Okay, this is a scene that I love - it actually mainly revolves around a minor character, Principal Erhart, who I have quite a soft spot for. Anyways, this is probably one of my favorite scenes in the novel; I especially love the beginning and the end of it, but the middle could definitely use a lot of work. It's only 12+ rating because the word "damn" appears once and I try to be careful about my ratings so no one calls me out on a rating that's not high enough. Comments welcome!
Principal Erhart sat down to finally e-mail Mrs. Erhart about what had been a long and exhausting morning. No one said that being the principal of West Gearing High School would be easy, but this was just ridiculous. Nine kids hauled down to the office by enraged teachers in the course of just three hours! Two more carted away by police for drugs! And the darned school only had nine hundred kids in it! Days like this made Erhart question his calling as an educator.
Erhart had just reached the end of his e-mail when his office door opened. He immediately began shuffling papers around in an attempt to look busy. Then he looked up to see who it was: Mrs. Larson the head secretary. That was alright, then.
“Tell Mary I say hello,” she said shrewdly. She was the one person never deceived by the paper-shuffling act. Erhart gave up all pretense of work.
“There’s a boy here to see you,” Mrs. Larson said.
The principal leaned back in his chair.
“Grant again, is it?” he asked wearily. “Just tell him I’ll give him another week’s worth of detentions if he so much as mentions parrots again…”
“It isn’t Grant,” said Mrs. Larson irritably, “though I’ll gladly find him for you and give him detention anyways. No, it’s some boy I’ve never seen before. Says he’s transferring here.”
“Ah, yes.”
Erhart had received an e-mail about that just this morning. The kid’s transcript had been an attachment, and the e-mail itself had been brief – a note saying that any other necessary paperwork would arrive with the student, whose name had not been mentioned in the e-mail. All very unusual, but Erhart had encountered far stranger things in his forty years as a teacher.
“I don’t like the looks of him,” Mrs. Larson sniffed. “He’ll give you trouble, I don’t doubt.”
“Yes, thank you, Louisa,” Erhart said, cutting her off before she could enumerate the various misdeeds this boy was sure to commit. “Send him in.”
Mrs. Larson left in a huff and a moment later another figure slipped in.
“Boy” hardly seemed to do this shadowy individual justice. He was tall and thin, with olive skin and a black ponytail and flashing grey-green eyes, and he was dressed all in black. Even before he spoke, there was an air of self-assurance and coolness about him that left Erhart feeling awkward by comparison. The principal shuffled some papers around to hide his discomfort.
“Mrs. Larson tells me you are the boy who is transferring here,” he said in his best I sincerely hope you like our beautiful school voice.
“That is correct,” the other said, sitting. He handed a file to the principal, who blessed him silently: Erhart didn’t think he could keep his paper-shuffling convincing if he had to keep it up much longer with the nondescript papers scattered about his desk. He took refuge in the file, flipping through the documents in it for a name. There. That one looked likely. He squinted.
“Pleased to meet you, Mister…”
“Peace.”
Erhart looked up in bewilderment.
“That’s not what it says on the—”
“I know. But I prefer to be called Peace.”
Erhart blinked. Then he took a breath, donned a frown, and said in his Look here, young man, I am the principal of this school voice, “That is all very fine and well, and if you wish your friends may call you that, but the educators of this fine establishment—”
He stopped abruptly. Peace was staring at something behind him and looking amused. Annoyed that the boy wasn’t hanging on his every word, Erhart looked over his shoulder. Reflected brightly in the office window was his e-mail – the one telling his wife that he loved her and hoped she’d have a better day than he had so far – and though the reflection was backwards, it was clear the darned kid had read it, especially as he caught Erhart’s eye and raised an eyebrow. Erhart hastily minimized the e-mail.
“My, erm – that is to say my—” For a moment he considered saying that it was an e-mail from someone important – the superintendant, the President of the United States, Clark Kent, anyone – but if this “Peace” had indeed already read the e-mail, that would make Erhart still more ridiculous. He drew himself up with dignity and started over.
“My wife – she – has a heart condition,” he lied. “I worry about her.”
A corner of Peace’s mouth twitched, but he only said, “I see.”
Erhart blushed. He returned to flipping through Peace’s file, feeling flustered. He cleared his throat and stood up.
“Well, this seems to be in order,” he said. “There are some papers for your parents to sign, but we can worry about that later. I suppose you’d like a tour?”
“Please,” said Peace, rising.
“Follow me,” Erhart said importantly. They strode through the office, past a disapproving Mrs. Larson, and out into the hall thronged with teenagers. The lunch period was half over and they were milling about everywhere, gossiping with friends, scrambling to finish homework due next class, kicking vending machines that had eaten their money. Erhart waded through them with difficulty, calling out commands:
“Reichle, pull your pants up! Get off that cell phone, Miss Harris, before I am forced to take it from you. Mr. Jessing, if you kick that vending machine again I’ll have all the vending machines taken out!”
All his orders were obeyed with a surly “yes, sir,” but Peace, following the principal with no problem at all due to the large berth given him by the other high schoolers, saw them return to their misdemeanors as soon as Erhart’s back was turned. Peace smirked.
They were not quite at the end of the hall when Erhart stopped outside an apparently empty classroom. Peace raised an eyebrow in question, but Erhart shook his head violently, put a finger to his lips, and opened the door a crack. From inside the room came a curious gravelly mumble, followed by a voice.
“Shut up, Calaysia!” the voice said anxiously. “Shut up, you’ll get us in trouble—”
All of a sudden, the gravelly voice burst into song.
“ON TOP OF SPA-GHET-TI! ALL COVERED IN CHEEEEESE!”
Erhart flung the door open and said, “Grant! How are you?”
A boy with a mop of blonde hair and black-rimmed glasses stood in the center of the room, sporting over-large clothes and a definite air of having been caught inflagrante delecto. He looked terrified and altogether too young to be in high school. He gulped and said, “I’m fine, sir, thank you, sir.”
Erhart frowned and pointed to a cage at the far end of the room. In it was a pile of long, silky, white fur the size of a black lab. Two black eyes glittered intelligently out of it.
“What is that?” Erhart asked.
“A fainting goat,” the boy said nervously. “We had to do informational speeches today, and mine was about fainting goats.”
“Ah, yes. Mr. Daly said you’d be bringing in one of your father’s little pets today.”
“Bequiem’s not Dad’s, he’s mine.” The boy sounded almost proud as he said it, but a look at Erhart sent him back into a state of nerves.
Principal Erhart glanced around the room casually, but Peace could tell he was looking for something. Evidently he thought he’d found it, because he strode to a cabinet with a look of triumph on his face and flung it open.
Something scarlet zoomed out of the cabinet, nearly colliding with Erhart as it did so, and perched on the fainting goat’s cage. It cocked its head and peered inquisitively at Peace, who started back just as curiously. It was, unmistakably—
“Parrots!” roared Erhart. “Parrots again! That’s another week of detention, Grant, and I want to see you after school! Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, sir,” the boy said miserably. Peace saw him putting the bird in a gilded cage on the teacher’s desk as Erhart led him back to the hallway.
“Sebastian Grant,” the principal said, in answer to Peace’s raised eyebrow. “Ten or eleven years old, I forget which – anyways, he’s a bloody little genius – one of a pair, his cousin Lily’s here too – he’s a good student, a hard worker, but these confounded parrots—”
“What’s he want with them?” Peace asked.
“Well,” said Erhart, walking faster, “he’s got this theory – that’s the cafeteria, by the way, right there – that since parrots are smart enough to learn to talk, they’re also smart enough to learn other things, too. Thinks they should be allowed to come to class. And – there’s the gym, on your left – he asked me, when he first came here, if we could maybe do a trial run: Have him bring a parrot to his classes with him and test it to chart its learning. I said no, of course—”
“Of course,” said Peace, glancing disinterestedly at the library as Erhart pointed at it. “But he brought one anyway, I see.”
“Oh, not just one, oh no!” puffed Erhart as he tugged at a heavy black door. “Oof, there we go – the auditorium’s in here, but I don’t think you need to see—”
“Not just one?” Peace prompted. He could care less about the attributes of the school.
Erhart let the door go with some relief.
“Thank heavens it’s easy to close,” he said. “Yes, not just one – sometimes he’ll go a few weeks without so much as mentioning parrots, and then I’ll find out he’s brought in two or three. Once he somehow got hundreds of them in here! Complete mess – people running around screaming – the office phones were ringing off the hook – bird droppings everywhere! He actually got a suspension for that.” Erhart looked guilty. “I felt back about that, but what could I do?”
“What, indeed,” Peace said. They passed the dressing rooms, a computer lab, and several more classrooms and stopped at the end of a hallway. Music issued from a few of the doors here.
“Band room there, choir room behind us,” Erhart said, sounding distracted. “Sebastian Grant – he’s a nice kid, and I know he gets bullied – can’t ever catch anyone at it, though – and he’d be a favorite student of mine if it wasn’t for all the blasted parrots. But then, he is a Grant. Huge family, the Grants – half the town must be related to them some way or another. Filthy rich, and they’re all highly intelligent and the friendliest people you’d ever hope to meet, but they’re all a little off.”
“Off how?”
“Off – well, I’m putting it nicely. They’re bat-nuts crazy, every one of them. They all live together in a big house on the edge of town and – but I’m rambling.” The principal sounded almost apologetic, but not quite. “Is there anything else you wanted to see?”
“I think not,” said Peace, "but just give me a minute."
He stepped closer to the door of the choir room and listened. A surprisingly young voice issued faintly through the door. He pulled it open in an odd thoughtful way that made Erhart cry, “What are you doing?”
“There’s someone singing in there.”
“Well of course there is – it’s the choir room!” Erhart started to say, but Peace had already slipped into the room.
Sebastian Grant was there playing piano, apparently come in through a door at the opposite side of the room; his forehead was barely visible over the top of his music, wrinkled in concentration. A girl with long red-gold hair, glasses, and a lot of freckles stood beside the piano, singing with her hands clasped in front of her. She looked even younger than Sebastian. Her voice was nice – young, but clear and sweet.
“Lily Grant,” Erhart muttered from behind Peace. The teenager looked around at him. He looked irritable. “She’s only eight. Sebastian’s ten. Ten or eleven. Ten, I think.”
The song ended and Lily gave a little curtsy. She was an adorable little imp, to be sure, Erhart thought, reminded him of his youngest granddaughter, but he wanted to get back to his lunch.
“Lily and Sebastian Grant,” he said to Peace ungraciously. Lily bobbed a curtsy again, but Sebastian said nothing. Peace saw his forehead turn red over the top of his music. “Lily, Sebastian, this is Mister – ah – Peace.”
Peace inclined his head.
“Are you coming to school with us?” Lily piped up.
Peace almost smiled at that, but he caught himself. She was just so damned cute. And clearly not shy like Sebastian was.
“Yep, I’m coming to school with you.”
“He starts tomorrow,” Erhart said. By now he was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet with impatience, possibly because the lunch hour was nearly over and he still hadn’t sent his e-mail or eaten. “Speaking of which, we need to get back to the office – there are some papers you need to have signed by your parents so you can officially start tomorrow.”
“I see,” said Peace. A corner of his mouth twitched. “Very well, then.”
“Bye!” Lily called as they trailed from the room.
Erhart felt thoroughly irritated as he led Peace back through the halls at a pace that could’ve won the Kentucky Derby. His lunch was ruined, Sebastian Grant had another week’s worth of detentions, and now this weird impudent boy “Peace” looked ready to make friends with the Grants, as if he didn’t seem like enough trouble by himself! Finally they reached the office.
“Give this boy his papers!” Erhart snapped to Mrs. Larson. He stormed into his office without so much as a “see you tomorrow” to Peace and shut the door. His computer had logged him off due to disuse, and he had to log back in before he could finish checking his e-mail. The roast beef and mashed potatoes his wife had given him for lunch had grown cold and there wasn’t enough time to run to the teacher’s lounge and reheat it. His stomach growled. Then the phone rang, and he brightened. His wife?
Erhart hit the speakerphone button hopefully.
“Principal Erhart speaking.”
“Bob!” a breathless voice shouted. Not his wife.
“What is it, Miss Williams?” Erhart asked glumly.
“Rowley and Jugs, sir! The math hall is blocked off with kids – they’re fighting again!”
Erhart put his head in his hands and moaned.
It was just one of those days.
