The office was hot and muggy and the receptionist, who could've been a close personal friend of Frank Sinatra back in her prime, pointed him to an awkwardly positioned chair in the corner and resumed her work. After a few moment, Clark had deciphered that must include snapping her gum, filing her nails, rifling through student's permanent records and shooting him dirty looks, because that's what she seemed to be doing. Extensively.
Although he had been there enough to know her name, Clark preferred to keep a certain amount of distance between him and everyone else at the school. Her desk was cluttered with pictures of the husband that left her, the kids who never called, the grandkids she never saw, and paraphernalia from decades of religious guilt. An ominous silence invaded the room. She seemed to take this as her cue to evangelize Clarke.
"You should find god," She drawled in her thick southern dialect.
"Why?" Clark mocked, "So I can become as fulfilled and successful as you?"
"You're insolent."
"And you're a bitter, scared, self-righteous hag."
The woman snorted, looked away, and began stuffing office supplies into her purse.
"Funny, I thought there was something in that book your type loves so much about, 'Thou shalt not steal'?"
"Mind your own business, heathen."
"Oh! What a clever retort. I am wounded down to my very soul!"
He heaved a weary sigh, running his fingers through hair so thick that it was still damp from his shower. Out of the corner of his eye, it was obvious the woman was still watching him. When he heard the door to the principal's office he saw an opportunity and took it. In complete coordination with the opening of the door, Clarke delivered his line like a veteran performer.
"I don't care how much you want it lady; I'm not having sex with you!"
Their faces were everything he could have dreamed of, dancing between each other, trying to make this make sense. Principal Ashley advanced on her menacingly.
"Doris, did you proposition Mr. Kent?" He questioned in a dangerous whisper.
"No sir, that ... boy," She barely caught herself in time; the strain she put on her last word left little doubt in anyone's mind about what her choice of vocabulary would be in a freer environment.
"We take sexual harassment VERY seriously here. This incident will have to be investigated." Turning to face Clarke, "And you. Don't you have anything you should be doing?"
Clarke clasped his hands in front of him, the picture of perfect innocence. "Well, sir, I was waiting for you."
"Oh?"
"Yes sir. I was just minding my own business, going about the routine in gym when Bryan Adleman, for some reason, had to go about savagely attacking my character." Clark had got it together now.
"And where's the part where you hit something?"
"Ah yes. That would be the part where I beat him into a vegetable."
"Indeed," The elder replied, "That would be a problem. So were you waiting for me?"
"No sir, my parents. They've been called for a special conference with you."
Principal Berger sighed despairingly, "Of course they have. When they get here, just... have Doris call me on the walkie when they arrive."
Leaving the two people alone together, he disappeared through the doorway and down the hall. The elderly receptionist sunk into a stony silence, glancing at they boy venomously to convey her clear displeasure, just on the off chance he had forgotten.
"Doris," He began gravely, "I'm getting the feeling there's an issue you'd like to discuss."