"Okay, my little ponies, construction paper is on the back table next to the glue, and the scissors are in a box near the desk—"
Blazin' hid his face in his front legs as he heard the scraping of moving chairs and the other foals feet shuffling across the room to collect art supplies. His teacher—Ms. Mabal—was continuing to give directions above all of the noise and chatter, droning on and on about how to fold your paper properly for a card and how you should start with pencil so you don't waste paper. Blazin' just wanted them all to shut up, and let him sit in peace. He couldn't stand school, even less so on days like today.
He remained in his seat as the other colts and fillies shuffled around, talking about their weekend plans and the amazing things they were going to do with their dads. It was Father's Day this weekend—and unfortunately, Blazin' had to be in school on the days before and after it, since he was going to year-round school this year. One more reason why he wished he would just get kicked out already.
It was not like he'd expected fifth grade to be any different, anyways. He still had trouble reading and writing, still wasn't smart, still got blamed for everything, still had all of the teachers hate him off the bat, and still had no friends. He pretty much lived for the bell at the end of the day, so he could climb on the bus and go home, even if his stepfather was there.
And there was another reason he hated Father's Day. It pretty much reminded him that his real father had been taken away and replaced by a fat, smelly guy who gambled all day and couldn't give a horse's behind about Blazin'. He was just 'punk' to his stepfather, background noise when he was gambling or party entertainment when his stepfather decided to pick on Blazin' for his lack of substantial grades in front of his poker buddies. But that only happened when his mother wasn't around. His mother got really angry, really quickly whenever somepony picked on Blazin' for things he couldn't help.
Face still in his forelegs, he heard the other foals at his table plop down and try—keyword; try—to fold the paper to make a card for their father. Blazin' thought that this was kindergarten work, not something a fifth grade class would do, but it was Friday and the last class of the day, and he supposed his teacher was burnt out by that point in the week. She was a thin, old pony who always wore her lint-colored mane up in a severe bun that stretched her fur out, and wore no other colors than black, gray, and navy. She looked like a school teacher from the old days, and her punishment methods were just as primitive. She kept a ruler in her desk just for slapping hooves, even though Blazin' was pretty sure that wasn't legal. He'd gone home with raw, red-tinged fur on more than a few occasions, anyway.
He listened halfheartedly as the other kids talked about how amazing their dads were; "Mine taught me how to swim!" "Mine showed me how to play hoofball!" "Mine helped me build a tree house!" and all of the other generic dad things that they were supposed to do. Blazin's heart ached a little as he wondered what it would be like if his father wasn't dead—if he'd been there to teach Blazin' how to fish or play football or to just care about him in general.
His mother had always told Blazin' that he looked a lot like his father, and sometimes that made it hard to look in the mirror. Occasionally, he'd just stare at his reflection, imagining himself older and taller and more of a stallion, trying to pretend for just a moment that he wasn't poor and that he wasn't lonely, and that his father was there to take care of himself and his mother. But it never really worked, because all he could see was the desperate face of a short, scrawny colt staring back at him.
"Blazin', why aren't you making a card?" His teacher's voice floated into his mind, her tone snappish and impatient like always. She must've noticed him laying his head down when she came over to help the other kids with their folding.
"Because I don't want to," he said without thinking. It was true, after all.
He couldn't see her face, but he had a feeling she was pursing her lips and silently cursing his generation. "And why is that?"
Blazin' shrugged his shoulders. "Why should I have to do it?"
"Because you're at school, Blazin' Trail, and you're supposed to participate and follow directions." Blazin' sat up and half-glared at the teacher. He hated it when people used his real first name for some reason.
"You're not the boss of me, Mabel," he muttered. His head hurt and he was too tired and annoyed with the day to put up with some old pony's nagging.
Her face turned an interesting shade of purple against her yellow fur while the rest of the class quieted down to watch the exchange. That was really the only time anyone ever payed attention to him—when he was getting himself in trouble. She pointed her crooked, arthritis-ridden hoove at him. "Outside, in the hallway. Now."
Blazin' sighed and pushed himself out of his chair, getting ready for one of the 'teacher scoldings' he'd had a million times over the years. Most kids would be mortified to have to go out into the hallway with a teacher, but Blazin' was past the point of caring. Maybe she'd send him to the office and let him call his mother. That was supposed to be some kind of punishment—he guessed it was for the kids who got yelled at when they got home—but it always made Blazin' feel better when they let him call her. Sometimes it helped him get through a bad day when he could talk to her. His mother was never mad, but it always made him feel guilty later on for creating so much trouble.
Ms. Mabal closed the door behind them, and stood in front of him, front hooves folded, trying to look intimidating. The florescent lighting cast weird shadows across her pale face, making her look much uglier and older than she already was. She was staring down her nose, looking through her tiny glasses that were just barely perched there.
"Now, why did I call you out here?"
"Aren't you supposed to be the one who knows that?"
Her nostrils flared. "I am trying to be patient with you ,Blazin' Trail ."
"It's just Blazin' ," he said irritably, "and why can't you just leave me alone?"
"Because," she began, "I expect respect from you. And by you completely ignoring my assignments, and then back-talking when I confront you about it, you're not showing it at all. I will not stand for that."
"It's a stupid card," he protested.
"It's the gesture that irks me," she said. Who says 'irks me' anymore? "I expect better from you."
Blazin' balled his fists under the sleeves of his too-large hoodie. "Right," he said. "Of course you expect more from me. You didn't just take one look at my file and brand me a delinquent like everypony else."
She frowned. "I believe everypony can change—"
"No," he said, "you expect to be the one teacher that turns me into a little angel—conquers the troubled foal. I'm a challenge to you, aren't I?"
She looked baffled. "I don't know what you're talking about—"
He pushed on. "I don't care about your stupid rules, your stupid classroom, or your stupid assignments. Just leave me alone."
He was angry and hurt—not necessarily at his teacher, but just at the world in general. He was angry that all the other colts and fillies got to be happy, that he was stuck with nothing—no friends, no smarts, no looks, no luck, no money, and almost no family. He was miserable, and wanted to be left alone. He didn't want some nosy teacher in his face.
That, apparently, was the last straw for Ms. Mabal. She grabbed Blazin' by the hoof and started to drag him down the hallway, towards the office. He saw the other kids watching him through the glass windows in the classrooms, pointing and snickering, probably talking about how Blazin' Trail had gotten himself in trouble again. He let her drag him down the hall, wondering what kind of punishment this would grant him.
"We're going to call your mother," she spat, and pulled him behind the desk, picking up the phone and taking it into the back where the receptionist and anyone waiting in the office couldn't hear.
She handed him the phone and said, "Your parent's number." Methodically, Blazin' punched in his mother's cellphone number. She snatched the phone from him, and pointed to a chair while she waited for it to ring.
When his mother picked up, she started in that false cheery tone they always did when they greeted a parent. "Hello! You are Mrs. Raindust, correct?"
His mother must've agreed, because she continued, "Well, hello then. I'm Mabel , your son Blazin 's English teacher."
A pause. "Oh, well... yes. There has been some trouble. Your son was being quite disrespectful towards me today, and I had to pull him out of class..."
Another pause. "You'd like to come down here? Okay, that's wonderful. No, I don't have any prior engagements after school. I'd be happy to talk to you. Okay, just come to the main office after school. Okay, see you in a little while."
She hung up the phone, and turned to glare at Blazin'. "Stay here while I dismiss the rest of the class. Don't move."
She left the back room, and he slumped into his chair. His mother was coming down here to talk to his teacher? He immediately felt guilty. He knew she had an early day today, and now she had to waste part of her afternoon talking to his English teacher about how awful he was to her for no reason. He'd just expected a quick phone call and a detention referral, not a whole parent-teacher conference.
The bell rang overhead. Blazin' pulled his front legs to his chest, wrapping his arms around them and resting his chin on top. Celestia, he hated Father's Day. It always just opened a whole new can of hurt and depression, and made him feel like crap all day. He wished he wasn't going to a year-round school so he could've just stayed home with his mother like normal. At least she managed to cheer him up a little and not make him feel quite as lonely.
He wondered if he'd have turned out differently if his father was alive. Would he have been in less trouble? Would he have been smarter? Would he have been happier? Would his mother have been happier? He bet she wouldn't have been working a minimum wage job that she hated. And she did it for him, too. She could've left him with foster care when he was born because his father was dead and she couldn't afford him, but she didn't. She'd still raised him, and loved him no matter what he did... and what did he do in return? He got himself in trouble and made everything harder for her. He was a terrible son.
Tears prickled in the corners of his eyes. No, he thought, mashing his hoofs to his face. He would just get this over with, and then crawl into bed when he got home and wait for Father's Day to be over.
His teacher walked back in, holding his book bag, and still looking at him disapprovingly like he'd crawled out of a dumpster. She dumped the bag at his feet. He stared as his shoes as she said, "You should watch your tongue next time."
Before he could say anything else that was stupid, his mother walked in. She looked a little tired, with wrinkles that could be seen under her eyes through her light blue fur, with her long, white mane in a ponytail. She glanced at Blazin' for a second before extending a hoof to Ms. Mabal.
"I'm Raindust," she said as they shook. "It's nice to meet you."
Ms. Mabal nodded curtly. "If only it were under better circumstances..."
His mother frowned a little. "What happened, exactly?"
His teacher explained the entire incident, and his mother looked increasingly more worried as she went on. Blazin' scrunched himself up as much as he could in his seat, possibly trying to disappear forever. It made him feel even worse as he listened to his teacher tell his mom. Part of him couldn't help but worry that his mother would finally snap—that this would be the one too many time he got in trouble, and his mother wouldn't want to deal with him anymore. Part of him knew that was ridiculous, but he still felt ashamed and nervous. Why couldn't he just shut up like the other kids?
Ms. Mabal handed his mother a detention slip. "The principal decided that a detention would be an appropriate punishment for the incident, but... he warned that expulsion was the next level. Any more disrespect..."
His mother nodded. "Okay. Thank you, Ms. Mabal, for being so kind about this."
"I'm sorry," Blazin' said softly.
Ms. Mabal nodded stiffly. "If you need me, I'll be in the classroom packing for the day." She left the room swiftly.
His mother turned and walked over to him. She cupped his cheek with one hoof and tilted his head so that he was looking at her face. "Why didn't you just say that you didn't have a father, honey?" she asked.
Blazin's eyes got a little moist. "I—I don't know." Really, he was afraid to admit it in front of anyone ever since last year when somepony had scrawled across his locker in black sharpie: BASTARD FOAL. They'd never figured out who had done it, but it had made Blazin' feel self-conscious about not having a father. He didn't really understand why it mattered so much to the other kids, but they loved to bully him about it.
His mother sighed, and sat down in a sofa beside him. Blazin' fiddled with the frayed hem of his . "I'm sorry for being a terrible son," he mumbled.
She looked alarmed, then sad. "Oh, Blazin' ," she said, hugging him close. "You're not a terrible son. You're the best one I could've ever asked for."
"But I make everything hard for you," he sniffled. "If I weren't around, you could—you could do whatever you wanted."
She squeezed him a little. "Blazin', you're what I want. Nothing else. You're the best thing that ever happened to me. I wouldn't give you up for anything."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, Blazin'. I'm very sure."
There was a beat of silence before Blazin' asked such a little kidish question, he could've slapped himself. "Do you think Dad would've felt that way, too?"
His mother kissed his forehead. "I'm positive he would have."
"Is it stupid that I've never met him and still miss him?"
"No," she said. "Not at all."
He rested his chin on her shoulder. "I wish I could have someone to do all the things a dad is supposed to do," he said. It was a naive wish, but he didn't care.
She sighed. "I know, Blazin'." They sat there hugging for a little while, before his mother finally broke away and helped him out of the chair. "Let's go home, honey. You look like you've had enough for today."
Blazin' nodded. "I'm tired, anyways."
They made their way out of the school, and walked down the nearly empty parking lot. His mother draped her arm over Blazin's shoulders and pulled him to her side.
"He'd be proud, you know."
He looked up at her. "Why?"
"Because you're his son," she said. "And that's all that matters."
