Lexi's Side

Lexi's heart pounded in her chest as she sat outside the principal's office, her fingers twisting the hem of her sweater. The silence in the hallway was suffocating, the weight of what had happened pressing down on her like an invisible force. Every second that ticked by made her stomach churn. She had never been called to the principal's office before, and she had certainly never been in this much trouble.

When the door opened, she jumped slightly. Mr. Peterson stood in the doorway, his face unreadable as he gestured for her to come inside. Her legs felt like lead as she stood, forcing herself to step forward. The office felt bigger than she remembered, the walls lined with neatly arranged books and framed certificates. The air smelled faintly of coffee, but it did nothing to calm the storm raging inside her.

Mr. Peterson motioned toward the chair across from his desk. "Have a seat, Lexi."

She swallowed hard and did as she was told, her hands gripping her knees so tightly that her nails dug into the fabric of her jeans. Her eyes darted to the desk, anywhere but at Mr. Peterson's face.

He sat down, folding his hands in front of him. His voice was steady but firm. "Lexi, I need you to tell me what happened in the bathroom earlier today. Start from the beginning."

Her throat tightened. She could barely swallow past the lump forming there. "I... I didn't mean for things to get so bad," she whispered, her voice shaky. "It just... happened."

Mr. Peterson leaned forward slightly, watching her carefully. "I need you to be honest, Lexi. What exactly happened? What did you say, and what did you do?"

Lexi let out a trembling breath, her eyes stinging with unshed tears. She squeezed them shut for a second, trying to steady herself, but when she opened them, Mr. Peterson was still waiting. She couldn't escape this.

"I..." She faltered, her voice breaking. "Tasha and I saw Emily go into the bathroom. Tasha started saying things... making fun of her. I—I laughed. I shouldn't have, but I did." The tears spilled over now, and she wiped at them quickly with the back of her hand, ashamed of how weak she felt.

"But was it really a joke?" Mr. Peterson asked gently, his tone softer now.

Lexi shook her head, her whole body trembling. "No," she admitted in a barely audible whisper. "It wasn't. It was mean, and I knew it was mean." She sniffled, her breath hitching as she forced herself to continue. "Tasha kept going. She was pushing Emily, shoving her into the wall. She was laughing, and—I didn't stop her. I just stood there."

Her chest ached with guilt. Her heart was hammering so hard it felt like it might burst. She couldn't bring herself to look at Mr. Peterson. "I should've done something," she sobbed. "But I just stood there. I just let it happen."

Mr. Peterson let the silence settle for a moment before he spoke again, his voice calm but firm. "And after that? What did you do when things got worse?"

Lexi sniffled hard, wiping at her face again. "I—I told Tasha to stop," she said, her voice raw with regret. "I told her we'd done enough, but she didn't listen. She just kept going. And I—I backed off. I didn't stop her."

She finally lifted her eyes to meet Mr. Peterson's, and the look of disappointment in his expression was worse than if he had yelled at her. Her stomach twisted painfully.

"Lexi," he said quietly, "do you understand why what you did—or didn't do—was wrong?"

A fresh wave of tears spilled down her cheeks, and she nodded, her whole body shaking. "I didn't do enough," she croaked. "I should've stopped her. I should've made her stop. I should've said something sooner. I should've—" Her voice cracked, and she buried her face in her hands, sobbing openly. "Emily probably hates me now."

She could barely breathe past the panic. The guilt. The fear. She wasn't like Tasha—she wasn't a bully. But she had still let it happen. She had been a part of it, and now the weight of it felt unbearable.

Mr. Peterson let her cry for a moment before speaking again, his voice unwavering but kind. "Lexi, I appreciate your honesty, but being sorry isn't enough," he said. "You need to think about how to make things right moving forward."

Lexi sniffled, lifting her tear-streaked face from her hands. "How?" she whispered. "How do I fix this?"

Mr. Peterson sighed, studying her carefully. "That's something we'll discuss," he said. "There will be consequences. You were part of this, even if you didn't do what Tasha did. But there's also the question of what kind of person you want to be moving forward."

She swallowed thickly, nodding as she wiped at her face again.

"I'll need to speak with Tasha next," Mr. Peterson continued. "But for you, Lexi, this is a chance to reflect. Maybe that means writing a letter of apology to Emily, or finding another way to make amends."

Lexi let out a shaky breath. "I'll do it," she said, her voice hoarse. "I'll write the letter."

Mr. Peterson gave a small nod. "That's a start." He let the words settle before adding, "Lexi, I want to believe you're better than this. Prove me right."

Her breath hitched. "I... I will," she whispered.

As she stood to leave, her legs felt weak beneath her. She turned back at the door, her expression raw with guilt and regret. "I don't think I'll ever forgive myself," she admitted softly.

Mr. Peterson's eyes softened. "Forgiving yourself starts with doing the right thing," he said. "One step at a time."

Lexi nodded numbly and slipped out of the office, her chest tight, her mind racing. One step at a time. But how many steps would it take before she didn't feel like the worst person in the world?
Please step outside, I'll call you back in in a little while.

Tasha's Side

The moment Tasha walked into Mr. Peterson's office, she felt her blood start to boil. The air smelled like stale coffee and old books, the walls lined with boring plaques and framed certificates that screamed authority. She hated this place—hated being here, being treated like a damn criminal when all she'd done was put Emily in her place.

She threw herself into the chair across from Mr. Peterson's desk, slouching back and folding her arms tightly across her chest. "Let's get this over with," she muttered, voice dripping with irritation.

Mr. Peterson raised an eyebrow at her tone but remained composed as he settled into his chair. "Tasha, I called you in here because I need to understand what happened in the bathroom earlier today. I want you to tell me your side of the story, right from the beginning."

Tasha rolled her eyes so hard it hurt. "What's there to tell? Emily was being her usual weird self, and I said a few things. Big deal."

Mr. Peterson's expression didn't change, but his voice dropped a little lower, a little firmer. "From what I've heard, it was more than just a 'few things.' Emily was physically pushed, humiliated, and left in tears. I need to know exactly what happened and why."

Tasha exhaled sharply through her nose, turning her gaze to the window instead of looking at him. "She's always acting like she's better than everyone else, making a big deal out of her... whatever she is. It's annoying. So, yeah, I called her out on it. Maybe I pushed her a little. It wasn't a big deal."

Mr. Peterson leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his desk. His voice was calm but unyielding. "It is a big deal, Tasha. Harassment is a serious offense. Bullying someone because of their identity is unacceptable. And physically assaulting a fellow student? That is even more serious."

Tasha's jaw clenched, and her fingers curled into fists on her lap. "Oh, come on!" she snapped. "I barely touched her! She's just a baby who can't handle anything. She's always running to someone to fix her problems."

"She ran to me because she felt unsafe," Mr. Peterson said, his voice sharp enough to cut through her anger. "And from what I've heard, she had every reason to feel that way. What you did crossed the line, and I need you to take responsibility for your actions."

Tasha scoffed loudly, throwing her hands up in frustration. "Why should I? Emily's the one making everything weird for everyone else. Maybe she should take responsibility for that."

Mr. Peterson's eyes darkened slightly, his patience thinning. "Tasha, let me be very clear: this is not about Emily. This is about your behavior. You chose to harass and physically harm another student. That is not acceptable under any circumstances."

Tasha let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. "It's not like I'm the only one who thinks she's weird," she spat. "Everyone's always whispering about her. I just said what everyone else is thinking."

"That doesn't justify your actions," Mr. Peterson countered, his voice steady. "Being part of this school means respecting others, even if they're different from you."

"I don't need a fucking lecture about respect," Tasha snapped, slamming her hands onto the desk. "Maybe if Emily didn't act so—"

"That's enough!" Mr. Peterson interrupted, his voice like steel. The sudden shift in his tone made Tasha flinch, but she quickly masked it with a glare.

"You're not here to criticize Emily," he continued, his eyes locked onto hers. "You are here because of your actions. And right now, you have a choice: you can take responsibility for what you did, or you can refuse and deal with the consequences of that choice."

Tasha's face burned with fury, her whole body tense with frustration. "This is so stupid," she muttered. "You're just taking her side because she cried."

Mr. Peterson's expression didn't change. "I'm taking this seriously because it is my job to ensure every student feels safe in this school. That includes Emily." His gaze sharpened. "And if you can't understand that, then we do have a bigger problem."

For a moment, the office was silent except for the faint ticking of the clock. Tasha glared at Mr. Peterson, her heart pounding with frustration. She wanted to yell, wanted to curse him out, wanted to tell him how unfair this all was—but deep down, she knew that wouldn't change anything.

"Tasha," Mr. Peterson said finally, his tone measured but unwavering, "I'm giving you a chance to take responsibility here. To reflect on your actions and show that you understand the harm you've caused."

She let out a bitter laugh. "I don't see why I should," she snapped. "This is all being blown way out of proportion."

Mr. Peterson studied her for a long moment, then sighed, leaning back in his chair. "Very well," he said simply. "If that's your stance, then I'll have to decide on the consequences without your input."

Tasha blinked, caught off guard by how quickly he dismissed her. No argument, no debate—just decision made. Her face twisted with frustration.

"You may go," Mr. Peterson added, gesturing to the door.

Her chair scraped loudly against the floor as she stood, her hands balled into fists. "Whatever," she muttered. "This school is fucking stupid anyway."

She stormed toward the door, yanking it open so hard it slammed against the wall before she stomped out into the hallway. She didn't care who was watching, didn't care that people were staring. Let them.

Inside the office, Mr. Peterson sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. He'd seen students like Tasha before—defiant, unwilling to admit fault—but he also knew that didn't absolve them of accountability.

He picked up his notepad and began writing, his expression resolute. Tasha Caldwell's actions would not go without consequence. And neither would her refusal to take responsibility.