others that I can’t help noticing. All it says is: “CHECK STANLEY HOFF’S LOCKER.”
In cut-out letters from some magazine.
Somebody turned me in. Zach, maybe? But why? I’m taking his vitamins. I brought in the athame—isn’t that what he wanted? Or is the meat? That I’m not eating ethically, like he talked about? But if that’s it, couldn’t he have just talked to me at church?
Next to the pile of papers are my boxes of Slim Jims and beef jerky.
Exhibit A and Exhibit B.
But there’s no Exhibit C. No wooden sword. Where is my athame?
Behind the desk are some diplomas in gothic script and a flute. It’s silver and shiny, and he has it affixed to the wall.
Mr. Piper smiles at us every day out in the halls. But he isn’t smiling now.
“Take a seat.”
I sit down.
He stands up, walks over to the door and shuts it. This isn’t a good sign. Principals almost always have their doors open.
“You’re one very hungry guy, aren’t you, Stanley?”
I nod. “I’ve been having weird cravings.”
Mr. Piper seems to find this quite amusing. He chortles a little. “You’re thin as a rail, Stanley. You expect me to believe these are all for you? You know you aren’t allowed to sell food in school, unless it’s a fundraiser. Or keep food overnight in your locker. Can you explain this?”
“How come you searched my locker?”
“We received a note. Anonymously. Tell me, Stanley, what’s all this about?”
I shake my head. “I’ve been very hungry.”
“We’ll just have to get something for you, then, won’t we, Stanley? Can’t have you starving here in my office.”
Just as he says this, the smell hits me. Food, rapidly approaching. It smells like the cafeteria, but stronger.
There’s a knock on the door.
“Come in,” Mr. Piper says, loud and firm. The door opens.
Ms. Jensen walks in carrying a cafeteria tray. It’s all I can do to keep from growling and jumping at the plate.
“Here’s the steak you ordered, Mr. Piper. I’m sorry it’s so rare.”
“That’ll be fine, won’t it, Stanley?”
I nod, my fists unclenching, reaching out for the tray, but Mr. Piper is faster. Out of his chair before I can react, he grabs the tray and lets Ms. Jensen out, thanking her.
“Still hungry, Stanley?” he asks me, holding the tray.
I nod, stand up to take it from him, but he keeps it out of reach, puts it down behind him on his desk. The smell is so strong I can taste it. I try to stand up but he pushes me down with one hand. He’s surprisingly strong.
“Just a moment, Stanley. You’re going to have to earn your meal.”
“What do you want?”
There’s something about Mr. Piper that isn’t quite right. Like if I look at him sideways, he kind of glows a little. Like the flute. What’s going on here? I just want to eat.
Another cramp doubles me over.
“It hurts, doesn’t it? I understand better than most people what you must be going through. I know you aren’t dealing in meat snacks. The whole thing is ridiculous.”
I look up, hopeful.
“But the teachers are crying for blood, you know that? They’re finding wrappers all over their classrooms. Now I realize it’s not just you. A lot of children seem to be having meat cravings these days. But not everybody has two whole boxes of meat snacks in their lockers. You see how we’re in kind of a sticky situation?”
God, the meat looks good on that tray.
“What do you want?”
If his hand wasn’t still pressed against my chest, I would jump past him and dive at the tray. I’ll tell him anything he wants if he’ll just let me eat.
“I’d like to vouch for your character to the teachers, but I don’t know you well enough. I’d like to give you a free meal right now, too, but these two things, you have to earn them, you see? And you’re going to have to owe me a favor, too. And I take favors very seriously.”
“Tell me what you want,” I say. “Please.”
“What I want is a reason not to call your mother.
In cut-out letters from some magazine.
Somebody turned me in. Zach, maybe? But why? I’m taking his vitamins. I brought in the athame—isn’t that what he wanted? Or is the meat? That I’m not eating ethically, like he talked about? But if that’s it, couldn’t he have just talked to me at church?
Next to the pile of papers are my boxes of Slim Jims and beef jerky.
Exhibit A and Exhibit B.
But there’s no Exhibit C. No wooden sword. Where is my athame?
Behind the desk are some diplomas in gothic script and a flute. It’s silver and shiny, and he has it affixed to the wall.
Mr. Piper smiles at us every day out in the halls. But he isn’t smiling now.
“Take a seat.”
I sit down.
He stands up, walks over to the door and shuts it. This isn’t a good sign. Principals almost always have their doors open.
“You’re one very hungry guy, aren’t you, Stanley?”
I nod. “I’ve been having weird cravings.”
Mr. Piper seems to find this quite amusing. He chortles a little. “You’re thin as a rail, Stanley. You expect me to believe these are all for you? You know you aren’t allowed to sell food in school, unless it’s a fundraiser. Or keep food overnight in your locker. Can you explain this?”
“How come you searched my locker?”
“We received a note. Anonymously. Tell me, Stanley, what’s all this about?”
I shake my head. “I’ve been very hungry.”
“We’ll just have to get something for you, then, won’t we, Stanley? Can’t have you starving here in my office.”
Just as he says this, the smell hits me. Food, rapidly approaching. It smells like the cafeteria, but stronger.
There’s a knock on the door.
“Come in,” Mr. Piper says, loud and firm. The door opens.
Ms. Jensen walks in carrying a cafeteria tray. It’s all I can do to keep from growling and jumping at the plate.
“Here’s the steak you ordered, Mr. Piper. I’m sorry it’s so rare.”
“That’ll be fine, won’t it, Stanley?”
I nod, my fists unclenching, reaching out for the tray, but Mr. Piper is faster. Out of his chair before I can react, he grabs the tray and lets Ms. Jensen out, thanking her.
“Still hungry, Stanley?” he asks me, holding the tray.
I nod, stand up to take it from him, but he keeps it out of reach, puts it down behind him on his desk. The smell is so strong I can taste it. I try to stand up but he pushes me down with one hand. He’s surprisingly strong.
“Just a moment, Stanley. You’re going to have to earn your meal.”
“What do you want?”
There’s something about Mr. Piper that isn’t quite right. Like if I look at him sideways, he kind of glows a little. Like the flute. What’s going on here? I just want to eat.
Another cramp doubles me over.
“It hurts, doesn’t it? I understand better than most people what you must be going through. I know you aren’t dealing in meat snacks. The whole thing is ridiculous.”
I look up, hopeful.
“But the teachers are crying for blood, you know that? They’re finding wrappers all over their classrooms. Now I realize it’s not just you. A lot of children seem to be having meat cravings these days. But not everybody has two whole boxes of meat snacks in their lockers. You see how we’re in kind of a sticky situation?”
God, the meat looks good on that tray.
“What do you want?”
If his hand wasn’t still pressed against my chest, I would jump past him and dive at the tray. I’ll tell him anything he wants if he’ll just let me eat.
“I’d like to vouch for your character to the teachers, but I don’t know you well enough. I’d like to give you a free meal right now, too, but these two things, you have to earn them, you see? And you’re going to have to owe me a favor, too. And I take favors very seriously.”
“Tell me what you want,” I say. “Please.”
“What I want is a reason not to call your mother.
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