Vice Principal Zant’s enraged voice easily penetrated the office’s thin walls, which provided only a token sense of privacy. Kendra inched closer to the windowed partition and took in the unfolding drama through the dusty blinds. 

The setting and script were familiar, as were the lead protagonists. The boy’s black hair and matching attire made a bold silhouette against the dingy beige walls. From her vantage point she could just see the glass tank that housed the VP’s pet tarantula. 

This would be the umpteenth student rescue operation she'd mounted since the newly promoted Zant had arrived at Standard High, vacating his previous niche as the worst English teacher in the district. Upon hearing a hall monitor make reference to a skirmish in Zant’s office, Kendra had detoured from her path to the teachers’ lounge.

“Empty your pockets, son!” The Vice Principal slammed the behavior slip to his desktop.

“I ain’t your son. Your son’s in a cage at the zoo.”

Mr. Zant reared from his chair, affronted at the student’s impertinence, although he couldn’t have been surprised. “I’ve heard enough!” 

His bulk poised to move in on the gangly teenager seated before him. Then, for once realizing he was showing a lack of self-control, he retook his seat and conjured up a frosty and very fake paternal smile. 

Kendra froze. Although she’d chalked up a moderate success rate in her duels with Zant, the encounters stretched her courage to the limits and she knew hours would pass before she’d recover from what was to come. Mr. Zant thought to cover his ineptitude by attacking anyone who questioned him. Kendra braced herself, turned the doorknob, and stepped in. The Vice Principal’s chair squeaked at the intrusion. 

“Ah, look who’s here. It’s Ms. Desola. But I don’t recall asking you to come down. Really, there’s no need for you to be here. I’m sure you have plenty of your own work.”

Kendra made a show of setting down her load of books and lunch bag while she frantically worked up a fitting reply. Sensing that the heat was momentarily blowing in another direction, her student assumed the facial expression of an orphaned puppy.

“Ms. D., I ain’t done nothin’.” Jon shuffled his feet, or what could be seen of them under his voluminous jeans.

The VP countered.  “The only place where I’m sure you haven’t done anything is inside a classroom.” Zant smiled at his riposte.

Schemes, Murder, High School, it's all there! Buy this book!

Back to School of Lies Home Page