Why? We didnât do anything,â we protested.
âTell that to the principal,â she responded. Like all vice principals, Mrs. Chambliss held a black walkie-talkie in her hand, and used the antenna to point out the direction in which we needed to go. âNow, move.â
Across the courtyard, Mr. Piddles, the social studies teacher who did double duty as lunchtime monitor, approached the ThreePees and started pointing toward the front office as well. A moment later, they were on the march.
Kiki and I made eye contact across the courtyard, both of us knowing we were headed to the exact same place: Principal Mazerâs office.
Well, bring it on, I thought. Bring it on.
The six of us didnât make a peep as we entered the principalâs office. Vice Principal Stone was in the room, wearing a striped tieâpurple and blackâthat did not quite match his light peach shirt. He glared from the left-hand corner, looking even more hostile and uptight than usual.
âDid I not tell you that I wanted this to stop? Didnât I?!â growled Principal Mazer.
âButâ¦â Brattany said in protest, âwe didnât do anything.â
âOh, yeah?â Principal Mazer barked. âThen how come Mr. Stone looks like he swallowed one of Santaâs elves?â
Mr. Stone flashed his teeth. They were green and red and frightening.
âEeek!â I yelped.
âPlus,â Principal Mazer continued, âthe poor manâs had diarrhea for the past seventy-two hours. Does anyone care to explain what kind of poop potion you put in those cookies?â He glared, practically with steam coming out of his ears. When Oompa Loompas get mad, watch out.
âThey did it!â Kiki shouted, pointing at us.
âHuh? What? We did not,â I replied. âYou did it!â
âNo, you did!â
âYou did!â
âAll right, ENOUGH!â Principal Mazer said. âYou wanted it, you got it. You are now the official PPWBs of Grover Park Middle School.â
There was a moment of confused silence.
âThe what?â I said.
âThe PPWBs,â Principal Mazer said. âThe Personal Polishing Worker Bees.â He rose from his chair. âYouâre going to polish basketballs. Youâre going to polish tubas. Youâre going to polish doorknobs and desks and toilet-flushing handles and gum-stained carpets.â
âUm, how do you polish a gum-stained carpet?â Brattany asked.
âOn your knees,â Mr. Stone said, with menace in his eyes. âOn your knees.â
I gulped. Boy, those teeth were scary. And they completely clashed with his tie, too.
âBut, honest to goodness, we didnât do anything,â Kiki said in her best Iâm a little angel voice. She even fluttered her eyelashes.
Barf, I thought.
âSave it, Miss Masters,â the principal said. âI like to think I am a man who keeps his cool and finds productive ways to reach his students, but you girls, wellâ¦Just maybe this will polish some dadgum sense into your heads.â
There was a knock at the door.
âSorry to bother you, sir, but I just need a quick signature to approve the Academic Septathlon flyer,â Principal Mazerâs secretary said.
âCome in, Mrs. Rumpkin, weâre just finishing up here anyway,â the principal told her.
âBut isnât there some way we can avoid the PPWB, or whatever you call it?â Kiki asked as the secretary passed a sheet of paper to Principal Mazer.
âYeah, polishing isnât good for my polish,â Brattany said, holding up her fingernails as if to present her manicure to the court as official evidence.
âSureâ¦â Principal Mazer replied absentmindedly as he signed the sheet of paper. âWin the Academic Septathlon and all is forgiven,â he said in an offhand way.
âFine, weâll do that,â Kiki said.
âNo, weâll do that,â I
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