"Would Miss Charlotte Daaé please report to the principal's office?" came a voice over the PA system. "Charlotte Daaé to the principal's office."

I had to endure everyone in my history class looking at me askance as I packed up my things. I'd have to get the notes about the after-effects of the Franco-Prussian War on the downfall of the Second Empire from Megan after whatever it was that they wanted.

I wove my way through the empty halls of Winslow, my footsteps clicking on the linoleum floors. With each step I took towards the office, the walls seemed to pull away just that little bit, leaving me lost in the labyrinth that was Winslow's graffiti scrawled corridors.

As I walked, I wished that I could be anywhere but where I was, and so I took it upon myself to picture what this school could have looked like when it was new and the people running it wanted it to impress. Were the graying walls covered in gang tags once a pristine white? Was the faded and peeling avocado-green paint on the lockers once intact and whole?

For all of their questionable ties, the Anders Conservancy's dedication to maintaining Winslow's theater as an opulent opera house that was a throwback to a nonexistent golden age had created the odd contrast between the opulence of the theater's heightened reality and the drab and depressing world of the school attached to it.

As I walked into the office, I could see the foul looks that everyone gave me the second I stepped across the threshold.

"Finally." said the secretary, her tone conveying an entire orchestra's worth of suspicion and annoyance. "You took your sweet time getting here."

The secretary walked over to Blackwell's office and opened the door. "Charlotte Daaé is here to see you."

"Send her in." I heard Principal Blackwell's voice on the other side of the door.

As I got up to go into the principal's office I head the Secretary clear her throat.

Turning to look at her, she said one thing to me. "Backpack stays outside Daaé."

Chastened, I slipped my backpack off and left it on the hard plastic chair that I had been sitting in.

Walking into the office, the first thing that caught my eye wasn't Principal Blackwell, it was Emma Barnes. Her, her father, Messirs Gladly and Firmin were standing there in her office as well.

"Are you sure you don't want Sophia here?" Mr. Barnes said to Emma in a low voice, thinking that I wouldn't hear him.

"No dad." Emma replied in a low voice as well. "Sophia and I... aren't talking right now."

"I see that the illustrious Miss Daaé has deigned to grace us with her presence." Said Principal Blackwell.

"I came as soon as you called for me." I said, defending myself.

"I'm sure." Said Blackwell, her voice betraying a deep doubt of my words.

"Would you care to explain these notes, Miss Daaé." Said Blackwell, placing several printouts in front of me.

I grabbed the top one and read it.

MY DEAR MONSIEUR GLADLY:

I am sorry to have to trouble you at a time when you must be so very busy, writing about the lives of those students in your care, making friends with those who are half of your own age, and generally displaying your excellent taste. I know what you have done for Mlles. Barnes, Sorelli and little Jamie and for a few others whose admirable qualities of talent or genius you have suspected.

Of course, when I use these words, I do not mean to apply them to Mlle. Emma Barnes, who sings like a squirt and who ought never to have been allowed to leave Theater Camp; nor to Mlle Sorelli, who owes her success mainly to the many tutors hired by her family; nor to little Jamie, who dances like a calf in a field. And I am not speaking of Mlle. Charlotte Daaé either, though her genius is certain, whereas your jealousy prevents her from creating any important part. When all is said, you are free to conduct your little educational institution as you think best, are you not?

All the same, I should like to take advantage of the fact that you have not yet turned Mlle. Charlotte Daaé out of doors by hearing her in the lead role of The Countess in this semester's production of Il Muto; and I will ask you not to dispose of my box today nor on the FOLLOWING DAYS, for I can not end this letter without telling you how disagreeably surprised I have been once or twice, to hear, on arriving at the Theater, that my box had been sold, at the box-office, by your orders.

I did not protest, first, because I dislike scandal, and, second, because I thought that your predecessors, Mme. Debienne and M. Poligny, who were always charming to me, had neglected, before leaving, to mention my little fads to you. I have now received a reply from them to my letter asking for an explanation, and this reply proves that you know all about my Settlement and, consequently, that you are treating me with outrageous contempt. IF YOU WISH TO LIVE IN PEACE, YOU MUST NOT BEGIN BY TAKING AWAY MY PRIVATE BOX.

Your Obedient Servant,

O.G.

The note was written in an extremely messy script that more closely resembled the scrawling of an animal on the straw floor of a barn than any kind of handwriting. The letter G in the signature of O.G. had more in common with a canted Greek letter Omega than the Latin character it was presumed to be, for example.

I've seen a lot of things that students in this school would do to each other, but sending these notes to threaten us into casting you is no way to get ahead, young Miss." said Mr. Gladly. Armand Gladly was one of my least favorite teachers. He could charitably be described as a teacher who would write such voluminous Memoirs during the fairly brief period of his teaching career at Winslow that one may well ask if he ever found time to attend to the matter of teaching other than by telling others what went on in his classroom.

I flipped to the next note, a printout that Emma provided of a PM conversation between her and this O.G. on PHO threatening that her days in the Winslow Drama Club were numbered.

"You think that I had anything to do with this?" I asked, incredulously.

"Cui bono. Miss Daaé." said Mr. Barnes. "You stand to benefit from these threats being obeyed."

"And that's all you have?" I said, dismayed. "You think that because I would benefit from this that I must have something to do with it?"

"It does seem very suspicious." said Blackwell.

"This inquisition is a joke." I grumbled.

"I'm sure that if you had nothing to do with these notes than you have nothing to hide." said Blackwell.

"They will not allow you to sing if you let them." I suddenly stiffened in my seat. It was that voice. Their voice.

"You're right that I have nothing to hide." I said, my face held high in defiance. "Search my backpack if you want to. You won't find anything to do with this, because I had nothing to do with these notes."

"Miss Daaé, please go grab your backpack and we can take care of this affair right now." Blackwell said, her face split by an unconvincing smile.

I took my cue and walked out of Blackwell's office to grab my backpack. Walking out the door, I grabbed my backpack, only to find that it wouldn't budge. Looking down at it, it had been pinned to the chair by a crossbow bolt, along with a note.

I couldn't help it, I let out a small scream, which had in turn summoned the principal out of her office.

"What? What is it?" Mr. Barnes asked.

"Someone pinned this to my backpack with a crossbow bolt!" I said, grabbing the note from the bolt.

Unfolding the note, I began to read it aloud.

"Miss Daaé," I read. "Your talents have not gone unnoticed. Why you choose to squander these talents on school plays is beyond me. But you could be doing so much more."

Unlike the earlier note, this one had been written in a neater hand. I couldn't say for certain that it was the same author, but the earlier note could have been written in their off hand.

"Let me see that!" Said Blackwell, snatching the note out of my hand.

"And this wasn't on your backpack before you came into our meeting?" Mr. Barnes asked.

"Of course not!" I exclaimed. "The bolt would have stabbed me in the neck."

"Of course, of course. My apologies for suspecting you." Said Mr. Barnes.

It occurred to me that it was only because of that last note that I was able to clear my name. As much as I loved the stage, I was beginning to hate Winslow.

I put that thought out of my mind so I could go home and get ready for my date with Forrest.