(Author's notes: This story is rated T for a number of reasons. There will be violence, some kissy-romance stuff (no sex "on screen" though), and some light swearing. There will also be darker subjects mentioned and happening on screen that deal with hard crimes (similar to what happens on the TV show Law and Order). And while the first chapters are light, the story will get darker. I am not the kind of person who writes dark and mature content. My goal is to keep the story as T as possible, but if you are not able to handle the subjects that are portrayed on crime/police TV shows, then I would suggest finding a different fanfic (I suggest checking out my DT17 fanfic "Twisted Strings of Fate," which has a lot more fluff in it.)
Thank you, and enjoy the story.)
Beautiful Waltz
Chapter 1: Swoop and Dip
Aug. 23
Gosalyn lived with the unalterable philosophy that no matter the situation, people can be divided into two groups. The kids on the bus were either the kind that looked forward to the first day of school, showing off their shiny new notebooks and pencils, and smoothing down their new clothing, or the second group—whom Gosalyn identified with—expressed a variety of emotions from dread to apathetic. However, as she rode the bus across the suburbs to her new school, she suspected that there might be a third category which was solely occupied by Honker, who hadn't stopped talking since they sat down.
"And last year, the chess team took second in nationals. I hope that I'm good enough to join the team. I've been studying all the professionals, especially this boy from Russia. They say he's a genius with his feints. He's really famous for sacrificing his queen, which is quite the bold move, but he always wins regardless. So when people play against him and they see that they can take out his queen, they are suspicious that it's a trap. I hope everyone on the chess team doesn't mind my peanut allergy. It can be…"
Gosalyn tapped her fingers against her backpack, tolerant of her friend's excited jabber, but had been bored five minutes before he even started. As much as she wanted him to stop, she knew that turnabout was fair play. How often had he listened to her as she ranted and raved about something she was angry about or that she loved? It wasn't often that Honker was the talkative one.
"What clubs do you think you'll join, Gosalyn?" Honker asked.
It took a moment for Gosalyn to shake off her stupor to realize that her best friend had asked her a question. "Huh? Oh, I'm going to try out for the hockey team," Gosalyn said, tapping the hockey stick she had brought with her. "I bet once they see my signature puck shots, they'll totally make me team captain."
The upside about moving from an elementary school to a middle school was the team sports and clubs, which Gosalyn and Honker both looked forward to.
However, her usual bluster fell short as she took a look at a group of kids that boarded the bus. They were huge. The downside to moving from an elementary school to a middle school was that they were now the youngest grade. If she made the team, she would be playing against sixth graders.
"According to the school's schedule, hockey season isn't until September," Honker informed her. He had memorized all the handouts and the rule book. "Why did you bring your hockey stick?"
"So I can practice during recess, duh?" Gosalyn said. "Not that I need it."
However, her eyes followed a large kid that passed their seat and headed for the back, sitting next to Honker's older brother, Tank. That was another con to the new school. They would be sharing a bus, a playground, and a school with the burly sixth grader that had a mean streak, especially against his younger brother.
"Wait until the cool kids see me in action," Gosalyn said, standing up and taking some practice swings with her hockey stick. It was the wrong time to do this. The bus driver pushed on the breaks which caused Gosalyn to lurch forward and fall head over heels.
As Honker helped his friend back into her seat, he couldn't help but think that Gosalyn and her father had an uncanny resemblance even though they didn't share any blood relation.
When they arrived at the school, Gosalyn jumped out from the bus's top step, tossing her hockey puck. The puck rolled as she landed running, her stick rose to do battle. She chased the puck across the concrete.
Several students who had been at their old school were savvy enough to know to get out of the way, a mixture of smiles and frowns pointed at Gosalyn.
"Heads up!" Gosalyn shouted her warning as she swung her stick. Wood hit rubber, and the puck flew through the air, hit the flag pole, ricocheted off the jungle gym, whizzed over the heads of a gaggle of squealing girls, and skidded to a halt at the square tips of a pair of sensible, black shoes.
A hand snatched up the puck. Its mate adjusted the thick spectacles that sat on a sharp, petite beak; the chain of red beads clacking as it was jangled.
"Who does this thing belong to?" a woman with a tight bun and white and black speckled feathers demanded, sharp eyes scanning the flock of students.
The crowd split, creating a pathway to Gosalyn. As if that wasn't obvious enough, a few pointed to the duckling.
Gosalyn gave her usual innocent but shamed smile, hunching her shoulders to make herself smaller and look less guilty.
"Young lady, is this yours?" the woman asked in a stern tone.
"Yes," Gosalyn admitted.
"Come with me," the woman insisted, grabbing Gosalyn's wrist and pulling her along.
Gosalyn knew exactly where they were going. She had been on this walk of shame before. It must be some record to be sent to the principal's office even before the first day of school began.
As they marched into the front office, the woman guiding Gosalyn asked the secretary, "Is Mr. Webfoot in right now?"
"Yes," the secretary said, pointing to the door with a pen before going back to jotting things down in a large notepad.
The woman pointed to a seat. "Sit and don't move."
"Wasn't gonna," Gosalyn muttered under her breath.
The woman disappeared into the principal's office, closing the door behind her. After several minutes, she came back out, giving Gosalyn a stern glance before leaving.
Inside the office, an elderly tenor called out, "Young lady, can I please see you for a minute?"
Gosalyn slid off her chair and went inside.
At the desk sat an elderly goose with a kind face. "Please, sit. And what is your name?"
"Gosalyn Mallard," she said as she hopped into a chair.
"Hmmm, I believe you're new. In fourth grade?"
"Yes, sir."
Mr. Webfoot pulled out a new folder from one drawer and a sheet of paper from another.
Great, he's starting my permanent record, Gosalyn thought. I wonder how big that folder will be once I've served my time here. At her old school, the principal often groaned whenever she pulled Gosalyn's file out of the cabinet.
"Mrs. Chickpea told me of your little stunt," Mr. Webfoot said as he wrote. "Were you aware that you could have hurt someone?"
"I wouldn't have," Gosalyn said confidently. "I knew exactly where my puck would go. I'm a good shot."
Mr. Webfoot shook his head. "Gosalyn, you could be the best shot in the world, but there's still a chance that something could go wrong. What if you made a mistake? Or someone moved in the way of your shot?"
"I guess someone could have been hit by my puck," Gosalyn said with dampened spirits. "I'm so used to people knowing to duck." Except her dad. Sometimes he didn't get the concept of "dodge."
"I can sense your sincerity," Mr. Webfoot said with a nod. "I'm certain you had no ill-intention to do anyone harm, which is why I'm going to let you off with a warning."
"Keen gear, really?" Gosalyn said, not believing her luck. It had been such a long time since she had gotten a warning. It was a good thing Mr. Webfoot didn't know her so well.
"You will, of course, leave your hockey gear at home from now on. At least, until hockey season begins. I presume you're trying out for the team next month." Mr. Webfoot winked at her.
"Absolutely," Gosalyn affirmed.
"I will hang onto your stick and puck until the end of the day."
Gosalyn set her hockey gear on the principal's desk. "Well then, I guess I'll be getting to class."
"Also, I'll need you to take this note to your parents and have them sign it," Mr. Webfoot said, finishing his signature on a note he was writing.
"What?" Gosalyn said, her brow scrunched in concern. "But I thought you said you were only giving me a warning."
"I am," Mr. Webfoot said, handing over the paper. "This is a written warning. The next time you come to see me, it will mean detention."
Gosalyn snatched the note that no doubt described her infraction in tarnishing detail.
The bell rang.
"It's time for class to begin, Miss Mallard," Mr. Webfoot said gently. "You wouldn't want to be late to class on top of everything else."
The young duck melted into the flood of students heading to their classes, wandering down two halls before realizing she didn't know where she was going. She had to get into her backpack for her class information to find her homeroom. Once crossing the threshold right as the tardy bell rang, she spotted Honker sitting at a desk—front and center characteristically.
"Can't we sit in the back for once?" Gosalyn hissed as she sat behind him.
"You know how bad my eyesight is, even with my glasses. Besides, statistically, those who sit at the front are more likely to learn and retain the information and earn an A."
Gosalyn rolled her eyes and folded her arms. "Could this day get any worse?"
Apparently it could. The teacher rose from her desk and stood at military attention in front of the classroom. It was Mrs. Chickpea, the teacher who ratted her out to the principal.
"Fantastic," Gosalyn grumbled and dropped her head to her desk with a clunk.
"Your dad is going to be so mad," Honker said, examining the paper that the principal wrote.
"No, he won't," Gosalyn shot back, snatching the paper away.
"But this is a first day offense. There's no way he's not going to blow up. You're grounded for at least a week," Honker predicted.
"That's only if he finds out," Gosalyn said with a grin, opening her front door. "Act cool, Honk."
The second they stepped inside, they were accosted by wall-to-wall diagrams, maps, newspaper articles, and stacks of reference books. Every gizmo and device that Drake Mallard kept in the home was beeping and whirling.
"Don't touch anything," Drake warned the second the kids stepped inside the house. He was pinning a long red string that zigzagged all around the room, making connections in what appeared to be a random pattern.
"Daaaaad, what's going on? Are you trying to win the lottery again?" Gosalyn asked, her eyes darting around worriedly.
Either ignoring or not picking up on the sarcasm, Drake replied, "Nothing as simple as that, Gos. I'm on a particularly difficult case that has stumped the St. Canard PD for weeks. Whoever this dastardly devil is, Darkwing Duck is on his tracks." He moved from one set of photos to another, rubbing his chin.
"Keen gear," Gosalyn said. "What's the crime? Who is this master mind? A serial killer? Arms dealer? Drug lord?"
Drake frowned at his daughter. "Perhaps you have been too involved in my work."
Gosalyn gave her innocent laugh. "Oh, Dad. I'm just trying to be helpful. It would be terrible if you were too involved in your cases to pay attention to me." She picked up a wayward paper that had dropped to the ground. "Huh? One hundred beds stolen? That's your master criminal? He's stealing beds? What's his name? Sandman? The boogey man?"
"Give me that," Drake growled, snatching the paper back. "Not every criminal can be Fearsome Five material. And that's why Darkwing Duck is needed because I don't just try to solve the big crimes. I go where I am needed. Besides, it's not just beds being stolen. Whole warehouses and convenience stores are emptied in a single night. Everything from furniture to food, cutlery to clothing, wood to washers. And at each scene, the police haven't found a single clue."
Gosalyn had glossed over her father's words; she did that when he started using alliterations. "Well, if you're sure Honker and I can't help, we'll be upstairs in my room doing our homework."
"Huh? Oh yeah. Yeah," Drake said, going through a handful of papers. Before the kids could make it halfway up the stairs, Drake straightened up. "Wait a minute. It's the first day of school and you already have homework. And you're volunteering to do it? You're up to something, missy." He turned a suspicious eye to his daughter.
"Oh, Dad, this isn't Elementary School anymore. They're not treating us like little kids," Gosalyn said as calm as could be. "Middle School comes with a lot more responsibilities, and I thought I'd try a little harder with a clean slate."
Drake tilted his head. "Really? You're serious?"
Gosalyn gave him her best smile. "Yes."
Her father still stood in a cloud of suspicion, but without any evidence to guess what was really going on, he shook it off. "I'm proud of you, Gos. It shows that you're gaining maturity if you're taking your schoolwork serious. How about once you're finished with your homework, we'll order pizza for dinner? We can celebrate your first day of school."
Gosalyn brightened her smiling, shoving her guilt deep down inside. "That sounds great, Dad." She pushed Honker up a few more steps, wanting to distance herself from the situation. "I better get to that homework."
Drake was already turning around, studying his complicated mess and stringing more red thread.
Once in her room, she slapped the paper on her desk and turned on her lamp for extra light.
"Gosalyn, if you don't turn that paper in with your dad's signature, they'll just call him. He's going to find out," Honker said. "Wouldn't it just be better to tell him now?"
Gosalyn wrenched open her messy closet, throwing stuff around as she waded knee deep into the debris. "No way. I'm not going down for this. Besides, I've got a plan."
Honker sighed. He was about to remind her how all her other plans never went off without a hitch, but what was the use. She had deaf ears at the moment.
"Ah ha! Here it is," Gosalyn announced, pulling out a book. "My scrapbook." She opened it endearingly.
"Uh, you mean the binder where you keep all the detention slips, teacher notes and you're other memorabilia chronicling your chronic school hijinks?" Honker asked.
"Yeah. But specifically, a sample of my dad's signature," Gosalyn said with a sneaky smile.
"You're going to counterfeit your dad's signature?"
"Exactly," Gosalyn said proudly, sitting at her desk. "Remember last month when Dad took down that counterfeiter. Well, I learned a few tricks. Watch this."
She took out a notebook and pen, then turned her scrapbook upside down. "This is what the professionals do." Carefully, she mimicked the messy swoops of Drake Mallard's name upside down as smoothly as possible. "Ta da," she announced, turning her notebook upside down.
Honker squinted at her work. He had to admit, it was pretty close to the original. "Golly, Gosalyn, that's amazing, albeit amoral. Are you sure you want to do this? If your dad finds out, you'll be grounded for a month."
"He won't find out, because I'm only going to do it once," Gosalyn promised, bending down to practice a few more times.
August 27
Gosalyn soon learned just how hard it would be to keep that promise. By the end of the week, Mrs. Chickpea asked to see her after class.
"What's up?" Gosalyn asked, already guessing that she was in trouble.
"I'm a little concerned about your behavior in class," Mrs. Chickpea said, adjusting her glasses.
"What do you mean?" Since the hockey puck incident, Gosalyn had been on her best behavior. She couldn't think of any time she wasn't good.
"You've fallen asleep three times in class," Mrs. Chickpea said. She took off her glasses and her stern features softened. "Is everything alright at home?"
"Huh?"
The truth was, she had been out with Darkwing Duck nearly every night, trying to figure out this spree of thefts. She may have scoffed at it earlier, but seeing how stealthily the thief was, Gosalyn wanted to catch him just as much as her dad. Usually her presence was helpful, but for the past four nights, they've had as much luck as the police. For their efforts, they only stopped several minor crimes in progress and one of Megavolt's less than perfect schemes.
And she couldn't tell Mrs. Chickpea any of this.
"It's my neighbors," Gosalyn quickly lied. "They party all night and play their music loud. It keeps me up."
"Hmmm. Be that as it may, I still want to send your parents a—"
"My dad," Gosalyn corrected.
"Your father a note," Mrs. Chickpea said with a nod. "I'm sure once he knows that your school work is suffering because of your neighbors, he could talk to them." She penned in a few sentences on a paper before handing it to Gosalyn.
As the duckling reached out to grab the paper, Mrs. Chickpea's eyes fell upon Gosalyn's arm. "That's quite the bruise on your arm. A hockey accident, I presume?"
"Naw, I got that from—" Gosalyn paused right before she told the truth, which was that a thug had grabbed her roughly during a jewelry theft. She had kicked the man in the shins right before Darkwing Duck karate chopped him into unconsciousness. "—falling down the stairs," she finished lamely.
Mrs. Chickpea had a strange expression that Gosalyn couldn't read, but she released the note. "Please return it to me by Monday with your father's signature."
Gosalyn nodded. She would definitely do that, just that the signature wouldn't be done by Drake Mallard's own hand.
Aug. 31
Gosalyn dreamed that she was using Negaduck's head as a hockey puck to win the championship game when something shook her. Opening her eyes, she found Mrs. Chickpea glaring down at her.
"Wow, that was a great meditation session," Gosalyn said, straightening up. "Now my mind is clear and ready to do some long division."
"I didn't know meditation involved snoring," Mrs. Chickpea said, causing some chuckles from the class. "And we're learning about the Revolutionary War, not long division."
Gosalyn sighed. "I guess I'll see you after class?"
Mrs. Chickpea nodded before returning to the front of the classroom.
Slumping in her seat, Gosalyn couldn't believe that she fell asleep again. And it hadn't even been a whole week since the last time she was in trouble. How was she ever going to survive Middle School? At least the school was holding hockey try-outs in a couple of weeks. If she could just make it until then, it would all be worth it.
After school, Gosalyn stood in front of Mrs. Chickpea's desk, expecting another note and accepting the fact she would break her promise to Honker again.
"Those look like new bruises," Mrs. Chickpea said, pointing to Gosalyn's knees.
Gosalyn looked at them, remembering how the night before she jumped out of a second-story window. Luckily Darkwing Duck caught her. Mostly. Her father had matching bruises on his chest.
"I got them from playing hockey," Gosalyn said. Whenever Mrs. Chickpea pointed out a new bruise or scrape that Gosalyn acquired during her nightly adventures with St. Canard's caped crusader, she used that excuse. Hockey explained everything.
"Mmmm," Mrs. Chickpea hummed. "Are your neighbors still playing their loud music at night?"
Gosalyn nodded. "Yep."
"Did your father talk to them?"
Gosalyn shrugged noncommittally. "He does really like the neighbors," she said truthfully.
Mrs. Chickpea's beak compressed, her mouth a thin line. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to call your father."
"No, don't do that," Gosalyn said, putting both hands on the desk. If her dad found out that she had forged his signature twice, there was no way he would let her try out for the hockey team.
When she saw Mrs. Chickpea leaning away, she put on a disarming smile. "It's just that Dad is really busy. Too busy for phone calls. In fact, we don't even have a phone. Dad doesn't believe in them."
"Really?" Mrs. Chickpea asked, holding up a file. "And I suppose the number in your records is just for show?"
Gosalyn mentally slapped herself. Usually she was a better liar than this. That's it. The jig was up. Goodbye hockey team. Goodbye freedom.
"Hello, Mr. Drake Mallard. I'm Mrs. Chickpea from South Canard Middle School, and I'm calling in regards to your daughter, Gosalyn. When you get this message, it is important for you to please contact me at the school before five o'clock, or you can reach me at my home. My number is—"
Gosalyn wanted to cheer in relief. Mrs. Chickpea had gotten the machine. If she could get home before her dad heard it…What could she do? If she erased it, Mrs. Chickpea might call again, then she would be in double trouble. But it would at least buy her some time to come up with a plan.
"Run along, Gosalyn," Mrs. Chickpea said as she set the phone back on the cradle. "You don't want to miss your bus."
"Huh? Oh, yeah." Gosalyn shot out of the classroom, half-baked plans running through her mind.
On the bus, she told Honker what had happened.
"Gosalyn, just talk to your dad. He'll be mad, but not as mad as when he finds out what you've done," Honker said sagely. "You know the saying about digging a hole."
Gosalyn did, but she was ready to dig to China if it meant not getting into trouble.
"If only Dad were still dating Morgana," Gosalyn reminisced. "When he was all goo-goo eyes for her, I got away with so much."
Darkwing Duck and Morgana Macawbra had been an undefeatable team after the incident with the Fearsome Five and the Justice Ducks. The two fought crime together night after night, but when it came to their romantic relationship, they ran hot and cold erratically. After one particularly bad argument, Morgana split, saying she needed to rethink her life's directions. Darkwing had been devastated and practically useless for weeks until he picked up the pieces of his broken heart and returned to his life pre-girlfriend.
Gosalyn was certain that her dad harbored the belief that Morgana would come back to him. He still had her picture on his nightstand.
If it meant that she would get to be on the hockey team, she would have gone to the ends of the earth to find Morgana and patch up the rocky relationship. But Darkwing Duck had done everything to find his ex, including hunting down that creepy house of hers that could move locations. There had been no sign of Morgana in St. Canard in months.
Then the bus passed an advertisement on a billboard.
Gosalyn squashed her beak against the window to memorize the information. She grinned devilishly. "If I can distract Dad long enough, maybe I can stay out of trouble." She grabbed Honker and jumped off her seat, shouting at the top of her lungs, "Stop the bus!"
The driver slammed on the pedal out of instincts. Students lurched forward, several of the younger kids ending up on the floor.
"We need off," Gosalyn said.
"This isn't your stop," the driver said gruffly. "I can't let you off."
"Please. He's going to puke," Gosalyn said, making her tone more urgent.
Honker, disoriented from being yanked around, did look like he was sick.
The bus driver did as requested, throwing the lever forward to open the doors.
Gosalyn rushed out with Honker in tow. When it was obvious that he'd been duped, the bus driver yelled at them to come back, but Gosalyn heeded him not.
"This was a bad idea," Honker called to his friend. "We're over five miles away from home. How are we going to get back?:
"We can walk," Gosalyn said. "It'll be good for us. Dad's always telling me to go out and get fresh air and exercise and that kind of junk."
They had jumped off the bus in a small business district that was squashed between suburbs. There were small businesses, grocery stores, gas stations, and lots of people on the sidewalks. After walking a block, Gosalyn looked at the street signs to get her bearings.
"Hey, Honk. Do you know where Vine Street is?" she asked.
Of course, Honker knew. With his photographic memory, he had the entire city of St. Canard memorized. "It's two blocks that way."
They crossed the street and pounded the pavement until they stood in front of the address Gosalyn memorized from the billboard.
"That's your plan?" Honker asked, skepticism buttering his tone as he looked up at the business name. "You have got to be kidding. This isn't going to work."
"It'll totally work," Gosalyn said as she grabbed his hand and pulled him into the well-kept store with wide, glass windows, chic sign, and fashionable colors.
The bell on the door announced their entrance.
A young woman with the latest trend of hair style, thick makeup and designer clothes complimenting her figure turned around and smiled. However, when she saw the kids, her expression turned from sincere to wry. "I think you two are a little young for a dating service."
Gosalyn laughed. "No, I'm here for my dad."
"Your dad?"
"Yeah. He doesn't get out much, and I think he's lonely," Gosalyn said with an innocent smile.
The young woman sighed. "Darling, as sweet as that is, this is a business. This costs money."
"I'll pay for it," Gosalyn said. She pulled out her wallet from her backpack. She was saving up for the new Whiffleboy game, but that would have to wait.
The woman shrugged and handed over a clipboard with some papers. "These will need to be filled out, and I'll need a picture of your dad."
Gosalyn riffled through her messy wallet for the folded photo of her, Launchpad and Drake that was taken last Christmas. "Will this do? That's him."
The lady took the picture, her eyes softening. "Whoa, he's easy on the eyes. The photos a little small, but I can enlarge it and crop it on the computer." She put the photo on a scanner.
As the lady worked on the photo, Gosalyn sat in a chair and wrote out Drake's profile. Most of the papers were a questionnaire asking about things like hobbies, interests, dream, etc, as well as what they look for in a companion. She had to guess or make stuff up on a lot of questions. It wasn't as if she was actually looking for a girlfriend for her dad, she just needed someone for him to moon after for a few weeks until hockey season began.
"There you go," Gosalyn said, handing over the papers. "When can you set my dad up?"
The lady gave her a patronizing smile. "I'll have to type up all this information in the computer, and it'll search through our current members to match him with someone compatible. We'll send his profile to these matches, and it'll be up to them if they want to make a date."
That didn't sit right with Gosalyn. She needed a distraction now. But with her dad's face and the profile she created, he was certain to get a phone call soon. She would just have to survive until then.
Together, she and Honker made the five mile walk, most of the time Gosalyn running and pulling her friend as he protested to slow down. Once at their houses, they separated, Gosalyn rushing inside. She sighed with relief when she saw that the answering machine was blinking red, indicating that there was a message. It must be from Mrs. Chickpea. After listening to the tape, she erased it.
And for a few days, Gosalyn thought she was going to get away with it.
Sept. 2
Two days after going to the dating service, Gosalyn sat in the principal's office…again. Mr. Webfoot was giving her a disappointed look. "Well, Miss Mallard, I'd be lying if I said I'm surprised to see you here again. I just wished it wasn't so soon."
"I liked your office so much, I wanted to visit again," Gosalyn said, hoping levity would soften the principal.
He didn't find her joke all that funny.
"Do you want to tell me why you started the fight?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.
"I'll get in trouble anyway," Gosalyn grumbled, folding her arms.
"Humor me," Mr. Webfoot said.
It wasn't that complicated of a story. The other kid was a bully, falling into the old cliché of stealing lunch money from others. Gosalyn had caught him in the hallway during the shakedown. A literal shakedown; the bully had the nerdy-looking kid by his ankles and shaking him until coins rained down.
Stuff like that may happen at other schools, but not as long as Gosalyn was around. She had even given the bully a chance to rescind his evil ways, but when he refused, she popped him in the beak.
Of course, Gosalyn embellished a little to prove her point that she was just defending the other kid. She was in the right."
"Your desire to help was right, but your decision to act with violence wasn't," Mr. Webfoot said, shaking his head. "I cannot condone the use of violence to solve problems. And for that, I'm afraid that I'm going to have to suspend you for one day. It's school policy for anyone caught fighting."
Gosalyn's eyes widened. There was no way she could hide a whole day of suspension. Her dad was going find out everything. She was dead. "Uh, maybe we can work something out. Perhaps community service instead?" she asked desperately. She didn't even plead this much in front of Steelbeak.
Mrs. Chickpea, who had been present this whole time, stepped forward and spoke to the principal in a hushed tone.
"Hmmmm, well, considering the circumstances, I suppose we can lighten the punishment just this once," Mr. Webfoot mulled. "Community service, is that what you suggested?"
"Uh…exactly," Gosalyn agreed, feeling as if she had just sold ice to an Eskimo.
"And you must promise not to get into any more fights," Mr. Webfoot added.
Gosalyn gave a small laugh. "Does this promise have a time stamp, because hockey season is coming up and you know how that goes?"
Mr. Webfoot chuckled. "Alright, Miss Mallard. Off with you. Mrs. Chickpea will be in charge of your community service."
Despite the looming punishment, Gosalyn followed Mrs. Chickpea with a skip in her step, satisfied with how things ended up. But it wasn't because of her own smooth talking. "Uh…thanks for that, Mrs. Chickpea," Gosalyn said, thinking she had misjudged her teacher. Behind that stern exterior was a woman who really did like children.
"You're welcome," Mrs. Chickpea replied. "Gosalyn, I hope you learned something from this. If something like this happens again, come talk to me, preferably before you hit someone."
"You got it," Gosalyn said automatically.
"But I'm going to have to call your father again. Just because you got off easy doesn't mean your actions are above reproach," Mrs. Chickpea said.
"No, not at all," Gosalyn replied, making note to rush home as soon as possible. She was lucky before with the answering machine, she may be lucky again.
"You have so much energy and potential," Mrs. Chickpea said. "I just wish that you could channel it into something more productive."
Gosalyn had heard this before from her other teachers and the nuns from the orphanage. One reason she adored her adopted dad was because he was okay letting her potential go to waste so she could just be a kid.
"Where did you get the black eye?"
"Huh? Oh, I guess the other guy got a hit in, too," Gosalyn said, touching her right eye and wincing.
"No, the left one," Mrs. Chickpea said.
Gosalyn touched the other eye tenderly. "Oh that. I was testing a new burglar catching trap and my spring loaded boxing glove went off too soon." Unlike the other times Mrs. Chickpea had asked about her bruises and scraps—which happened often—this time Gosalyn told the truth.
"How inventive," Mrs. Chickpea said. It sounded like a compliment, but her voice was taut.
After calling Gosalyn's father and getting the answering machine again, Mrs. Chickpea set the phone back on the cradle and sighed. She wasn't one hundred percent sure of the signs, and her instincts were confused, but she had to act.
After a few more moments of deliberation, she pulled open her bottom drawer and took out a business card. She had hoped she would never have had to call the number, but she would rather be safe than sorry.