"Mom's still real sick," Alan said, sticking to his traditional story.
"Your father, then," the office lady said. He'd had variations on this
conversation with every office lady at the school, and he knew he'd win
it in the end. Meantime, what did they want?
"My dad's, you know, gone," he said. "Since I was a little kid." That
line always got the office ladies, "since I was a little kid," made them
want to write it down for their family Christmas newsletters.
The office lady smiled a powdery smile and put her hand on his
shoulder. "All right, Alan, come with me."
Davey was sitting on the dusty sofa in the vice principal's office. He
punched the sofa cushion rhythmically. "Alan," he said when the office
lady led him in.
"Hi, Dave," Alan said. "What's going on?"
"They're stupid here. I hate them." He gave the sofa a particularly
vicious punch.
"I'll get Mr Davenport," the office lady said, and closed the door
behind her.
"What did you do?" Alan asked.
"She wouldn't let me play!" David said, glaring at him.
"Who wouldn't?"
"A girl! She had the blocks and I wanted to play with them and she
wouldn't let me!"
"What did you hit her with?" Alan asked, dreading the answer.
"A block," David said, suddenly and murderously cheerful. "I hit her in
the eye!"
Alan groaned. The door opened and the vice principal, Mr.
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