watching her walk away with Mr. Smarmy.
When I knocked on the strange cork-like door, it eased open with a loud screech. The principal’s office was a large, cluttered circle, full of bizarre clicking sounds. Books, shells, and framed pictures of various islands filled sandstone bookshelves. The rickety old desk looked a bit too short for the stately chair sitting behind it.
“Hello? Principal Jeepers?”
The hairs on the left side of my face suddenly stuck straight out; I turned to find a pair of brown eyes peering at me from behind the door. A man abruptly rounded the door, seized my shoulders, and stared at my face, eyes, and nose, cocking his head from side to side. His overgrown whiskers and shaggy, salt and pepper hair made him look manic. After releasing a pathetic yelp, he let me go.
“Sorry. You just look like a seriously spooky version of a famous rotten-tooth pirate I have an inexplicable crush on. And I did not just say that.” Clearly, I’ve lost some of my manners—and my brain-to-mouth filter—while in the institution.
“Well, shiver me timbers! Ye the lil’ leprechaun bringin’ me pot o’ gold? Yo-ho-ho! Savvy?” he said in a surprisingly convincing pirate voice.
“Wow, so you exploited my red hair and green shirt for a crafty comeback? Well played.” I kind of liked the man. “Interesting school you’ve got. Very pro-aquatic.”
“Yeah, we lean towards the unconventional, as sea towns go.” Instead of sitting in the chair, he hopped on the desk, picked up my file, and scanned it with amusement. “Not much for rules, eh? Good, good. Makes things interesting. And a reader too! Wonderful!”
“Are you sure you’re the principal?”
“Uh-huh. Now, I see here that Madame Helena—frightening woman—has issued the blocking guard?”
“Yeah, it basically means I can never touch a card again. Good thing my name’s not Rémy, right?”
He looked at me like I was oozing something from my ears. Apparently, he wasn’t a superhero buff. “Fascinating little reader, aren’t you? I think we’re done.”
“Aren’t you going to lecture me, give me a list of rules, or something?”
“Rules are self-explanatory. Lectures are monotonous. Besides, you’ve had enough of that kind of thing for a lifetime. Just use your best judgment, do your homework, and, let’s see, uh, respect your mom. Oh, and since Saxet Shores is one of nearly two hundred banishment locations across the globe, the other students and townsfolk are aware of your time in the institution and of your—”
“Malfunction,” I supplied.
“Eh, I was gonna say talent, but if you prefer malfunction, then…”
“Yeah, I don’t prefer.”
“Good. Off ya go, now! Lunch! You must be ready to eat real food again,” he said, walking me to the door.
“I am. Anything but fish. I hate fish. Hate the smell, hate the texture, hate the taste. Hate.”
“Aversion to scales, eh?”
“More like a reaction. If I smell them, I gag. If I taste them, I puke. I basically become a circus sideshow.”
“Ah. Huh. Could be problematic.” Mr. Jeepers stared thoughtfully at the floor for a few seconds before waving me out the door. “Don’t forget your books and schedule on the chair, there.”
Sitting on a dusty old chair was a gorgeous camel-brown leather backpack, chock-full of books.
“Wasn’t sure if you’d have a backpack,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Anyway, it’s yours if you want it.”
“I don’t know what to say. Nobody’s given me anything since I was a little girl. I—just thank you.” I couldn’t take my eyes off the scraggly man in front of me—this kooky man had a father’s instinct.
He smiled warmly. “I stuck some extra notebooks in there, just in case you needed them.” My shocked, thankful eyes must have been making him uneasy because he more or less pushed me out the door. “Lunch beckons! And, for your health, just keep walking to the far end of the food line,
When I knocked on the strange cork-like door, it eased open with a loud screech. The principal’s office was a large, cluttered circle, full of bizarre clicking sounds. Books, shells, and framed pictures of various islands filled sandstone bookshelves. The rickety old desk looked a bit too short for the stately chair sitting behind it.
“Hello? Principal Jeepers?”
The hairs on the left side of my face suddenly stuck straight out; I turned to find a pair of brown eyes peering at me from behind the door. A man abruptly rounded the door, seized my shoulders, and stared at my face, eyes, and nose, cocking his head from side to side. His overgrown whiskers and shaggy, salt and pepper hair made him look manic. After releasing a pathetic yelp, he let me go.
“Sorry. You just look like a seriously spooky version of a famous rotten-tooth pirate I have an inexplicable crush on. And I did not just say that.” Clearly, I’ve lost some of my manners—and my brain-to-mouth filter—while in the institution.
“Well, shiver me timbers! Ye the lil’ leprechaun bringin’ me pot o’ gold? Yo-ho-ho! Savvy?” he said in a surprisingly convincing pirate voice.
“Wow, so you exploited my red hair and green shirt for a crafty comeback? Well played.” I kind of liked the man. “Interesting school you’ve got. Very pro-aquatic.”
“Yeah, we lean towards the unconventional, as sea towns go.” Instead of sitting in the chair, he hopped on the desk, picked up my file, and scanned it with amusement. “Not much for rules, eh? Good, good. Makes things interesting. And a reader too! Wonderful!”
“Are you sure you’re the principal?”
“Uh-huh. Now, I see here that Madame Helena—frightening woman—has issued the blocking guard?”
“Yeah, it basically means I can never touch a card again. Good thing my name’s not Rémy, right?”
He looked at me like I was oozing something from my ears. Apparently, he wasn’t a superhero buff. “Fascinating little reader, aren’t you? I think we’re done.”
“Aren’t you going to lecture me, give me a list of rules, or something?”
“Rules are self-explanatory. Lectures are monotonous. Besides, you’ve had enough of that kind of thing for a lifetime. Just use your best judgment, do your homework, and, let’s see, uh, respect your mom. Oh, and since Saxet Shores is one of nearly two hundred banishment locations across the globe, the other students and townsfolk are aware of your time in the institution and of your—”
“Malfunction,” I supplied.
“Eh, I was gonna say talent, but if you prefer malfunction, then…”
“Yeah, I don’t prefer.”
“Good. Off ya go, now! Lunch! You must be ready to eat real food again,” he said, walking me to the door.
“I am. Anything but fish. I hate fish. Hate the smell, hate the texture, hate the taste. Hate.”
“Aversion to scales, eh?”
“More like a reaction. If I smell them, I gag. If I taste them, I puke. I basically become a circus sideshow.”
“Ah. Huh. Could be problematic.” Mr. Jeepers stared thoughtfully at the floor for a few seconds before waving me out the door. “Don’t forget your books and schedule on the chair, there.”
Sitting on a dusty old chair was a gorgeous camel-brown leather backpack, chock-full of books.
“Wasn’t sure if you’d have a backpack,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Anyway, it’s yours if you want it.”
“I don’t know what to say. Nobody’s given me anything since I was a little girl. I—just thank you.” I couldn’t take my eyes off the scraggly man in front of me—this kooky man had a father’s instinct.
He smiled warmly. “I stuck some extra notebooks in there, just in case you needed them.” My shocked, thankful eyes must have been making him uneasy because he more or less pushed me out the door. “Lunch beckons! And, for your health, just keep walking to the far end of the food line,
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