? ? ?
I want to take my time getting to Stranko’s office, but unfortunately, I’m on a tight timetable. I make a quick stop in the bathroom outside the main office and turn on my phone’s video camera app before sliding it into the pocket of the shirt I’ve worn specifically for this purpose. As Ellie requested, I reach Stranko’s door at 11:42 a.m. His expression sours at the sight of me.
“Can I come in?” I say.
Stranko sighs and puts down the lacrosse magazine he’s reading instead of doing his real job, whatever that is.
“Sit.”
Shockingly, Stranko’s office doesn’t have black walls decorated with instruments of torture. Instead, there’s a desk, a bookshelf with actual books (and not just ones for coloring), a framed college degree on the wall (probably from an online university), and a minifridge (likely filled with human heads). The most shocking item is a picture on his desk of an older couple who are probably his parents or the scientists who genetically engineered him at the Asshole Farm. My only seating option is a straight-backed, wooden chair created solely for discomfort. The moment I sit, my ass starts aching.
“What do you want, Cobb?” Stranko said. “I’m sort of busy here.”
Uh-huh.
“Sir, I just came to say that over break, I did a lot of thinking and realized I need to make some changes in my life. With the new semester starting soon, I wanted to apologize for my behavior over the first part of the school year. I promise that second semester will be much less chaotic.”
And that, friends, is some Olympic-level bullshit. I look at the clock over Stranko’s head. 11:43—two minutes to go.
“Well, let’s hope you’re right about next semester,” Stranko says. “You could use some maturing.”
I have to hold down the middle finger struggling to show itself.
“Yeah, I could definitely grow up some.”
Stranko stares, trying to figure out if I’m being a smart-ass, and then sighs, leaning back in his chair. He has to be exhausted from the morning’s events with the doors. What he doesn’t know is that his day’s seconds away from getting worse.
“Look, Cobb, I’m not stupid,” he says. “I know what the students here think about me. That comes with the job. And part of that’s my fault because I’m not touchy-feely like Mrs. Barber, and I’ll never be. I’m intense and I can be a yeller—I know that. But do you think I enjoy being a hard-ass all the time? Believe me, it’s not fun. But it’s the job. What I do here, keeping all of you in line, helps Asheville be what it is, which is a damn fine place. I love this school. But once you let discipline slip, quality slips. That’s something my dad always used to say.”
I glance at the picture on the end table, taking a closer look at Stranko’s father. Although it’s just him and his wife smiling on a couch, the man’s eyes are hard.
“You probably could loosen up just a little,” I say, sort of joking.
Stranko half smiles—or maybe half un-frowns is more accurate.
“Agreed. And you could meet me in the middle by tightening up some.”
“I’ll do my best.”
It’s possible there’s a real human in Stranko somewhere—the joking, dancing, young Stranko just biding his time until he can make a triumphant return. Wouldn’t that be nice? The thought makes me not scared of him for the first time in my life. It’s not a feeling that lasts long.
“Actually, while you’re here, let me show you something,” Stranko says and removes a cell phone from his pocket and places it in front of me. “This is my new phone. I had to get this one because I lost my old one. In fact, interestingly enough, it disappeared on the day of your little stunt in the cafeteria with the trophy. Do you remember that?”
I swallow my terror.
“Is there anything you want to tell me about that day?”
I can barely get words out.
“What do you mean?”
Stranko leans so close and speaks so quietly that if anyone else were in the room, they couldn’t hear him.
“Don’t bullshit me, Cobb. I don’t think it’s any coincidence that my phone went missing at the same time you idiots were chasing each other around the cafeteria. I’m going to figure out what happened, and when I do, I’m going to rain hell on whomever was involved. If you have any information that could help, this is your chance to let me know.”
I don’t piss myself, but, man, I could.
“I don’t know anything,” I say.
Stranko doesn’t move.
“Of course you don’t, Cobb. Of course you don’t.”
A knock at the door saves me.
Mrs. Engen, Stranko’s secretary, hurries in and whispers something I can’t make out. Not that I need to hear her. I sit up and reposition myself to capture everything. Stranko performs a few clicks on his computer and goes from serious to concerned to infuriated all in a matter of seconds.
“You, get out.”