“No.” The girl held firm. “They wouldn’t permit me to complete my computer science homework this morning. I kept . . . transcribing incorrect answers. It was almost like they were forcing me to write the mistakes. Please, Principal Butler, if you’ll just make them stop—”
“I’m busy with the school’s guest speaker this morning,” the older man—Principal Butler—said. “But Anavi, I want you to think about what you’re saying. I’m tempted to send you for a psych eval, questioning your own sanity like this, but I know how your parents would react. You and your gaming group need to work this out.”
“But I’m not part of their group. I have not a single iota of interest in it. I just want to be left alone.”
The girl sounded like she was out of options. But the smooth-tongued principal wasn’t completely wrong. What she was saying did sound crazy.
Which was what interested me.
Without meaning to, I was walking up the hallway, just to get a look at the people in the conversation. I peered around a corner.
“If that’s true,” the principal said, “then making wild accusations is probably not the best way to keep a low profile. I’m confident you can work this out on your own.”
There were three of them, standing outside a closed office door. A man in his mid-thirties in a hip, knock-off suit was staying quiet, but watching the exchange. The girl was medium height, wearing glasses and an expression closing in on panic. No doubt her reaction to being dismissed by the third, a slickly dressed man who must be the principal.
He started, “Now, I need to escort Mr.—”
The quiet man gave a slight shake of his head as if to say Don’t mind me. “No rush.”
“Please, you have to listen,” the girl said. “I don’t want to get anyone in trouble. But you know that in order to claim my scholarship winnings I must maintain a spotless academic record. They’re disrupting my mental capacity, inside the game and outside it. You have to stop them.”
“Calm down, or the psych eval is a possibility,” the principal said, as if it pained him.
I recognized his type. The veneer of niceness didn’t fool me. His gray suit and silver hair made me think of a shark. Only he wasn’t predator king of the sea, but entitled emperor of this school. He didn’t seem to want to help the girl with her problem. Instead he seemed inclined to protect the gamers who were bullying her.
I cleared my throat and took a few more steps toward them, joining the conversation. “Excuse me,” I said. “I couldn’t help overhearing. I have to agree with—Anavi, right?—that an administrator should take a bullying complaint seriously and do what he can to stop it. I’m assuming the school does have a policy?” I waited for a response.
The slick principal blinked at me. The other man tried to hide his amusement. Meek Anavi braced as if for an explosion.
“Who are you?” the principal asked with a note of disbelief.
I’d forgotten about the plan. Stay quiet. Keep my head down.
“Um. Lois Lane,” I said.
“Oh,” the principal said, “yes, I remember your permanent record. It was . . . lengthy. Your father called me. Said to keep an eye on you.”
So they are real. Also, thanks, Dad.
“This is a big school. You can’t see everything,” I said. And, mentally kicking myself, I added, “It’s my first day.”
“Auspicious beginning,” the other man said.
“I know you’re enjoying this,” the principal said to him. He returned his attention to me. “Since it is your first day, shouldn’t you have arranged to be here on time? And did you really turn your seventh grade class into a ‘gambling den’?”
I ignored the first question. “I taught some girls how to play poker at a sleepover,” I said, a little defensively. “Now, why wouldn’t you send her for evaluation? By a professional or a counselor? What she’s saying would merit that if you took it seriously.”
“No, that’s okay,” Anavi said, with a betrayed expression. “I shouldn’t have reported the Warheads’ behavior. I should have stayed circumspect.”
“Glad to hear you’re rethinking,” Principal Butler said. “Ms. Lane, I can tell this wasn’t true at your previous schools, but here, we guide our students. Sometimes my job is to protect them from themselves. Like Anavi here. A grand-prize winner of the Galaxy Spelling Bee. I’m positive she’s capable of handling the situation on her own.”
That explained the girl’s twenty-dollar word choices—and meant she could spell them too. I read constantly. Magazines, newspapers, biographies. Reading was a good way to pass travel time. But I still considered auto spellcheck one of humanity’s greatest inventions.
The principal gestured toward the hallway, and the gray fabric of his jacket didn’t crease with the movement. That was one expensive suit. “You two are late for first period now, and so are we. Might I suggest, Ms. Lane, that you watch and listen until you understand your new school? Wait to pitch in with your . . . knowledge. Do that, and I know you’ll be very happy here. Most of our students are.”
“Like the one standing right across from you,” I said, nodding to Anavi.