There Must Be Something More

108 | Deserted

I walked through Clarkdale High's halls a little antsy. I didn't know why. I had a bad feeling today. I didn't understand. I did my devotions first thing in the morning, and I even stopped by the church to have a little talk with Pastor James.

So why?

Strangely, Clarkdale was a little deserted today. I mean, sure, Clarkdale was surrounded by a desert, but I didn't think that also applied on the inside of the schools here too.

That was a pun. Get it? No? Okay.

Anyway, I expected Meredith to come running down the hall and toss me a sticky note, but the lockers were empty except for Jared Lavinge sticking his chewed-up bubble gum on the outside of his locker. I grimaced.

I walked to my locker to grab my textbook for first period. All of a sudden, a strong hand grabbed my shoulder and wheeled me around.

The next thing I knew my face was close--too close, if I should say--to Coach Anderson's. He glared at me, his gray eyes gleaming. 

I gasped and stumbled back. "Coach! What brings you here so early in the morning?"

"What are you talking about, Borlock? This is my school. I can do whatever I want."

I raised an eyebrow at him. "Um, this is not your school. You're just the school's baseball team's coach. Principal Powell practically owns the place."

"I'd like to see him try," Coach Anderson sneered.

I stared at him. "What?"

"Anyway, Borlock, Principal Powell wants to see you in his office now."

"Now?"

"Yes. Now."

I shook my head in disbelief. This was all too weird. "Like, now now?"

Coach Anderson rolled his eyes and yanked my shirt sleeve. "Oh, get over here! Let's get to the principal's office!"

"But why?" I demanded, trying to break free. Unbelievably, his grip was firm. Weird. In most days, I was always a lot stronger than our coach. It wasn't because he was thin or anything. In fact, he was a little chubby. But he was also a lot shorter than I was, so I had the all the more advantage.

Why in the world is he a lot stronger than me now? I thought in amazement.

When we got to the office, Principal Powell's black executive high chair's back was to us. And for some reason, I knew he'd turn the chair around in a dramatic manner with his fingers laced together in front of him.

"Principal Powell? The hooligan you requested to see is here," Coach Anderson said.

I glared at him. "I'm no hooligan--"

To my surprise, the chair turned around in a dramatic manner and there sat Principal Powell with a sly smile and his fingers laced together in front of him as if expecting a meal. All he needed was a bib, a knife, and a fork.

"Hello, Charlie! What a nice surprise!" He said with a creepy grin. His dark eyes gleamed in unexpected excitement.

"What?" I scoffed. "You were the one who called me here."

"Oh, right," he said, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "Oh, very well, you caught me red-handed."

I narrowed my eyes at him in puzzlement. "What?"

"Did you tell him why I called him here, Bjorn?" Principal Powell turned to Coach Anderson.

"You didn't even tell me why you called him here, sir," Coach said.