It’s been one of those days. I’d punch someone in the face if I knew it meant I could get home faster and go to sleep. But one of the problems with high school is that once you punch someone in the face, there’s a whole day’s worth of paperwork and court appearances that follows.

Another problem with high school, and the world in general, is that the rules, say what you may Mr. Principal, do not apply equally to everyone.

So when I walked into English and saw Devon draw back and slam his fist into Aaron’s face, I sort of knew that no SRO was going to be called.

Because there was no teacher in the room.

And all the students watching knew what Aaron had done over the weekend.

And everyone knows that there are just some things that deserve a good punch in the face.

Aaron reeled, one hand rising to clutch his bleeding nose, the other gripping his desk to keep him upright.

“Devon, I said it wasn’t my fault! SHE WAS THE ONE DRINKING!” Aaron sputtered, though his words were muffled, and I caught a glimpse of blood in his mouth too.

It was one of those impossible moments when twenty teenagers all manage to lock eyes at once, and the phrase “Oh, no, he didn’t” echoes silently around a tiny classroom. Aaron’s eyes widened and I knew he felt the gathered disapproval of everyone in the room. So he must’ve also known what would happen next.

Devon’s fist flew up and caught him in the jaw, sending him flying to the ground.

Aaron knocked over several desks, and a few students had to jump back so that he didn’t land on them when he fell. His eyes were rolled back into his head, but he was breathing. Unconscious.

Devon continued to stare down at him, as did the rest of us. Blood leaked from Aaron’s nose and one corner of his mouth. Unlike the rest of us, Devon looked entirely uninterested. Any of the fury gathered beneath his skin was hidden well, and the whole scene had the feeling of a legal sentence being carried out.

As if he hadn’t just butchered the face of our student council president, Devon strolled over to his seat and sat down. His action seemed to serve as a judge dismissing a courtroom, because everyone else followed his example, except for Logan.

He knelt down beside Aaron, examining the bleeding with disgust. Somehow, it didn’t bother me that even Aaron’s best friend had not stood up for him.

Everyone knows that there are just some things that deserve a good punch in the face.

“Someone help me get him outside to the parking lot,” Logan demanded. No one stood up immediately, and Logan grunted in exasperation. “If he stays here, there’s gonna be a lot of explaining to do to Mrs. Haygan when she comes back.”

This made sense to us, and I stood up along with two other students and went to help Logan. Logan grabbed one arm, and I grabbed the other. Sarah and Daniel, a quiet girl and a football player, grabbed Aaron’s legs. We lifted him with some difficulty (he was heavier than he looked), and dragged him unceremoniously out of the classroom. I guess it was lucky we were in one of the portables behind the gym, close to the parking lot. No administrators caught sight of our strange little procession.

We made our way to Aaron’s SUV, and Logan pulled the keys out of Aaron’s pocket. When he’d unlocked the door, we put Aaron in the back seat, laid down so that no one would see him there. Sarah had rather thoughtfully grabbed Aaron’s book bag, and she put it beside him on the floor board. Logan locked the doors, cracked the windows, and tossed the keys inside.

For a minute, the four of us stood around and looked at each other, unsure of what to do.

“It felt like stashing a dead body,” Daniel joked half-heartedly.

Sarah glared at him, her eyes flashing behind her glasses. “That’s not funny, Dan.”

He shrugged, defending himself with a mumbled, “Y’know that’s not what I meant…”

An awkward silence followed, until Logan cleared his throat. “Well, we should probably get back now.”

Daniel and Sarah nodded fervently, glad to escape the strangeness of the situation. They hurried off to class, and I started to follow until I noticed Logan still hanging back by the truck.

I fought a quick internal battle about whether or not I cared enough to ask what was wrong, decided it was better than going back to English, and turned to him.

“You coming?” I asked. My voice sounded too quiet, too intimate. It was frustrating. Everything was feeling like that these days, like our whole senior class was suddenly as tightly bound as the soul to the body.

Logan didn’t look at me, staring instead over the bleak expanse of cars and pavement. “Yeah…” but he made no move.

I took a faltering step back to him. “I’ll just tell Mrs. Haygar you were too upset to come to class if you want.” God knows he wouldn’t be the first since this whole thing started.

“No,” he answered quickly, shaking his head and looking at me directly. “No, I’m coming.” He jogged a few quick steps to catch up with me, and then we fell in step on our walk back to class.

We were quiet mostly, until he looked up at the sky(gray, as the Lord saw fit) and murmured almost to himself, “It’s just so strange.”

I snorted. “Tell me about it.”

He glanced down at me, and the corner of his mouth turned up slightly. It was the first time in days I’d seen anyone smile. “Yeah,” he said quietly, “I wish I could.”