It's.... Shakespeare!

(Well, not really. She loses the Games. Dammit, why'd she die so EARLY?)

Also, I was so SAD when Iggy had to go! I can't believe his parents turned out to be such DOUCHEBAGS!

“Attention” The loudspeaker crackles, “Will John Wreys please report to the office? John Wreys.”

Great. Just great. 2 days into my Junior year and they’re already on to me. Usually, it takes them a few months to figure out my involvement in the schemes, but it’s different this year. I stand up, looking around at the faces watching me. It seems as if they’re all the same, no difference in expression at all. The same kind of T-shirt that was on sale at the mall yesterday, the same homework assignment that’s due; not one of them is any different. Not a bunch of faces, just one face over and over and over. I sigh and whirl 180 degrees to face the door. What a monotonous way to live: just like everyone else. I sling my bag back onto my shoulder and calmly stride out the door.

I finally arrive at the principles office, the exact opposite wing of the school from the history wing-where I had been. I spent the walk thinking about how they caught me, what clues I might have left. I think about the crime itself, how it have been ratted out so quickly. I had just done it this morning, so it was fresh. I then move on to what to do about it. The answer was simple: lie. It was so easy, and I had become great at it. Make some stupid excuse and convince them someone else did it. Just as I review all of this, the door opens and Principle Pitoons’s ugly baldhead pops out.

“Come inside, Mr. Wreys” She beckons, and I have no choice but to oblige.

We sit down inside her office, and she locks the door shut. I look around at all of the paintings of fire and rage. Welcome to hell, I think. I sigh again for about the 10000th time in my life and look up at her. She grabs a cup of coffee from her stained carp-colored countertop, and I prop my head in my hands. “Well,” she says, sitting down across from me. “You’ve really done it this time, Mr. Wreys” I blink stupidly, in an I-don’t-have-a-clue-what-the-hell-you’re-talking-about sort of way. She plops a stack of paper on the table between us, and smiles. I blink again. “Do you know what these are, Mr. Wreys?” Realizing the whole “play innocent” thing isn’t working, I grab the papers and look through them. One sheet talks about someone writing graffiti on a teacher as she fell asleep during a test. Another depicts a young fifth grade student putting a sharpened pencil point up in a teachers seat. Yet a third describes a freshman kid changing the signs on the school so it is a “School Zone.” I put the papers back down, and try a new tactic.

“No, Ma’am,” I say, “I’ve heard about all of these in the papers but don’t understand why you have them. Is it because you want to show me something?” Her eyes widen and her cheeks bulge. She looks like she’s trying to blow herself up, and it’s all I can do to keep from laughing. She turns as red as a tomato, and her black eyes become bloodshot.

“YOU THINK THIS IS A JOKE?!” She screams, but it doesn’t concern me in the slightest. “YOU DARE AVOID AMMITTING TO YOUR HEINOUS CRIMES?! YOUNG MAN, FOR 10 YEARS THE SCHOOL SYSTEMS HAVE WATCHED YOU, AND IT HAS TO STOP. NOW YOU GO AND DEFACE THE SCHOOL TROPHYT CABINET AND THROW THEM IN THE GARBAGE? DISPICABLE! HOW DA-“

I cut her off with a yawn, and I swear something in her snaps. To avoid what I knew was coming next, I calmly unlock the door and walk out. Immediately I’m bombarded with a lilac scent, and I know I’m free of that room. I then lock the door from the outside and shove the copy machine under the handle. There, locked until someone notices. Fortunately, no one else is in the office, so I just walk out. Just then, the bell rings and people pour out of the classrooms. I pop a piece of bubble gum in my mouth and blend in with the crowd.

Not a bad start to the year after all.