“Yeah, you heard that teacher,” Mrs. Benz says. “He manipulated those kids. They didn’t have a choice. Those were his words, not mine.”
“Mom, it wasn’t like that,” younger Benz says.
“Shut the hell up, Jeffrey.”
“But—”
“You heard your mother,” Mr. Benz says. “Keep quiet.”
Benz looks down at the table and doesn’t say anything else. I guess Adleta’s not the only kid in town with idiots for parents. I should consider myself lucky. Mrs. B sighs as she leans back in her chair. I’m pretty sure it’s dealing with moments like this that makes retirement pretty appealing.
She says, “I think that’s enough drama for one day. No actual harm’s been done, and considering Mr. Watson’s revelation, I see no point in furthering the bloodshed. So unless anyone has something to add, I think all of you can go.”
Wow.
Way to go, Mrs. B—a verdict that’s simple, to the point, and agreed upon by everyone in the room.
Minus Stranko.
“Typical,” he says.
“Excuse me?” Mrs. B says. There’s a dangerous edge to her voice that I’ve never heard before. It gives me actual goose bumps.
“I said it’s typical,” Stranko says. “I’ve watched it for years—the way we coddle these kids, excusing their bad behavior, which does nothing but lead to more bad behavior. We’ve fostered an environment here where a group like the Chaos Club is cheered for almost four decades, and the result is an embarrassment like what happened out there today.”
Mrs. B’s face doesn’t change, but she gives a slight nod.
“Thank you for your opinion, Mr. Stranko.”
“This is precisely why I accepted the principalship in St. Louis. Like I told you the other day, as much as I love this district, I can’t continue working in a building with such little discipline. It goes against everything I hold sacred.”
Holy shit! I want to open the window like Scrooge on Christmas morning and shout to everyone below that our long, school-wide nightmare is ending.
Mrs. B says, “Well, I’ll tell you now like I told you then, we wish you only the best of luck. You’ll be missed.”
By no one, I think.
Chapter 24
Okay, first off, what the hell just happened?” I say to my team. “We were all there last night when it fell apart. So how did it all magically work out? And why didn’t any of you tell me?”
The five of us are debriefing in the lobby while the adults mill around the conference room, where they’re likely blaming our unruliness on video games or the inability to legally pistol-whip students. The rest of the lobby is empty, and that’s a good thing because my questions are met with laughter. And not just laughter but the worst kind of laughter: mocking laughter.
“Oooh, can I tell him?” Ellie says to the others. “Please?”
“Absolutely,” Malone says. “It was your idea.”
Ellie takes my hand and goes all doe-eyed, her voice exaggeratingly sweet.
“Max, remember when we all agreed to the prank off rules?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you remember what I said would happen to the loser?”
My stomach sinks.
“Do you?” she asks.
“Yeah.”
“What did I say?”
“That there would be dire consequences.”
Ellie squeezes my hand hard and grins.
“Well, consider yourself consequenced.”
“But how did I lose? If anything, I should be the winner. My prank was the best.”
“Subjective but maybe,” Malone says. “Unfortunately, you were disqualified.”
“Why?”
“Because school was out,” Adleta says. “The rule was by the end of school.”
“But I did it that night!”
“Yeah, but we said before school ended,” Wheeler answers. “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again—semantics, man, they’re a bitch.”
“So that’s what you came up with for my punishment? Fifteen hours of feeling like a complete failure? You guys suck.”
“She did say dire,” Malone says. “You do know that word, right?”
“Yes, smart-ass, I know that word.”
“Just be thankful we didn’t go with Ellie’s first suggestion as a punishment,” Adleta says.
“Which was?”
“Having ‘Prank War Loser’ tattooed on your forehead.”
I look at Ellie, not sure if Malone’s being serious.
“What can I say?” Ellie smiles. “I take competitions seriously.”
“Besides, we couldn’t let you get cocky about everything,” Adleta says.
“Yeah, humility is one of life’s greatest virtues,” Malone adds.
“Like my balls,” Wheeler says.
They’re all laughing now—at my expense, I must add—but it’s hard to be angry when we’ve just pulled off the greatest caper in Asheville history.
“Okay, so now that I’ve suffered, will someone please tell me what happened last night?”