Ticktock Love

[5] Ice Cream to Remember

Principal Jeffrey sat down, and I knew I was in trouble.

The office chair's wheels produced an unpleasant sound, screeching like a broken children's toy that was accidentally stepped on. He didn't flinch; he cleared his throat instead.

"Should we start then?"

I nodded, and he reached for a tall stack of documents at the edge of his desk. He merely touched the top form before curiously changing his mind. In a well-practiced motion, he retracted his hand and leaned forward to get closer to his computer, wrinkling his ironed shirt in the stomach area. A clock was ticking away the seconds – to what, I didn't know.

This was the first time I was summoned to the principal's office, and I would lie if I said I'd ever spared it a single thought before today. Now, when the opportunity presented itself without my consent, the only even remotely interesting thing lay just out of my reach. Desperate for distractions, I focused on the worn-out upholstery behind him, noticing how it was tilted at a twenty-degree angle, curved for better lumbar support yet free from any human weight. The walnut leather cracked in patterns which spread like veins and arteries, musty and rough like an old man's skin.

The image was almost carved into my brain when a window rattled from a sudden force, and Jeffrey gyrated 180 degrees to let out a choice of fine expletives. He got up, approached the smudged glass, and peeked behind the curtains.

The room got darker as he pulled the thick fabric together.

"A football," he explained more to himself than me, already on his way back.

The squeak was even louder this time.

As I watched the dust particles floating in the air, my nose scrunched up. The dim light that barely seeped through the flannel curtains made me believe it'd been a while since he aired out the room. The lack of oxygen sent my head reeling, but Jeffrey didn't seem bothered. He took advantage of an arm rest and rested his left elbow on it, stroking his chin while looking up my record. I recognized the moment he found what he was looking for – sounds of a broken garbage disposal came from his throat before he spoke up.

"Lisbeth Hall... Lisbeth," he mouthed the name, pronouncing it like he had a lisp. "Are you Swedish?"

"American." I felt the need to explain for some reason. "But the name is German."

"I don't think so. I saw a movie with a Lisbeth once, and she was Swedish." He turned his head away from the screen and squinted at me, ignoring the glasses reclined against the desk lamp. "Something with dragons and that James Bond guy, I think?"

"Maybe 'The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo'?" I helpfully offered. I almost forgave him despite the fact he'd stripped Daniel Craig to a James Bond persona, but then he went ahead and squished the last ounce of good will out of me.

"Right, right. Maybe we should make you children fill out your family trees for homework. I'm sure you'd be surprised at what you'd find," he sniffled, reaching for a paper napkin.

He took on a friendly expression after blowing his nose, but it looked ridiculous on him – like someone who'd never seen a smile in real life attempted to make one. If Julia had seen it, she would have equaled its veracity to cats in medieval paintings.

The wooden chair I was sitting on was starting to become uncomfortable. I remained silent, begging my definitely-not-Scandinavian ancestors for patience, so his attention was once again drawn to my school record.

"You have good grades, Liz. You certainly didn't need this lapse of judgement. You've read the guidelines, haven't you?"

He aimlessly scrolled through the program, petting the mouse with his index finger. I crossed my ankles and pressed the vamps of my sneakers against each other.