My Match with Mr. Macho

Fan-freaking-tastic

"Brixton Waters, please come to the office, Brixton Waters." The old intercom squeals.

Great, it's the third time this week...and today is...Monday. I sigh as I get up from my seat.

My maroon chair grinds against the tan tile as I scoot it back under my desk. I grab my books and start walking out of Health when Mr. Johnson stops me.

"Brixton, would you like a copy of the assignment?" He asks as nicely as possible.

"Nope, I'm good." I reply as I continue to make my way towards the door.

"I won't being making extras, and I will not accept late work." He says more sternly.

"I'm counting on it." I say as I swing the mahogany door open and trudge to the office.

I shove my books in my locker on my way.

I look to my left down the wide hallway of Westmont.

The maroon lockers stretch down the raised walls for what seemed like centuries.

I turn and begin my journey through the entire school, to go to the freaking office, for the third time today.

Why you ask? A) this is a private school, (money only), which means I'm expected to wear a uniform, like that's going to happen. B) I don't want to be here, at all. C) I'm a new student so apparently I need to be baby sat and coddled every step of the day, And D, takes too much explaining than anyone has time for.

"Brixton Waters, please come to the office, Brixton Waters office, Now!" Say the grouchy secretary.

You know that slug off of Monster Inc? Her mother is Westmont's secretary!!!

I finally reach the office, after walking approximately five miles and waltz into the principles office.

"What can I do for you now?" I smile sweetly. I hate this guy.

"I see that your in a better mood than last time we met." He turns around in his big swivel chair and grins like a baboon on crystal meth.

"Which was exactly 37 minutes and 28 seconds ago... Like I said, what's the problem?" I ask

"We are quite sorry to inform you that you will no longer take you first three extra classes of the day." He says, giving me a timid look like I'm supposed to start bawling or throw a stapler at his head or something.

"Great," I say standing up, "can I ask why?" I question.

"You've heard of Steve Haws right?" He asks. No Mr. Ape, I live under a friggen rock, who doesn't know Steve Haws. He's only the world richest man, who also happens to own Westmont academy.

"Duh" I deadpan.

"And you're aware that his son Tyler Haws attends Westmont?" He asks again. And again I want to laugh in his face, that's kind of a given isn't it?

"No kidding, Tyler Haws goes to the school his dad owns, figures." I say sarcasticly.

"Well anyways, Tyler is failing, badly. And he needs a tutor." He says, with an apologetic smile on his face. "And I thought we could help each other. Get rid of three non-required classes, and you tutor Tyler. Deal?" He asks with that face that adults wear when you both know it's not really a question, more like a comment or command.

"Yeah whatever." I groan as I walk out of the office.

Fan-freaking-tastic.