to get seriously pummeled 
Half an hour later, we’re crammed into a mall-security office that smells like body odor.
My friends are pressed into a corner near the doorway, unable to leave because they’re witnesses. I’ve been forced to sit in a hard-backed chair wedged between a desk and the far wall. One guard stands over me, and another sits behind the desk. When I try to get up, the standing guard puts a hand on my shoulder and pushes me back down.
“Don’t touch me!” I’m a quivering mess.
“Sit down!” he barks.
“I said call the cops now!” Neanderthal paces in front of the desk.
Then both my parents rush into the room, still in their work clothes. Mom gets to me first, petting my head as if smoothing my nonexistent hair.
“What’s up with you, Tori?” Her tone is curt. “You don’t get into fights.”
“She does now,” Jamarlo mutters.
Alena elbows him, frowning.
“Did anyone hurt you?” Dad’s upper lip twitches as he eyes Neanderthal.
“I’m fine,” I say, even though I’m not.
The weary guard behind the desk explains to my parents about my supposedly “unprovoked” assault on Neanderthal.
“He started it,” I tell my parents. “He insulted Jamarlo, and he was coming after me too.”
Jamarlo eyes the exit like he’s ready to bolt. Dad’s chest puffs out like he’s had pec-enhancement surgery. Mom puts on her uptight face, which can only mean she’s going to get her way or rationally argue someone to death, whichever comes first.
“Call the cops already,” Neanderthal says to the desk guard.
“Of course we can call the police…” The guard shuffles papers. Maybe he wants to avoid paperwork. “Or we can figure out a solution.”
“An excellent idea,” Mom says.
“I want her arrested!” Neanderthal glares across the desk.
Neanderthal’s girl stands at his side. When she holds a plastic bag of ice to his swollen nose, he whacks her hand in a way that reminds me of Matt. I fight the urge to vomit.
The desk guard reluctantly reaches for his cordless phone.
“No, wait, please!” Dad calls out. “My little girl wouldn’t hurt anyone. This is a mistake.”
The desk guard pauses. Maybe it’s because Dad’s wearing his mail-carrier outfit. Maybe the guard feels a kinship with another man in a uniform.
Neanderthal squares off against Dad. They’re the same height, but Dad’s twice as old. “Are you calling me a liar, old man?” A drop of ice water slides down his ugly nose and dilutes the blood congealed above his lip.
“She’s only seventeen and half your size.” Dad pokes a finger into Neanderthal’s beefy chest. “How could she break your nose?”
“Geez, Dad!” I leap up and get forced down again. “They showed us how in the self-defense classes you made me take.”
Dad’s neck muscles tighten, and I know he’s remembering his rant when I was in grade eight and developing boobs. Any girl of mine needs to learn how to protect herself, he’d said.
Alena, who witnessed the rant, gives a vigorous nod. She came to self-defense classes with me, although she was always afraid to throw a punch.
“Everyone calm down,” Mom orders, wedging herself between Dad and Neanderthal. “I’m sure we can work something out.”
“Work it out with the cops.” Neanderthal grinds his teeth at Dad, who’s glaring over Mom’s shoulder at him. “Make the damn call now, or I will,” he tells the desk guard without taking his eyes off Dad.
The desk guard sighs and reaches for the phone.
Dad grabs it first. “No one’s making any calls,” he says. His face is flushed, and his look practically dares Neanderthal to come at him.
“Enough theatrics,” Mom snaps. She slides one hand around Dad, pries the phone from his grip and passes it to the desk guard, her lips pressed into a firm line. “Call the police, if you must. Although we could talk out a solution in a civilized manner.”
Dad glares at Mom. She ignores him. How did I end up in this mess?
“That would save me some paperwork.” The desk guard grips the phone defensively.
“Of course it would.” Mom smiles at the guard and then faces Neanderthal. “I realize that we got off on the wrong foot here, Mr. Rayfield. I can see you’re a respectable young man.”
Not the approach I’d take. Dad scowls. Neanderthal’s eyes narrow, but he wipes at the blood above his lip as if he has a sudden urge to be respectable.
“I wonder if you’d listen to a proposal.” Mom glances at the desk guard, who nods as if to say, Keep going, lady.
Neanderthal’s in for it now. A “proposal” is one of my mother’s tactics to get what she wants.
“Why should I?” Neanderthal grunts.
“Please, hear me out. I acknowledge that Tori’s behavior was out of line, no matter what you did or didn’t do to provoke her.” My mother’s a middle-school teacher, and she knows when to pull out the teacher talk.
Neanderthal nods dumbly.
“And there should be a consequence for such behavior, maybe something like”—she pauses—“community service?”
Neanderthal scowls. “What good will that do?”
“It’ll teach Tori that punching you was going too far.” She glances critically at me.
I look away.
Neanderthal tilts his head to one side, examining me.
I resist the urge to point out that Neanderthal started it all, so why am I the only one to be punished?
“You mean like working in an old folks’ home or something?” Neanderthal’s girl asks. “She could work at that place where your grandfather—”
“I don’t want her near him.” Neanderthal scowls again, like I’m the dangerous one.
“We can work out an informal arrangement,” Mom says. “We don’t need to get the police involved. After all, they may question how such a small girl could hurt such a large man.”
Neanderthal’s eyebrows rise. I want to point out that size has nothing to do with throwing a good punch, but I bite my tongue.
“Even if we call the police, and they do arrest her,” Mom continues, “it’ll likely never go to trial. So if you and I work out a solution here, we can control the terms.” She goes on about how community service would teach me to face the consequences of my actions. “My husband and I would personally oversee her community-service hours and make sure they’re completed.”
“You expect me to believe that? I’m not stupid, you know,” Neanderthal says, although the thick eyebrows, dull eyes and half-open mouth suggest otherwise.
“Of course you aren’t.” Mom keeps a straight face. “But if you agree to community service, you have my personal assurance that she’ll complete it. I’ll even provide you with proof—maybe with signed time sheets from wherever she volunteers? And you won’t need to waste your time at a court hearing. It’s a win-win. Shall we say a hundred hours?”
Neanderthal stares down my mother. “That’s nothing,” he says. “Double it.”
As if he could do the math. But I don’t care what the number is. If my parents are overseeing it, there’s no way I’ll have to do community service for an act of self-defense. I mean, maybe I shouldn’t have hit him, but Neanderthal is a complete homophobe and a bully.
When the deal is done, I’m finally sprung from the security office. Mom and Neanderthal settled on 175 hours of community service, to be monitored by my parents. Even though I hated being talked about like a dog that’s getting punished for drinking the toilet water, I’m grateful Mom’s tactics kept the police at bay.
“We should call the cops on him,” I say to Mom once we finally part ways with Neanderthal and his girl.
We head toward the closest mall exit.
“That guy was a jerk.” Alena looks suitably offended.
Jamarlo frowns down at his high-tops.
Dad trails two steps behind, glancing back at Neanderthal. I’m sure he’d love to go at him, and I’d bet on Dad to win even though he’s older and has a bit of a paunch. Dad used to be a bouncer, so he knows how to fight.
Mom purses her lips. “You’re lucky you got out of it with just community service.”
“That was a brilliant idea, Mom. I won’t have to do it if you’re monitoring it.”
“You most certainly will.” She stops to stare at me. “Down to the last minute.”
My friends glance at each other.
“What?” Why is she turning on me?
“I didn’t want to get into this in front of your friends, Tori, but your dad and I are more than a little worried about you. First you shave your head in the middle of the night, and now this? I can protect you from police charges, but I can’t let you get away with punching a stranger at the mall. What were you thinking?”
Alena studies the floor tiles. Jamarlo looks grim.
I feel like I’ve been punched by my own mother. “But he—”
“Don’t make excuses for your behavior.” Mom frowns. “Maybe community service will help you realize the consequences of your actions. As for why you’re acting so strangely…well, we can have a long chat about that at home.”
God, no. My face heats up. I need some serious Alena-and-Jamarlo time to help me through this injustice. I grab my friends’ arms and pull them with me to walk way ahead of my parents.
“Victoria.” Mom’s voice is stern. “I’m only doing this because I care. You’ll understand when you’re a parent.”
As if. I ignore her, even though she keeps pace behind us.
“That was insane,” Alena says. “And now you need to do community service? Even though you were in his face, what about him?”
“I wasn’t in his face,” I say. “I was protecting us from an asshole.”
“Of course.” Alena glances at Jamarlo like he might explain. “Listen, I know the break-up with Matt rattled you, so if you ever want to talk…”
Why does everyone want to talk? I frown at Alena and then weave my fingers into Jamarlo’s.
“Hey, Jamarlo, were you actually going to try on that dress?” I smile. “Because it would have suited you.”
“Tori—” Alena begins.
“Alena, there’s nothing to talk about,” I say, trying to keep the edge out of my voice. “Really.”
Jamarlo pulls away from me. “What’s wrong with you?” His eyes are dark. “Why did you leap in front of me? I could have handled that guy!”
I stare, confused. “I didn’t mean—”
“It doesn’t matter what you meant, Tori. It’s what you did. You mouth off for me, but I can take care of myself.”
“I know that!”
“Then why didn’t you stop when I told you to?”
“I was trying to help.” My jaw clenches.
“Help me look like a wimp?” He spins away, hands in the air.
“Jamarlo,” Alena says, “give her a break. She’s been through a lot—”
“Yeah? So have I. In case you didn’t notice, Tori just made me look like a wuss!”
“But Jamarlo—”
“Forget it, Tori.” He walks away. “Just do me a favor. Get it together before you hurt someone else.”
Another punch. My gut aches. My own people are beating me when I’m down?
“Jamarlo, wait,” Alena calls. But he keeps going.
I want to run after him, crack a joke so we can laugh it off, tell him it was all a mistake. But the pressure in my head increases again, and I feel the weight of my mother’s hawkish stare, her talons ready to snatch me up and whisk me home for an endless lecture.
I march to the exit before she can make another scene.