John Bender was practically thrust into Vernon's office with all the might that the much smaller man could produce. At aged 18, John was much taller and broader than his principle, and he knew deep down that Vernon made up for this with the angry fits he threw at him.
He liked to call it the 'little Dick syndrome.'
"Sit down, Bender," Vernon spat as he rounded the office to take a seat in his chair opposite. With no one else around, John couldn't put on as much of a show anymore. It wasn't as fun. So he did what he was told, and squatted until he was seated on the much smaller chair.
"I know it was you that pulled that alarm," Vernon began again.
"Dick, I don't mean to be pedantic, but did you actually see me near the alarm?"
"I know I saw you try to mount the flag pole, and if that doesn't scream guilty then I don't know what does."
"Maybe I just enjoy climbing? I'm thinking about taking up sports, getting me a scholarship."
"Don't screw around, Bender. We both know it was you, and stunts like that do not get students scholarships. Any college would be stupid to take you on."
"I'm hurt. Depressed, even, that you would think that of me," John said, leaning back in the seat and propping his feet up on the desk. Vernon immediately swatted them away.
"One more stunt like this, Bender, and you're out of here. You're gone. You got that? And no one at this school would even miss you. I've been here long enough to see jokes like you come and go, and none of them were rememberable. As soon as the seniors graduate, you won't be anything more than some party anecdote."
Bender responded with a glare.
"So, did you pull the fire alarm?"
"No."
"Bender, I'm only going to ask once more, and it'll be a lot easier for you if you tell me the truth. Did you pull the alarm?"
"No."
"That's it. Detention."
Bender snorted. The word meant nothing to him anymore.
"Oh, no, it won't be that easy," Vernon continued, "because the detention will be this Saturday in the library. It'll just be me and you, and 8 hours of solitary confinement. You got that?"
"Sounds like a sweet date, but I think I'll pass. I'm busy this Saturday."
"I don't care if you're having dinner with the Queen of England on Saturday, you'll be in the detention. And if you're not, then I'll count that as your last stunt. I'll call your parents and you'll be out of this school for good."
It took everything in Bender not to allow his eyes to widen at the realisation of Vernon's statement. If he got kicked out of school, if his parent's got called about his behaviour; he was dead. Buried six feet under the ground dead.
"Whatever, man."
Vernon ignored him.
"Now get out of my office. And if I hear anything more from you today, then I won't hesitate—in fact, I'd be happy to kick you out myself. Go."
Bender eyed him a moment longer, then stood up hastily, knocking over an ornament on Vernon's desk in the process. He left for the door before anything more could be said, and slammed it on the way out, fighting the urge to curse as he did.
Lying on the floor just outside the office was a discarded school newspaper, presumably some other kids litter or some special door-to-door delivery for all the staff. Bender picked it up and read as he walked along.
Clarke Sparks Grapplers. Story by Brian Johnson.
"What a load of garbage," he muttered, tore a page from the middle section then tossed the rest of the paper back on the floor behind him. He neatly folded the page he had taken and put it in his jacket pocket; the thinness of it—thanks to the schools cheapness when it came to printing—had always made for perfect rolling papers, and he had a bag of weed in his pocket with his name on it.
As he walked away, he didn't notice a girl, face covered by hair and dressed in all black, pick up his newspaper and discreetly slip it into her bag. Probably because nobody noticed her.