I smiled and relaxed my death grip enough for Kathryn to get the circulation back in her wrist.
Mrs. Bagley continued to stare out over the crowd. To say the woman had a harsh look about her was unfair, but not totally inaccurate. She reminded me of the lady in the painting with the pitchfork-toting husband—except the lady in the painting looked happier.
Tall and thin, Mrs. Bagley wore a gray flowered dress and black granny shoes with hard, square heels. Bobby pins held her hair in a bun so tight that closing her eyes must have been painful. According to rumor, she had been an adult from birth, but I knew she was not as harsh as she seemed. I had personally witnessed moments where a kind of softness, caring and genuine affection for the students accidentally leaked through her schoolmarmish exterior.
This was not one of those moments.
“Stu-dents,” she said finally in a staccato voice. She waited until the auditorium quieted. “I have good news for you, and I have news that is less than satisfactory.”
“What’s the good news, Old Bag?” a voice from the back shouted. The auditorium echoed with laughter at the nasty nickname.
“For me, Mr. Rubric,” she said calmly, “good news would be a relaxing breakfast of sausage, eggs, and a honey-covered biscuit, eaten after the joyful discovery that my milk carton had your picture on it.”
Direct hit. I gave it a ten.
“But we’re not here to celebrate,” she continued. “We have received a letter from the state. People in my position do not look favorably on letters from the state, especially when said letter tells me that we have failed to meet the minimum pass rate on our standardized tests. This is distressing to me. Do any of you know what this means?”
“We have idiots for teachers,” a voice yelled from the balcony, and roars of laughter filled the auditorium. Dr. Captious laughed quietly, and whispered to Dr. Miliron, who smiled and nodded.
This sort of banter between the teachers and students would never happen in a normal school. But I didn’t go to a normal school. The teachers had lost control long ago. The few who still tried, like Mrs. Bagley, were outnumbered by the ones who had just given up. They complained that they weren’t allowed to teach anymore, that discipline was a thing of the past. Mason’s dad was part of the problem. He always said, “Patience, tolerance, and redirection. Not punishment.” Being the mayor, he had as much influence on the teachers and school board as Kathryn had on the students, which was considerable.
Mrs. Bagley banged on the microphone so violently a bobby pin popped. A curl launched from the side of her head like a broken spring from a cuckoo clock. “It means there are bigger problems here than you are aware of!”
“It means we can all sleep in. What’s the bad news?”
Mrs. Bagley tightened her lips, glaring. “I have asked for your cooperation before, but have run into certain…” She waved her hand toward the balcony. “Obstacles. Your teachers and I are equipped to deal with poor grades, however, our problem goes beyond grades. I find that I have lost my patience with asking the school board for help, and being referred to committee after agonizing committee. I have grown intolerant of our hallowed policy against punishing troublemakers who are immune to redirection. So I’ve found outside assistance to take back our school. If policy cannot help us, law surely can. Without further ado, I give you Police Chief Amos Munificent, a man who has full authority to do what needs to be done. If you show him the same respect you have shown me, I can assure you that you shall all receive detention for the rest of your natural lives.” She backed away from the microphone smiling, clapping her hands, looking expectantly out at the audience to do the same. Captious and Miliron clapped, and several people in the front row joined in.
I clapped, too. This was good. My problem was solved. The police would come in and take over, and I could tell Andy and the Kilodan that my services were no longer needed.
I was officially off the hook.
Police Chief Munificent emerged from the backstage shadows and walked to the microphone. Maybe “waddled” is a better word. He was beyond overweight, his shirttail was half in, half out, and his crooked hat made him look like a mall guard wannabe. Stylin’ he was not. I try not to judge people by their appearance, because I think you have to be a complete bonehead to do that, but to tell the truth, my excitement at being off the hook started to droop a little. Maybe he was having a bad hair day, but the man was seriously not what I expected. No way could he handle this crowd.
Then I noticed his eyes. Andy taught me to look at my opponents’ eyes if I wanted to see what they were really capable of. The Police Chief had the eyes of a man who meant business. He scrutinized the students in the auditorium, grimacing like we were all suspects in some horrible crime. When his gaze reached me, his face softened. He nodded and smiled as though he knew me.