Page 84 of Punked By the Playmaker
IwasprettysureLevi broke every posted speed limit during our mad dash to the school.
When I listened to the voicemail left on my own phone, it mirrored the one he’d received. No details were given about the type of incident that had occurred or why it was so imperative that we get there as soon as possible.
Didn’t they have any fucking clue that leaving a vague message like that would give parents extreme anxiety? In this day and age, when all kinds of unspeakable acts took place within the confines of educational buildings, how could you not at least let them know whether or not their children were safe and unharmed?
As soon as Levi put his SUV in park, we both jumped from the vehicle, running to the doors at the entrance.
My husband pulled on one of the handles, and when the door didn’t open, he used more strength, rattling it on its hinges. Then came a roar of “Why the hell is this door locked?”
“Safety precaution,” I explained, pressing the button on the intercom affixed to the brick exterior.
The speaker crackled to life. “Can I help you?”
Pressing a palm against my racing heart, I replied, “Arizona Cleary and Levi Nixon here for Maisie Thorne and Austin Cleary.”
“Come on in.”
There was a loud buzz, signaling that the doors were temporarily unlocked.
We rushed inside, stopping only long enough to scan our IDs at the guest checkpoint before being granted entry into the school office.
Immediately, Austin came into view, seated on a chair against the far wall, and I gasped at the sight of him. His lip was split, with blood dripping down his chin, and his glasses were askew, one of the lenses completely shattered.
“Oh my God!” I cried, moving as fast as my legs would carry me toward him. As soon as he was within arm’s reach, I cupped his face gently. “What happened?”
The fourteen-year-old glanced at Levi, who now stood beside me, and tried to act tough. “You should see the other guy.”
Not amused, my husband folded both arms over his chest and repeated my question, “What happened?”
Austin lifted one shoulder. “Got in a fight.”
Levi let out a sigh. “Bud, the answer to being bullied isn’t to become a bully yourself.”
The teen reared back, shaking his head. “It’s not like that. I was defending Maisie.”
Levi stiffened, and his head turned on a swivel as he scanned the room. “Where is she?”
“She ran away when the fight started.”
“Fuck.” My husband’s eyes slammed shut. “We need to find her.”
A door opened nearby, and a balding, middle-aged man appeared. “Mr. Nixon, Ms. Clearly. I’m Principal Jacobs. If you could please step inside my office.”
“I’m not doing anything until someone tells me where my daughter is and why Austin is the only participant of this so-called fight that is being disciplined,” Levi snapped.
It was only then that I realized Austin was the only student sitting inside the main office.
The principal calmly replied, “Ms. Thorne has locked herself inside a bathroom stall. A female faculty member is trying to coax her out as we speak. As for any other students involved, I’m not at liberty to divulge that information.”
That wasn’t good enough for Levi. Immediately, he turned to Austin, demanding, “Tell me.”
“Mr. Nixon, I must insist—”
“Excuse me, I was talking to my kid,” Levi barked.
My jaw hit the floor.
Did he—Did he justclaimAustin as his?
