A/N: Poll regarding your leanings concerning 22nd Century gizmos is now on my author's page. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I don't own Phil of the Future! EE~e~eeK!! (But at least that scared my hiccups away.)
An End of an Ego
by CraftyNotepad
Thanks to okaie for her guidance in keeping your favorite Pickfordites in character.
From the summit of his weekly stack of assigned disciplinary reports, now in his palm, Hackett weighs Keely's folder containing the five-thousand word essay he ordered her to write. Suspiciously light!
Hackett gloated over the brilliance of his current streak of disciplinary essays, his plan of having students do research on curb appeal, dating strategies, investment portfolios, cooking recipes, forward fashions, ... anything to improve his life without his having to do the learning himself, or worse, pay for consultants. Still, when complaints increased twenty-fold over his disciplinary proclivity for five thousand writing assignments, they became the talk of the campus, newsworthy and the lead story on Keely's H. G. Wells Morning Report. To have said Mr. Hackett was not please with the visibility Keely's investigative reporting provided would have been an understatement. Instead of lying low, he attacked Keels in the hallway.
"Is this your hair brush, Miss Teslow?"
"You found it! Thank you, Mr. Hackett."
"Yes, here you are. You left it in the Broadcast Room overnight, Keely. Sloppy. Five thousand word essay on hair growth on my desk by Friday."
From her open-mouthed gasp, Hackett was satisfied that he'd effectively silenced her from reporting on him in the future. She wouldn't be a problem anymore. The opportunity of both a litterbug and dress code violator distracted him from further gloating about his latest victory.
Finding her boyfriend, Keely started speaking in complete sentences again through her fury, and Phil finally understood what had happened, somewhat. He offered to type out the essay for her, for him it would be a breeze. That wasn't the point, Keely explained. What Mr. Hackett was doing was wrong, using his position to impose punishments left and right, he was the school's newest bully. Phil thought about what they could do. Couldn't contact Principal Tillywack -- who even knew where he was these days? Do another broadcast? That, likely, would only provoke Hackett into make things worse for Keely. Tell his parents? Phil knew what they had to do come lunch.
Keely beside him, Phil pulled on the paper ticket until it came loose from its hanging dispenser. Lil' Danny announced, "Now serving 17. Number 17." Phil glanced at his ticket, as he would many times over the next 40 minutes. How Pim arranged to take over the senior school counselor's office at lunch four days a week was unknown to all, but so impressively mysterious -- and impressed students equated to more clientele, which of course meant more moola for the dollar delightable diminutive Diffy. Yes, location, location, location.
Annoyed by Blondie speaking a mile a minute (how does Phil stand it, she wondered), Pim fed the data into the Prankster 3000 Simulator within her Wizrd. Still on a roll herself, Keely had moved on to her own suggestions, ones reminiscent of her revenge plans against Tara Schrader, her tormentor since she upchucked on Tara's shoes during the Thanksgiving pageant back in third grade: "... then tell him the itching powder is really a rare Indonesian hair growth talcum, or, or we could attach a hot, glowing ..."
"Since when did this become 'we,' Suspect? 'I' merely provide a service to students for which I expect to be paid in advance. Now, as much as I'd like your idea of running Mr. Hackett's boxers up the school flag pole with him still in them, that'd be too public for our audience to be profitable, wasting my time promoting tickets to enjoy the spectacle. Nuh-uh. Instead, here's what we're -- I mean, "you're" going to do ..."
Sure enough, inside is a title page on the topic he assigned her (five thousand words on help for the follicly challenged), and when he eagerly turns to the substance of the report, finds but a photo, then another and another. Five pictures in all. Obviously, though on topic, a qualified "F." Neil will enjoy writing something scathing on this one, then come up with yet a new punishment for Keely Teslow after musing over his cocoa and crackers. Grinning, he grabs the next paper, yet discovers the same. The next and then next ... wait one second! All of them copied Miss Teslow's template!
Mr. Hackett goes back to the ring leader's report, ready to sock-it-to-her in red ink when he notices that she's also included an appendix containing one lone item. Vice-principal Hackett recognizes it as his school-wide email bulletin from the beginning of the school year, and Keely circled Hackett's habit of adding inspirational saying as his signature quote wrapping up his email; this one pronouncing: "A picture is worth a thousand words." Five pictures for a five thousand word essay -- Loophole! She had -- They All Had -- GRR~R~RR! He'd get them -- He'd make them all pay!
Then with a realization of the big picture, came actual tears and sobbing. He could never assign another 5,000 word essay ever again. All of a sudden, his crackers turned stale; his cocoa cold, and his life tasted more bitter than before. Curse you, Keely Teslow, and your head full of golden locks!
Heartbroken, Neil Hackett picks up the telephone to call in sick tomorrow, but he pauses and dials another number instead.
"Hello, Lloyd? It's your neighbor, Vice-Principal Neil. Yes, I know it's a little late to be calling, but something has come to my attention this evening. Can I please have a word with your daughter? I need her advice about a problem I'm having at school. What? Yes, yes, I know Pim's nightly rates double after 7:06 PM ..."