The classroom door opened with a dull schnick.
“Christopher. Your father’s here.”
Tav put his pen down. His knuckles hurt, and now his fingers did, too. Lines. Seriously. Who even gave that out as a punishment anymore? And they were lying lines. I will not resort to violence to solve differences with other pupils. It wasn’t a difference, it had been a racist pop at Luca, and f**k school if they thought Jack didn’t deserve everything he got.
But Tav knew better than to say that to the bull troll that was Mrs. Henderson, Head of Year Twelve. So he said, “Stepdad,” instead.
“Headmaster’s office,” she rumbled.
Tav grunted and gingerly eased his bag over his shoulder. Jack wasn’t a pushover, Tav had to give him that. His face ached. But Jack had come off worse—Tav was sure he’d broken the
