To Catch a Mermaid Read Free Page B

head.
    “Hey!”
    Don’t look back,
he told himself.
Just keep running.
    But Winger wasn’t fast enough, and when Boom did look back, Winger was in the clutches of Mr. Jorgenson, Fairweather’s retired chief of police.

Chapter Four:
    The Principal’s Office

    P rincipal Prunewallop’s office smelled like bad breath, which she had a constant case of. At Christmas time, all the teachers gave her boxes of peppermint candy, but Principal Prunewallop did not like peppermint. The next year they tried spearmint, but it turned out she was allergic to it. Then came wintermint and listermint, but she never ate them. Instead, she handed out the little green candies to her unlucky visitors.
    Winger nervously unwrapped his listermint and popped it into his mouth. Boom stuffed his into his jacket pocket, where he had stuffed thirteen other mints from recent visits to the principal’s office.
    “Well, Mr. Broom and Mr. Wingingham. Your teacher tells me that you were both one hour late to class this morning.” The principal’s hair was pulled back so tightly that veins pounded at her temples. “Which one of you is going to tell me why you were late?”
    Boom and Winger looked at each other without turning their heads. Winger bit down on his mint, then blurted, “Cat stuck in a tree.”
    Boom cringed. They had used that excuse last week. Winger never thought clearly when he got nervous. “My sister’s sick again,” Boom said. “She needed spot remover.”
    Principal Prunewallop drummed her long fingernails on her desk. “I am well aware of your sister’s
condition.
” She whispered the word “condition,” and Boom felt his face go red. Seemed he wasn’t the only one who thought that Mertyle was a lunatic. “In fact, I shall send the truant officer to your home next week to investigate.” That would not be good.
    The principal opened a rather thick file with Boom’s name on the outside. Boom fidgeted and tapped his shoes together. His big toe stuck out a hole. Luckily, it was not his kicking foot. He shifted his bottom, which had gone numb. He hated this office, with its bad smell and uncomfortable chairs.
    “This has been a difficult year for you, Mr. Broom,” Principal Prunewallop stated, peering over the top of the file. She had pity in her voice, and Boom clenched his jaw. He wanted to kick people who pitied him. “Your rambunctious nature continues to interfere with your studies. And you, Mr. Wingingham, you should choose your friends more wisely.”
    It wasn’t Boom’s fault that Mr. Jorgenson, the retired chief of police, had lectured them for forty minutes. With his flabby chin and bulging eyes he had said, “Boys need discipline. That’s what I always say. In my day, boys didn’t run around in the street causing trouble. They had jobs from dawn until dusk. If they were bad seeds, then they were locked in cellars until they were eighteen, then shipped off to fight in wars. In my day, if a boy broke a window he went directly to jail.” When exactly was “my day”? The middle ages? Mr. Jorgenson was nuts too.
    Principal Prunewallop suddenly looked up from the file. “Did you hear that?” she asked. The only thing Boom had heard was Winger gagging on his mint. The principal turned to her office window, which overlooked the playground. She pressed her eye to a telescope that stood on a tripod. “Aha!” she exclaimed. “Just as I thought. I distinctly heard the sound of a bursting bubble.” She stood and opened the window. Big orange underwear glowed through her stretchy white pants. She had the biggest butt Boom had ever seen.
    With the principal’s attention diverted, Winger spat out the horrid pieces of listermint into his hand. They glistened with saliva. Boom tipped back in his chair while Winger looked around for a place to dispose of the pieces. Boom knew they had to figure out a way to get out of this situation. Tardiness meant only one thing, and he couldn’t miss lunch