small bust of Shakespeare she did for me when I got my master's degree." Most of that was a lie, but I thought it sounded good. To my personal knowledge, Rendi has never done a painting, but I suppose she had to do them in college some, and, of course, there is Richard, the missing father figure. Maybe that's what made me say painting. That idea about W. Shakespeare came to me because Rendi had made a piece like that for one of her friends in Denver, who did get a master's degree.
"How lovely," said Ms. Simpson, "and now you're working on a dissertation for a doctorate, and you so young."
I faked a small laugh. "Oh, you're flattering me now. I'm not so young, although I will say I still get carded sometimes when I go into a nightclub. It's an irritation now, but my mother tells me that these days of looking so young go quickly."
Pretty good one, huh? I'd heard a friend of Rendi's make that very same speech once. I was starting to be really glad that I am what our school counselor calls an "auditory learner," which basically means that I remember what I hear. I thought when she told me about the auditory stuff that I would rather have a photographic memory, but maybe being able to repeat what I've heard is very useful for me, now that I had so suddenly become a school administrator.
Mrs. Simpson laughed. "Your mother is right. She certainly is. Well, I'll leave you alone to settle in. I'm sure you won't have peace for very long. The teachers have been saving some discipline problems for you to handle." She walked out of the office, then stepped back inside and said, "Don't you be nervous, dear. You have old Nancy Simpson to help you." Then she went out and closed the door behind her.
My knees had got all weak, and I sank into this big comfortable chair behind the desk. I put my face in my hands. What had I done? This was crazy! I couldn't keep this masquerade up for long. When had Ms. Simpson said they expected the real substitute principal? Wednesday! Yes, that was it. Two days. Could I last that long? Probably not, but maybe I could last until lunchtime. Being the principal would be better than sitting through two or three boring classes, wouldn't it?
I relaxed a little. Then another thought came to me. What would they do to me when they discovered I was an imposter? Would Sheriff Clyde Walters come and take me away in handcuffs? They wouldn't execute me. How bad could prison be? No worse than being in the eighth grade at a new school. I was pretty sure of that.
The phone rang, and I froze. Should I answer it? I would have to, wouldn't I? My hand was shaking when I reached out for it, but suddenly it stopped ringing. There was a knock on the door, and Ms. Simpson opened it just enough to stick in her head. "Should I show you about the phone?" she asked.
I wanted to make some excuse for not answering the ring she had obviously heard, but I couldn't think of any. "Yes," I said. "That would be nice."
She came around to my side of the desk, reached for the phone, and pushed a button. "I'm sorry I didn't do that earlier. When that button is pushed, you don't hear the phone unless I have answered and am putting the caller through to you. When I do put through a call, you will hear a ring and this button will light up." She pointed to the second button. "You also have a direct line to Superintendent Morris. When the phone rings and the second button lights up red, it's the Soup's office calling. The third button will light up green when the call is from anyone in Mr. Lawson's office over at the high school. Mrs. Newton is the principal at the elementary school, and her button is the fourth one. It flashes orange. It's simple. When you want to call those places, you just push their button."
She reached for a pad and pencil lying on the desk. "Here let me write it down for you." She repeated as she wrote, "Button one, white, Nancy. Button two, red, the superintendent, Mr. Morris is his name. I call him the Soup, but not to
"How lovely," said Ms. Simpson, "and now you're working on a dissertation for a doctorate, and you so young."
I faked a small laugh. "Oh, you're flattering me now. I'm not so young, although I will say I still get carded sometimes when I go into a nightclub. It's an irritation now, but my mother tells me that these days of looking so young go quickly."
Pretty good one, huh? I'd heard a friend of Rendi's make that very same speech once. I was starting to be really glad that I am what our school counselor calls an "auditory learner," which basically means that I remember what I hear. I thought when she told me about the auditory stuff that I would rather have a photographic memory, but maybe being able to repeat what I've heard is very useful for me, now that I had so suddenly become a school administrator.
Mrs. Simpson laughed. "Your mother is right. She certainly is. Well, I'll leave you alone to settle in. I'm sure you won't have peace for very long. The teachers have been saving some discipline problems for you to handle." She walked out of the office, then stepped back inside and said, "Don't you be nervous, dear. You have old Nancy Simpson to help you." Then she went out and closed the door behind her.
My knees had got all weak, and I sank into this big comfortable chair behind the desk. I put my face in my hands. What had I done? This was crazy! I couldn't keep this masquerade up for long. When had Ms. Simpson said they expected the real substitute principal? Wednesday! Yes, that was it. Two days. Could I last that long? Probably not, but maybe I could last until lunchtime. Being the principal would be better than sitting through two or three boring classes, wouldn't it?
I relaxed a little. Then another thought came to me. What would they do to me when they discovered I was an imposter? Would Sheriff Clyde Walters come and take me away in handcuffs? They wouldn't execute me. How bad could prison be? No worse than being in the eighth grade at a new school. I was pretty sure of that.
The phone rang, and I froze. Should I answer it? I would have to, wouldn't I? My hand was shaking when I reached out for it, but suddenly it stopped ringing. There was a knock on the door, and Ms. Simpson opened it just enough to stick in her head. "Should I show you about the phone?" she asked.
I wanted to make some excuse for not answering the ring she had obviously heard, but I couldn't think of any. "Yes," I said. "That would be nice."
She came around to my side of the desk, reached for the phone, and pushed a button. "I'm sorry I didn't do that earlier. When that button is pushed, you don't hear the phone unless I have answered and am putting the caller through to you. When I do put through a call, you will hear a ring and this button will light up." She pointed to the second button. "You also have a direct line to Superintendent Morris. When the phone rings and the second button lights up red, it's the Soup's office calling. The third button will light up green when the call is from anyone in Mr. Lawson's office over at the high school. Mrs. Newton is the principal at the elementary school, and her button is the fourth one. It flashes orange. It's simple. When you want to call those places, you just push their button."
She reached for a pad and pencil lying on the desk. "Here let me write it down for you." She repeated as she wrote, "Button one, white, Nancy. Button two, red, the superintendent, Mr. Morris is his name. I call him the Soup, but not to
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