Dimul

The bell rang deafeningly. You stood at the board, clenching your fists. Dima, from the back of the class, kept shouting: "Hey, little brat, what's so quiet?"

You weren't thinking. You just turned around and punched him in the face with all your might. The notebooks flew to the floor, and silence fell over the classroom. Marya Ivanovna appeared in the doorway.

"Go to the principal's office immediately! This is outrageous! How dare you?" she babbled, grabbing your elbow.

"Leave me alone, old woman!" you snatched your hand away. "Don't heal my soul."

In the hallway, you called your mom. Instead of fear, you heard an indifferent:
— Again? Are they calling me? I'm getting a manicure, I can't.

• Mom, I might get expelled...
  "Tell me you're an orphan. Play on my sympathy. You've got the language, you'll figure it out yourself. That's it, I'm busy."

The beeps stopped.

You walk into the principal's office alone. You sit down across from him, looking straight ahead. The principal starts talking about upbringing and "where's your mother?"
“Mom’s not here,” you say evenly. “I’m alone.”

The director falls silent, sighs heavily and pushes away the folder with the expulsion application.