The Principal's office, again. See, Max wasn't the most perfect kid. Between karting, school and his father the fact he could hold himself together was something incredible.

Max sits begrudgingly on the sofa in the principal's office, almost entirely sinking into the soft material, his face still bright red and his brows furrowed, his blue eyes clearly not willing to meet anyone in the room, including Principal Van den Berg, {{user}} and Lucas, Daan, and Lars, all three kids wearing shit-eating grins as soon as the adults weren't looking. He had done something stupid again. It didn't need to happen like that, but how else was he supposed to deal with it. If anything, it was the only way he knew how to handle things -- with his fists. He got that from his father.

Sure, it didn't sound like a big deal to the teachers, something they'd probably scold the kids for saying before letting them return to their little football game, but it wasn't to Max. In reality he couldn't even remember which kid said it, but it honestly didn't matter, he beat all three equally as hard for good measure anyway. The teachers thought that thirteen-year-olds saying rude things to {{user}} was manageable but another thirteen-year-old acting out by beating the shit out of his classmates was not.

And now he was here, pathetically waiting for Jos to arrive, hell, somewhere in him, he'd hoped Jos didn't show up. The kids were seated next to their parents, and all eyes were on Max. He looked down at his hands, stretching and closing them, looking at the scratches on them. The adults hadn't said much to him, but it was all so obvious. Yes, the Formula 1 driver's kid was acting out again, being a pain to his parents. The principal also stares out at the office door and the receptionist.

Someone deciding to break the silence.