The ages of the boys who allegedly had sex with the 15-year-old girl at the high school were still unclear, and Chandler said the district won’t disclose how many students were disciplined.A note from principal Melissa Layner to parents said students were disciplined “quickly.” Superintendent Adkins wrote that “conversations about right and wrong have occurred in many contexts, and with the parents present.” “We recognize that this is not just an issue of student behavior, but also of supervision.” But he also asked that “we move forward from this incident without further harsh judgment of those involved.” “They are adolescents who have made a serious mistake. They must now be afforded the opportunity to learn from their mistakes.” South Fort Myers High has about 2,000 students.
Authorities originally decided not to pursue any criminal charges, but when the video surfaced and was sent to news outlets and posted online, detectives and the Florida Department of Children and Families decided to investigate further, Lee County Sheriff’s Office spokesman Tony Schall said Tuesday.This was moments ago (nakedness) as you lay, having fallen, the conditioned air chilly and silky against your chest. Two points you’d never noticed before but considered very deeply now: nipples. The outermost boundaries of a body, the endpoints, where the land of warm skin meets the sea of cold air. You lay on your back in the dark on the floor, like that, newly aware of your nipples. Her braids are tied back with an indigo scarf, the tail of which billows up, covering her face. That Uncle is in the terminal buying only two tickets, that she’s not coming with you, that she hasn’t said why. At this moment, here beside you, your mother is unquestionable. In the dream, as it happened, she kisses you quickly, her lips to your ear, and says, ‘Do as you’re told.’ The stranger presses a button and the flash goes off – POP! You fumbled for the photo you keep under your pillow as an antidote of sorts to the dream (or the waking): the sepia shot of your mother and you, with her crouched so you’re both the same height, cheek to cheek. Presently, the heart-wrenching voice floating up from the garden, ‘.’ You sat up. The day began typically: with the bulbul in the garden, with the sound of Auntie shouting about this or about that, with your little blue bedroom catching fire with sunlight and you waking up from the dream. Your mother pulls you close to her, so close you can taste her, the scent of her lotion delicious, a lie. The scarf is tied tightly, pulling her skin towards her temples, making her cheekbones jut out like a carved Oyo mask. The wildness of Lagos is an odd, knee-high backdrop: passing cars, people’s legs, soldiers’ boots, cripples, trash. You wouldn’t say your mother ‘abandoned’ you exactly; it was Uncle’s idea that you come. Absent breasts, the hem drags and gets caught underfoot, a malfunction exacerbated by your footwear, also Comfort’s: gold leather stilettos two sizes too small with a thick crust of sequins and straps of no use. The rocks and knotted roots cut through the soles of your ! In a way, it was too much to see in that moment, through the tangle of branches, nude Francis. But the sound of the movement was loud and he heard it. He stared at you, frozen, the cloth in his hands, but not using it to cover himself, suds in his eyes. You’ve been tripping and falling around the garden all evening, with night-damp earth sucking at the heels of the shoes, the excess folds of the sort of draped around your body, making you look like a black Statue of Liberty.