Confessions from the Principal's Chair Read Free Page A

me.
    It was like I had some kind of fairy godmother or something who had just been hanging around with her wand to grant my wish because, I'm not making this up, the very next day after the pencil thing, Ivory stuck her hand back toward me just when Mr. Simons started talking about how early Greece influenced life today. There was a note in her hand, and I got so excited that I forgot to hide what I was doing when I leaned down to get it.
    "Robin Miller," Mr. Simons said, ucan I please have your attention?" I honestly think that might have been the first time a teacher ever called me down, well anyway since second grade, when I let the class frog out of his glass cage. The teacher yelled at me then, but of course that day with Ivory sure wasn't the last time. After the day of the note, I got in plenty of trouble, for passing notes, being late to class, once for smoking cigarettes in the girls' room, and finally for teasing stupid Marcy Willis.
    That first note from Ivory said, "No party here. [That's how Ivory starts every note, unless of course something really interesting is happening to her as she writes.] Do you want to hang out with me and my friends? We want to call ourselves THE SIX-PACK, and we really need another person. Tell me after this BORING class is over. Ivory."
    That's how I got to be part of the group whispering to each other in the hall, and that's when the halls stopped being a scary place.
    But now back to the packing. All the while, I kept hoping Rendi would come in and say, "I've been unreasonable. I can see that now." At around six, she knocked on the door. Here it comes, I told myself, and I also thought how I'd be forgiving. No use holding a grudge. My mother usually does so much better than the mothers of my friends. I could even forgive her for giving away my bed. It would be kind of fun to shop for a new one.
    "Come in," I told her, but she didn't open the door.
    "It's time to eat," she said. "Come and have a sandwich with me."
    I definitely was not hungry, but I thought I caught a soft note in the sound of Rendi's voice. Maybe she would admit her error while we ate. "Okay," I said.
    She had already made tuna fish salad, my personal favorite, especially when she puts in onions, and she had just to please me. She likes it better without onion. Sometimes she makes up two different batches, but not this time. I saw her take the stuff for both our sandwiches out of the same bowl. I sat with my shoulders hunched to show how miserable I was, and that I wasn't going to be bribed with onions. I took tiny nibbles off the edge of my sandwich.
    "Bird," Rendi said after she had chewed her first bite. "I'm sorry that you see this as a punishment."
    Wonderful! It was about time she started on the "I am sorry" track. I let go of a long sigh and turned my eyes to her with the saddest look possible. I mean, it wasn't a pretend sadness. She was about to drag me away from the best friends I had ever had. "How else could I look at this, except as a punishment? It is a punishment, Mother, a cruel and unusual punishment." I was proud of the part about cruel and unusual because I was pretty sure there was some kind of law or something against cruel and unusual. I was also using "Mother" instead of Rendi. I don't know why, but I thought it was a good tactic.
    Rendi didn't seem impressed. "It isn't a punishment, although you certainly deserve to be punished for what you did to that poor child. We are moving because I think it is best for you. I think small-town life will do you good. You need to meet new kids, learn not to be a follower, learn to think for yourself." She reached over to brush the hair away from my eyes. "Remember how much fun we used to have, just driving down the road until we found someplace we both liked?"
    I rolled my eyes and looked up like I was just about to pass out with disgust.
    "Puh-leeze, Mother," I said. "In the first place, I'm not some ignorant little kid anymore. I can assure you, we won't