prince ♛ cole mackenzie

25 | mr. phillips's downfall

"'Go to hell', Si, really? It's like you want to be murdered," Cole commented while he squeezed the same lump of clay between his hands. They sat behind the school building for lunch, against the wall.

"He hurt you," Silas replied, as though that explained everything. To him, it probably did.

Cole simply sighed. "I wonder what was wrong with Gilbert's friend. Bash."

"He seemed troubled; said something about no doctors for him."

"Of course . . . those prejudiced nobodies think they have the right to deny vital service for something as unimportant as the colour of skin." Cole's clay had turned to a shape moulded by his clenched fist.

"My mother is like him," Silas let out. "Daisy was. I'm— not really supposed to say. It doesn't help much, either, with me being . . ." he broke off into a small laugh.

Cole intertwined his fingers in Silas's.
"It only matters to those with the brain capacity of a bird. Let them hate us all they want, they can't stop someone loving because it's not how they do it."

Silas closed his eyes. Cole seemed to have closed his as well; Silas studied his face from the corner of his view. He came to the conclusion that Cole had a sweet smile.

"How did your parents meet?" Cole asked him after a while.

He reopened his eyes reluctantly. "My father, who lived in Vancouver at the time, worked on a ship for a while when he was younger for a little extra money. Then he meets some beautiful woman on one of their stops at an island and they decide to marry and move back to the city. Then . . . me," he explained.

"That's far more exciting than mine. A farmer marries a woman within a week of their encounter and suddenly they have too many children. I hardly see him, he works somewhere in Charlottetown now. I have to do all the farm work while my mother looks after my sisters."

"Do you . . ." Silas paused. "Do you love your mother? Your family?"

Cole gave a small shrug. "I appreciate what my mother does for us. Do you love your parents?"

"Well, I guess—"

Cole's hand darted away from his at a sudden unwelcome appearance.

"What're you guys doing all the way back here?" asked Billy.

"We were eating lunch," Cole responded.

"Together? That's cute."

"Just leave us alone. I'm sure Josie would love to share her sandwiches with you if you asked nicely," said Silas.

Henry Thompson caught sight of Cole's clay and had taken it before they realised he had even seen it.

"Gross, what is that?" he exclaimed.

"Give it back." Silas stood to confront him with Cole.

Henry tossed it to Billy. "Why do you care so much about a bit of mud?"

"Billy, please," Cole said.

Their game continued, edging closer and closer to inside the school building itself.

"You have no right," he told them through gritted teeth.

Silas stood in front of Henry in an attempt to catch it. "Stop!"

"What is this?" Billy rubbed his palm against his leg to remove the clay pieces clinging to it.

"Just . . . give it back."

Billy smirked. "Sure. Catch."

The ball flew through the air, past Cole, and hit the window directly, causing a shatter in the shape of a spider's web.

"Mr. Andrews, that's enough!"

Mr. Phillips had returned to the half-empty classroom from the private back room. He approached the clay and lifted it with his delicate white handkerchief. "To whom does this belong?"

Cole averted his eyes to the ground. "It's mine, sir."

"Then your parents can pay for a new window."

"That's not fair, Billy threw it at him!" Silas defended him at once.

"I'm speaking to Mr. Mackenzie!"

Cole turned to Billy with an expression that showed how truly helpless and irritated he felt in the situation. "Why don't you tell the truth for once?" he demanded.

"I was just doing what you told me to," Billy glanced between the teacher, Cole and Silas. "I was giving it back."

"My parents can't afford that," Cole sighed to Mr. Phillips.

"Then we'll have to punish you in some other way."

The loathsome man made his way back to his desk and pulled open a drawer. He approached them with a long stick from a tree branch in his grip.

Silas instinctively moved to stand in front of Cole. "He didn't break the window, Billy did."

"Open your hand," said Mr. Phillips, disregarding Silas.

"I didn't do anything wrong."

"Our parents will hear of this. You'll lose your— pathetic excuse of a job—" Silas doubted any of his classmates' parents would bat an eyelid at a teacher raising their hand to a student.

"Unless you, too, Mr. Arroway, would also like to be punished, I would suggest you keep your mouth closed. You are the most disruptive students in this classroom."

"That," Cole whispered, moving closer to their teacher, "Is your perception, but it is not fact. If you want to hate someone you should look in a mirror."

Mr. Phillips looked extremely uncomfortable. Beads of sweat began to swarm his forehead. "Open your hand."

"No."

Cole walked backwards a few steps, not breaking eye contact, and then retrieved his book bag and coat. His shoulder roughly hit one of Billy's friends on his way past. Silas followed close behind, fearing staying in class any longer would cause more harm than good.