Silence strangles the office of Principal Canker as he finishes looking through a stack of papers sitting on his desk. Setting them down, he clears his throat and glowers at the pupil whose utter misfortune it was to have incurred his wrath that morning. The student in question was tremendous in physique with a bucket-shaped head and a plain brown jersey which showed off the sinewy meat tubes which passed as arms. Adding to Principal Canker's ire was how he stared blankly out the window.
Clearing his throat a second time, the skeleton-esque principal speaks once the young man stops staring blankly out the window and gives him his undivided attention.
"Do you have any idea why you're hear Brandon?"
"Most people call me Brawny." The colossal kid clarified.
"Of course, they do." He muttered with a roll of his eyes. "Well, 'Brandon', I'm not most people. For twenty-one years I've happened to be the principal of this pathetic excuse of an institute and as possess such have certain privileges up to and including a) addressing students by their God given name, as opposed to whatever cutesy nickname has been bestowed upon them, and b) getting a look at the scores from standardized tests like…oh, I don't know…the Scholastic Conative Retention & Oratory Test of Upper Montana your class took last month. And I must say, given your scores in particular, 'privilege' is a word I must utilize as loosely as possible."
"Meaning?" Brawny began.
"Meaning that I find myself utterly disappointed and curious by the overall results. And upon further research into which particular skull full of mush served as intellectual dead weight, the result appeared to be you! Congratulations Brandon! Your stupidity has single handedly lowered the percentile in which your class's intelligence is measured."
"Woah, woah, wait a minute dude..." Brawny protested. "I mean…principal dude, I ain't the sharpest crayon in the bin, but even you'd gotta admit; some of these questions are real Einstein level stuff."
"Well then, dooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOoood." Principal Canker retorted with an exaggerated jut of his fist. "It just so happens we can put this assumption of yours to the test, as I have compiled some of my personal favorite examples of your monumental failure, don't worry these are some of the easier ones…(clears throat)…from the English and Literature section 'Summarize in your own words Napoleon's final rule in George Orwell's Animal Farm?' you put down 'Toga! Toga! Toga!'. History and Civics is no better as we get this gem about the legacy of the Manhattan Project; 'The United States got Manhattan out of the deal' followed by the Dredd Scott case which apparently was about the Supreme Court legalizing dreadlocks. And who of course could forget that three branches, whoops chambers, of government which you listed as 'Republican, Dominican, and Aristocat.' Then there's the mathematics and sciences which I don't even want to touch with a ten-foot pole…so, you can see why I'm a bit vexed here, right?"
"So, Charles Darwin didn't write 'Curious George'?" Brawny said.
"No. Brandon. He didn't." Principal Canker replied. "And funny you should invoke that particular question because given these scores and your apparent academic apathy, I have no other option but to effective immediately push you back down a grade. As of tomorrow, you will be DEvolving back to Ms. Czek's fifth grade class."
Brawny gawked indignantly.
"Oh, believe me, the misfortune is all mine; seeing as how next year you AND Fifi Henderson will be taking the Scholastic Conative Retention & Oratory Test of Upper Montana next year. At least she has the excuse of having a documented learning disability-"
"But what about that Stumpy kid?" The beefy student suddenly interjected. "He's in Czek's class too, isn't he? Surely he'll pull the grading curve back up a notch or twelve. Heck, he makes that science guy on TV look like a potato."
Principal Canker's face turns as red as a beet. Steam rises from his shaking frame and his hands ball into fists as he looks Brawny dead in the eye like a hungry snake set to strike and devour a hapless baby mouse.
"Brawny…let me put this in a way that defective slab of meat between your ears would grasp. There are these things in life called extremes; hot and cold, hard and soft, darkness and light. Now, when the government decides how much funding we get, they look at scores from tests like the Scholastic Conative Retention & Oratory Test of Upper Montana. On one end…(he holds out his right hand)…are morons like you whose intellectual ineptitude makes those in government wonder whether or not RS-59 should operate in the first place. Then you get little egg-headed know-it-alls like Stumpy…(he holds out the other hand)…who do so well that people look at standardized test scores and think 'hmm, RS-59 maybe doesn't need any extra funding this go around because they seem to be doing ok.'"
For a long time, the two of them said nothing as Principal Canker sipped on an effervescent pain reliever. Setting the glass down, he could feel the wheels in his head turning over how to solve his now threefold problem.
"You may go now Brawny." He says quietly. "And what I said here, stays here. Agreed?"
"Agreed."
"Good."
With the door to his office shut and Brawny back on his way to his class for the final time, Principal Canker pushes the intercom button. Once the feedback subsides, his grave and imperative voice rings about the school.
"Stumpy Paulson, my office now!"