Gratifyingly, the principal’s disapproval—as evidenced by the disappearance of his fake smile—meant I scored a direct hit by not hurrying. I sauntered toward him, taking my sweet, sweet time.
“Funny, it doesn’t take ten minutes to get here from anywhere in the building,” he said as I neared. “Of course, since you decided to cut class this morning, maybe you weren’t in the building.”
So much for this place being different. I’d forgotten about the plan again, in the moment.
But I hadn’t even done anything wrong. My story hadn’t run yet.
The story. That’s why you’re here. Anavi needs your help.
I followed him up the hallway and into his over-decorated office. Taking a seat opposite the desk, I removed my notepad from my messenger bag, put it on my lap and clicked my pen. I looked up at Butler, who sat behind a big oak desk.
“You’re not here to take dictation,” he said.
“Good,” I countered, “because I don’t do that. I did want to ask you a few questions, though.”
He didn’t respond, and so I made a closer study of his décor to see what I could see.
Predictable. Everything reflected a false sort of opulence. He must spend a lot of money on those pricey suits. There were scrollwork appliqués on the wood paneling, and his desk was varnished to a high gloss. The shelves behind it were filled with leather books, spines perfect and uncracked, meaning they might or might not have been empty inside and only for show. The paintings were grim hunting scenes with lean hounds and fleeing foxes and gentlemen in puffy pants carrying long rifles. In other words, more like some estate in England than the city around us.
“You hunt foxes?” I asked, skeptical.
His way-too-high-backed chair creaked as he leaned back in it. “That’s what you wanted to ask me?”
He was turning on the charm again.
“No, actually.” I might as well go all in, shake his confidence by being blunt, if I wanted to get a reaction. “I wanted to talk to you about bullying.”
Two well-groomed silver eyebrows shot up at that. “You’re not still fixated on those claims you heard the other morning, are you? They’re baseless.”
“You are familiar with a group of students known as the Warheads, aren’t you? You said as much to Anavi the other day.”
He steepled his fingers. He probably got weekly manicures.
“I make it my business to know what our students are up to. Especially our brightest, which the Warheads are among. I know that you took pains to be transferred into their computer class, despite not having any of the prerequisites. Something Ronda should not have allowed. I also know that despite this great desire to be in the class, you skipped out this morning and took another of our best and brightest with you. Anavi Singh has never cut class in her life.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.” I scribbled some nonsense in my notebook, so it would look like I was writing that down. When I finished, the amusement on his face was like grit in my shoe. “But you would agree that bullying isn’t something the school tolerates?”
I was giving him an out, even though I didn’t want to anymore.
I waited, as if poised to take down the answer. All he had to say was that of course the school frowned on it, of course he’d intervene.
“The world is a harsh place,” Principal Butler said instead. “Our job is to prepare you to take part in it. We don’t baby our students here. Real bullying is much rarer than these news reports make it out to be. Handling uncomfortable situations is a good life skill. Anavi is perfectly capable.”
So much for him taking the out I’d offered.
“You’re really saying that bullying builds character? What would you say if it was the Warheads being targeted, instead of Anavi?”
“I’d say the same thing: handle it on your own.” Principal Butler’s fingers made a dome on top of the leatherbound notebook dead center on his desk. “Lois, we got off on the wrong foot. Your dad is a decorated war hero. And Perry White . . . saw something in you, after all. He’s an important person in this city. I want to make sure you settle in here successfully. I’ll be transferring you out of computer science, and into phys ed. To be frank, I believe you need an outlet for all that excess energy.”
Anything but the horrors of P.E. Volleyball, locker rooms, polyester gym shorts. Oh, he was low.
“But—”
“But you’re welcome. The other thing you’re going to do is leave the Warheads alone. They are good students, promising minds, which we support. They need room to blossom.”
“Like mushroom clouds, maybe,” I muttered.
Being kicked out of that class wasn’t a big deal, since I hadn’t wanted to stay in it anyway. And P.E. would rue the day Lois Lane was invited into its sweaty nightmare.
“I do have one more question,” I said. “Well, two. The first is what was James the Third doing here?”
“Not that it’s any of your business.” Butler shifted in his throne. “But his father was a friend. I like to check in, make sure the kid’s doing all right these days.”