by street drugs. Pathetic.” He started unrolling the sleeves of his shirt, smoothing them out. “You’re a pathetic, monstrous little child. I mean that.”

“What is it you always say? It builds character? Oh, no, sorry – that only applies to the bullies at Bullworth, doesn’t it?”

“Character is built through endurance, not this horribly slow method self-destruction you’ve started. You used to have character, but you’re slowly killing it. You’ve always had an incredible propensity for trouble, Randall, but I’d rather see you with a black eye in the infirmary than convulsing on my classroom floor. This isn’t a fun game, my boy, this is extremely potent substances you are dabbling with, substances that are highly addictive and quite often ''fatal. ''Smarten up or you’re going to get yourself killed.”

Randy wanted to retort back at him, but the door to the room opened, cutting their conversation short. A slightly overweight – sort of fat-fit – man with thinning brown hair and bushy eyebrows stepped into the room. With lazy green eyes, he surveyed the two faces that looked back at him. He put his hands behind his back and slowly walked into the room.

“Dad.” Randy greeted unenthusiastically and unceremoniously.

“Mr. Douglas.” Crabblesnitch put his hand out to shake the man’s hand. “I’m Dr. Crabblesnitch.”

“Doctor?” Mr. Douglas raised one thick brow. He gave Crabblesnitch’s hand a shake with one meaty hand.

“PhD. History.”

“Ah, you’re the one from Bullworth Academy.”

Crabblesnitch made a half-hearted gesture at Randy, who pulled his knees to his chest and was looking down at his clasped hands. “Your son is, ah…” He shook his head, watching Randy, lost for words. “He’s sick.”

“Sick seems a kind word for it.” Mr. Douglas slowly approached the hospital bed, shouldering past Crabblesnitch. “Boy?”

“… Dad.”

“You’re causing more trouble than you’re worth, I hear?”

Randy furrowed his brow but didn’t look up. He didn’t say anything. Giving his father the dignity of a response was too good for him.

Crabblesnitch was watching from the background, his own wiry brows knitted together. “Randall, ah… he started convulsing in class. He went into cardiac arrest.”

“Yes, I heard you were the one who kept him breathing long enough to send me a hospital bill.” Mr. Douglas acknowledged absently. “Randall, you should be ashamed. Narcotics? Your uncle Bill wasn’t enough for me? I must lose you to them too? How shameful.” He reached into the inner breast pocket of his deep cobalt suit, pulling something small out and holding it between his index and middle finger. “We found this in Harrington House.” He flicked it at Randy. It was a dime bag filled with coke. “One of many.”

Randy finally looked up at his father. “You searched my room?”

“I didn’t. Howard and Thomas did.” Howard and Thomas were two goons that ran around with Randy’s father. Two goons that Mr. Douglas called ‘friends’ so that their presence didn’t come off as much a human meat shield situation as it really was. “I wouldn’t dare show my face on that campus again. Not after this stunt.” He turned, faced Crabblesnitch. “What do you know of this situation?”

Randy could tell Crabblesnitch was intimidated by the massive man that was Mr. Douglas, but he and Crabblesnitch had too similar personalities for one to be scared of the other. Crabblesnitch had too much pride in himself to be backed into a corner by a two-bit, wannabe-gangster, thuggish businessman.

Crabblesnitch pulled his shoulders back, perhaps unconsciously. He flicked his eyes from Mr. Douglas to Randy and then back. “Randall’s behaviour as of late has deteriorated. His attendance has tapered. I don’t see him much. But this is the first major incident brought to my attention.”

“Randall, is this true?”

“Why should I lie to you, Mr. Douglas?”

“Why should Principal Hartwick lie about the massive ‘charitable contributions’ from the Harrington family?” Mr. Douglas laughed deep in his chest. “My son has the tendency to throw money at his problems.”

Randy muttered under his breath “Yeah, I wonder where I got that from…”

He was ignored.

“He’s bribed me before, but I’m not staking this boy’s life on my bank account.”

Mr. Douglas studied him a moment and then nodded. “Very well.” He looked back at Randy. “Boy,” he started sharply, “you are very lucky this was only a minor health complication. I spoke to your doctor. You’ll be released within a few days. Your bills are paid for. Call me once you’re back in Harrington House.” To Crabblesnitch, he said “I suppose I should thank you for saving my son’s life.”

“You’re welcome, sir.”

“Mm…” Mr. Douglas distastefully grunted. He shouldered past Crabblesnitch again. “Clean up your act, boy, or you’ll lose more than just your place at graduation, if not your own damn life.”

Randy didn’t say any lasting goodbyes to his father. It was a short meeting, straight to the point, just the way Randy preferred. If he can avoid being in the same room as his father for longer than ten minutes, he will.

Once the door was shut, Crabblesnitch lurched forward, swiping the little baggy of white powder off the bed. He looked appalled as he hurried into the bathroom and flushed the baggy down the toilet.

“My father’s going to kill you if he finds out you lied to him.” Randy drawled emptily, unmoving.

“Your father seems to care more about his reputation more than your well-being. I can see where your callous attitude is derived from.” He stood over Randy, one hand behind his back. “You listen to me, Randall. You are walking a hairline between hopelessness and potential. Should you continue down this path you’re on, you’ll find yourself in nothing but ruin. I neglected to tell your father of your other incidents because you deserve a second chance. Problem children are fixable, to some extent. You can help me prove that.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Angel and Randy ‘broke up’ not long after.

It wasn’t much of a break-up. Randy told her he was gay, and then told her he needed a break from the smoke circle. She didn’t take it well, but let him go without too much trouble. She went quiet for a while after that. There were rumours that she was pregnant. Randy didn’t inquire about it.

Randy went about half a month without contacting Jesse again. When he did, Jesse seemed all too eager to push the harsher stuff into Randy’s hands again. Randy would settle for some weed, leaving Jesse looking annoyed.

Randy went to his classes a little more regularly. He and Crabblesnitch didn’t address each other unless they absolutely had to, though Randy sometimes caught himself trying to make grateful eye-contact and would quickly look away. Crabblesnitch would leave small notes on Randy’s work reading something along the lines of ‘Excellent improvement’ or ‘Much better work, Randall.’ It didn’t seem to matter the mark he actually got, the comments prevailed.

The rest of the school, on the other hand, found Randy’s hospitalization something of a delicious tidbit to continuously throw at him for the first week he returned. After a while, it started to get old, and most students dropped the incident all together. A few of his fellow Preps bothered him about it, but mostly in a condescending way that Randy could easily ignore or pass off as a joke between brethern. But it became common-knowledge around campus, and it hung over Randy’s head like a hungry guillotine blade. He always expected it to make a reappearance and big splash.

It was near the end of the school year when Crabblesnitch dared to bring up anything remotely related to the incident. He called for Randy to stay behind at the end of his class before he left for lunch break. Randy reluctantly did as he was told, sitting around on one of the desks as the rest of the students filed out of the room loudly. Crabblesnitch closed the door after them, and then sat on the edge of his own desk.

They stared at each other awkwardly for a few moments. There was a lot of generated questions that seemed to be pent up on either end. Part of Randy wanted to ask why this guy was even bothering anymore. Part of him knew better than to ask questions. But it was Crabblesnitch who finally plucked a question from the air when he asked “Have you been keeping your nose clean, Randall?”

“If you’re asking whether or not I’m keeping powder out of it, then yeah. My nose is clean.” Randy fidgeted, picking dirt from under his nails. “I went a little wild. I needed a wake-up call, I think.”

“Well, that you certainly received.” Crabblesnitch folded his hands on his laps. “It’s good to hear, but I meant it in a less literal sense.”

“Just the usual school spirit that seems rampant in this nightmare of a school.”

“‘School spirit,’ how creative…” Crabblesnitch laughed dryly. “I like that. Anything else?”

“Ah… some weed. That’s about it.”

“And what of your father? Has he properly punished you for the trouble you caused?”

“He hasn’t spoken to me since I got back to Harrington House.”

“How charming of him.”

Randy shrugged. “It doesn’t really matter. There’s nothing for him to say. He’s not one for life lesson lectures.” He waited a moment. “Um… is there anything else, or…?”

“No, Randall. I just wanted see how you were. It was quite the ordeal you got out of.”

“I didn’t know my limits. I didn’t really care where they were.”

“Now that you do, I hope you keep them in mind moving forward.”

“Yeah, well… I wanna go to college when I get out of this shithole, so I need to keep myself in one piece long enough to get there.”

“Oh? To prepare to take over your father’s…  ‘business?’”

“Nah… I want to get my bachelor’s in theater arts. Maybe get into playwrighting, something like that.”

“That’s humble.”

“It’s better than becoming my father.”

“That we will agree on.” When they went quiet again, Randy could almost feel the pity wafting off of him, even with the distance between them. He an idea of what was coming next, and he wasn’t wrong. “Do you mind if I ask what prompted it?”

“A little.”

“If you don’t feel comfortable telling me, that’s fine. But I’m under no obligations to tell anyone else. It has no reason to leave this classroom, nor will it.”

“… Why?”

Crabblesnitch sighed inwardly, glancing out the windows. He readjusted his position on the edge of the desk. “You strike me as a young man who needs someone to talk to when he experiences his qualms. Unfortunately, you don’t seem to have anyone. And because you have no one, you make stupid choices.”

“Look at you, Dr. Therapist.”

“Perception at the most, my boy. Concern at it’s finest.”

Randy standoffishly shrugged. He didn’t really want to get into the whole reasoning behind it. “It was a spur the moment thing after a breakup. I felt alone and hopeless, like there wasn’t a damn person in this town for me. I have the money, no shortage of that, so I thought… why not? It was really dumb, but that’s about the gist of it.”

“Well…” Crabblesnitch pushed off the desk, slipped his hands into his slack pockets. “Next time, my boy, talk to someone. Don’t act out in the most self-destructive way possible. There are healthier ways to deal with heartbreak. Cardiac arrest is not one of them.”

Randy slipped off the desk, taking that as a cue that he could go. “I’ll keep that in mind, Dr. Crabblesnitch.”

“Before you go, my boy, I have something for you.” He grabbed something off his desk. A little business card, probably meant for meetings with parents and other faculty members on the board. “Should you want or need it.”

Randy frowned at it. “I’m not your personal project, you know.” He took it anyways, shoving it in a pocket. “But… thanks. I guess.” He gave Crabblesnitch a polite nod and started on his way out.

“Keep that nose clean, Randall.” Crabblesnitch warned after him. “Literally and figuratively.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

22 Years later -

“Tea?”

Randy sat down in the chair across from Crabblesnitch, who sat behind his desk, tenting his fingers. “Yeah, I don’t see why not.”

“Ms. Denvers prepared some ahead of time. I told her you might be by.” He pushed a carved metal tray across his desk. It had an empty white teacup sat upside on it, a matching white teapot that still steamed from its stout, and a small bowl of four or five sugar cubes. “Earl Grey.”

“Fruit Loops.” Randy reached over to pour some into his cup. “Always thought Earl Grey tasted like Fruit Loops…” He dropped a cube of sugar into his tea and sat back. “Alrighty, bossman.” Randy cozied himself in his seat, stirring his tea with a little metal spoon. “What’ve you been up to for the last two decades, other than being stuck in charge of the worst school in the county?”

“About the same thing I was doing when you were here. Teaching life lessons and helping problem children.”

“Helping them – is that what this looks like?”

Crabblesnitch stiffened. “I’ll admit, it’s not an easy job. But it’s worth it. And the academic environment, it builds character.”

“Ah, I see. Same old same old, except now you get a big office and an assistant.”

“Apparently so.” Crabblesnitch let that hang in the air a moment, sipping from his tea. He blinked slowly. “I was more curious about what happened to you after you dropped out.”

“Well, the, um… the car crash sorta screwed me over.” Randy wiggled the shoulder of his missing arm. “I didn’t think I’d be able to graduate. I figured I should quite while I still had a valid excuse to get out and keep my father’s money. And as brilliant and thought out as that was, my father didn’t see that the same way.”

“Yes, I remember that man well enough to believe it. Do you mind if I ask about the accident?”

“It was ridiculous. My dealer, he was tripping out, losing money, so on and so forth. He and his druggy friends wanted me to start paying for their muses again, got a little hands-on when I refused. There was a fight, I was stuffed into a car, the dealer tried driving off with me… He spun out. Tweaking out too much. I was ejected, obviously my arm sustained most of the injuries, and he became a vegetable due to head trauma.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It was a long time ago. I let it bother me then, but I’m at peace with it now.” Randy gave a grim smirk. “And the guy’s dead now anyways, so I’m not really holding any grudges.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Your record’s stuck.”

“I mean, I apologize for not checking in on you after the incident.”

“You weren’t obligated to. You were just some idiot teacher who probably has as many daddy issues as I do, felt bad for me once and got wrapped up in something you didn’t ask for.”

“Truthfully, I thought about it from time to time. But, professionally, I thought it best not to get involved unless you asked for me. Why didn’t you?”

“Eh, pride. I didn’t want anymore pity. I’d lost an arm, a future, and a bank account – most people I ran into gave me these sad eyes, or they’d give me some line like ‘it’s so amazing that someone with your disability can do so much’ and all that crap. My ex wife, Linda, she was the worst for it. Didn’t need any more. I thought about it, though.”

“Ah…”

“And not much else to say after that. Got married. Raised a little money, did a program to get my high school credentials, did one of those fancy dancy online college courses, got my bachelors. Came out as gay. Got a divorce. Um.” Randy chewed the inside of his lip. He stared at the tiny Newton’s Cradle on Crabblesnitch’s desk. “Kinda went a little bit nuts. Depression, self-medication, and… a whole lot of self-deprecation. Long story short, Linda was the one who convinced me to submit myself to Happy Volts.” His ex-wife was probably more understanding than she should have been. Randy knew it was mostly because she felt bad for him, but he appreciated that she cared. Linda genuinely loved him. He’d always feel guilty that he couldn’t love her back the way she wanted him to.

“And that helped you, I see.”

“Oh, god, no. That place sucked. Half the people who work there are underqualified, the patrons are literally wild, and the conditions are third-world.” Randy laughed, pulling his eyes from the kinetic ball set. “It didn’t help in the conventional sense. But it opened my eyes. I’m better now. By the time I was walking out that front gate, I was the most normal person there – including the staff. And… here I am. Stuck in the worst school in America for the second time in my life.”

“For what it’s worth, I’m glad to see you clean, sober, and healthy. You’re finally in the prime of your life, Randall.” He started to correct himself to say “Mr. Douglas,” but stopped when Randy shook his head with an annoyed look.

“After being called Mr. Douglas all day for the first time in years, I’m starting to feel an awful lot like my father.” Less dryly and more earnestly, he added “And thanks. I think I’m a long way from rock bottom, these days. This school sucks more than a Hoover, but you know what? I don’t think I’d rather be anywhere else. This place is just as damaged as I am.”

“I feel like I ought to resent that.”

“Well, don’t.” Randy smirked. “It’s just full of character.”

It was Crabblesnitch’s turn to sound sardonic. “How clever.”

“So… can I ask you something?”

“We’ll see. What is it?”

“You’ve got a pedo, an alcoholic, a crook, and at least four psychos working here. When you were given the option to hire me, you balked at the thought of even taking my résumé. Why’d you hesitate so much when it came to me, and not these other scums of the earth?”

“Oh, I knew you all too well. To say that I trusted you weren’t still the addict I remember would be lying. I didn’t know whether or not you changed for the better. But I wanted to give you a second chance.”

“What do you mean ‘second’ chance. This has gotta be, what, my fortieth chance? Something in that ballpark.”

“When you were younger, you didn’t have it in you to do something honest and meaningful, and you hardly gave yourself enough credit. Others did. Others wanted you to. I had to do most of that for you. Now, I see you not only have the necessary willpower to give yourself credit and believe, but you had the willpower to change.”

“Finally got help.”

“Finally got help. It only took you a car crash, about 20 years, and a failed marriage, but here you are. I’d say that’s as good a success story as any to come out of this school in the last three decades.” Crabblesnitch raised his teacup and gave Randy a crooked smile. “Welcome back to Bullworth, my boy.”