My first reaction was that perhaps Fred was wrong, that Dr. George was headed this way for some other reason. Then I came to my senses and realized just what would happen if Dr. George noticed a giant line of kids outside a supposedly closed bathroom and then found me in there with a desk in a stall, my Books, and a cashbox containing a few hundred dollars: my business would be no more.
I heard what sounded like a billion footsteps as the kids in line ran for their lives. Then the door to the bathroom burst open, and I heard Joe yell, “Mac, Dr. George is coming. What should we do?”
I turned to tell Tyrell to take off, but he was no longer there. All that sat across from me in the small plastic chair was air and some dust particles. Even now, in a time of life-shattering chaos, I had to take half a second to admire the kid.
I stepped out of my office and into the bathroom. The three panicked faces of Joe, Fred, and Vince stared at me.
“Guys, we’ve been over this,” I said. “Initiate Operation Tuxedo Bacon.”
Operation Tuxedo Bacon was a procedure we’d put in place way back when we’d first adopted this bathroom as my office. It was designed for this exact situation: What would we do if someone from the Administration ever came down this way? If you can believe it, it had yet to happen. The Suits don’t often venture too far from their offices, especially not all the way down here to the East Wing. There was nothing down here but this old bathroom and a few classrooms that were shut down years ago due to asbestos and had never been used again since the removal.
Now it was time to see if Operation T.B. actually worked.
Joe dove inside my office and placed the three plastic chairs on top of the desk. Then he lifted the whole thing off the ground and carried it to the next stall over. He sat on the toilet with the small desk and chairs balanced on his lap and then shut the stall’s door. This part of the plan was key, as only Joe’s feet could be seen under the stall, thereby eliminating all traces of the desk and chairs. It never would have worked if Joe were a normal-sized kid, because most normal-sized kids would have buckled under the pressure of a desk and three chairs. Luckily for us he was practically the size of a small truck.
While Joe did this, Vince ran out to the hallway to intercept Dr. George and distract him with questions or stories of some sort. Vince could spin stuff off like nobody’s business, so I trusted he’d buy us enough time to get everything concealed.
Meanwhile Fred stood there looking like a Tasered criminal while I scrambled to get all my Books and locked cashbox stored in the trash can, where I normally stored them each night after school before we all went home. Fred had no duties because he hadn’t been around when we came up with Operation T.B.
I grabbed the DVRs out of the first stall and shoved them into his hands. They were almost too much for him to carry, but he held on. “Fred, just go!” I whispered.
He nodded and dashed out the door.
I finished stashing all of our Books and the cashbox and then got out my key to the bathroom. Ideally the plan was for me to make it out quickly enough to lock the bathroom door from the outside so any approaching Suits wouldn’t be able to get in right away. The janitor had provided us with a pretty authentic-looking “Out of Order for Health Code Reasons” sign that would explain why the bathroom was locked.
I could hear voices already, so I knew I didn’t have time for the health code sign, but I still thought I might be able to lock the door before Dr. George was in view. I hurried out of the bathroom and into the hallway with the key in my hand.
But it was too late.
Dr. George was just fifteen feet away and approaching fast. Vince was on his tail like a little puppy dog. He bounced excitedly and was clearly trying desperately to distract the vice principal.
“Hey, Dr. George, hey!” Vince chattered as he bounced along behind him. “Are you sure you don’t want to hear more about my pet turtle, Billiam? Because I swear he’s the greatest turtle ever, really! One time I made him a castle, and you should have seen the way he lorded over the peasant frogs I stuck inside of it with him. He was a natural, if I don’t say so myself!
“Oh, and this one time I also made him a little Hula-Hoop out of these magic rings I stole from a Canadian magician. I even took the turtle out of his shell so he could use the Hula-Hoop. Except, man, he really didn’t want to come out. I finally was able to get him out with a big rock, but holy Yeltsin, did it ever make an awful mess of his shell house. Anyways, I think the ring still had magic on it because when I put it around the turtle he stopped moving and went into a coma; it was pretty sad. I still have the little guy. He’s safe in his coma in my sock drawer, but one day I’m gonna find the counter spell to the Canadian’s magic. Do you think it’d take a spell from a Mexican magician? Well, do ya?”
I had to keep back a laugh, because sadly enough that was a true story. But Vince was only in kindergarten at the time, so we hadn’t known any better. I swear, too, once we found out that the turtle was dead and not in a coma, we both cried for like a week straight. We’d just wanted him to Hula-Hoop.
Dr. George was just a few feet away now, but Vince actually got him to stop and face him, buying me just enough time to pocket the bathroom key without being noticed.
“What is wrong with you?” Dr. George asked Vince in a way that I thought adults were never supposed to talk to children.
Vince just grinned at him.
“That is not an appropriate story to be telling, okay? Now get back to class before I give you detention!”
“But there’s still recess for another three minutes,” Vince said, keeping that dumb grin spread all over his face like butter on toast.
“Go!” Dr. George yelled.
Vince glanced at me, shrugged, and wandered off down the hall.
I made a move as if I was also just leaving, but Dr. George grabbed my shoulder with his crusty old hand. He grabbed it harder than any adult should ever grab a kid, and my knees almost buckled at the pain of his fingers digging into my arm.
“Get in there,” he said, motioning toward the bathroom with his other hand.
“But I just finished. Why would I—”
“Now, Mr. Barrett,” he hissed.
I let him guide me back inside the bathroom. He stopped in the middle and looked around as if he’d never been inside a bathroom before. I was afraid he was going to ask me for instructions or something.
“What’s going on in here?” he asked.
“Uh, probably some kids using the bathroom,” I said, rubbing my sore shoulder.
He raised his hand, and for a moment I thought he was going to slap me, so I flinched. Then he laughed and merely rubbed his stiff fake hair and sighed. He coughed and then jabbed his finger in my chest. Hard. His old bony pointer finger slammed into my sternum with enough force that I thought I heard my chest crack in half.
“You are a liar! I know you’re up to something,” he said, jabbing me with his finger once for every other word.
“I don’t know what to say, sir,” I said, trying to hold back the urge to poke him back right in his bulging eyeballs like in this old Three Stooges movie I saw once.
“Start by telling me what you were doing all the way down here. This bathroom is nowhere near your classrooms or the playgrounds.”
I shrugged and looked at my feet.
“Well?” he asked.
I started crying. Not for real. It was just a ruse, of course. Being able to cry on demand is a pretty powerful tool when dealing with adults. But my aching shoulder and chest certainly didn’t hurt my ability to cry right there on the spot.
“I’m too embarrassed to go in the other ones.” I sobbed. “I get . . . shy in bathrooms where a lot of people go, okay?”
I could feel Dr. George’s old, wrinkle-shaded eyes staring at the top of my head. He said nothing for the longest time. Finally I peeked up at him.
He was smiling. I’d never seen him smile before. On his face a smirk looked about as natural as a blind, three-legged giraffe on stilts and roller skates would look trying to play centerfield in a major league baseball game.
“You think I’m going to buy that?” he asked.
I shrugged.
“Well, I don’t, so cut the crap,” he said, once again jabbing his finger at me to emphasize his words, only this time it stopped just short of my face. This guy sure loved to use his finger to make points. I wondered if he’d even be able to communicate with other human beings without it.
I didn’t know what else to say, so I just looked him right in the eyes. It felt like I was looking into an emotional desert, a place where there is nothing but dry, hot, mean sand. He squinted and shoved past me.
He pushed back the swinging door to the trash can where all of my money and records were stashed and looked inside. He leaned down and moved his head from side to side, so he could see in at all angles. Then he reached down in and pulled out a mashed ball of paper towels.
Dr. George scowled and stuffed them back inside. He wiped his hand on his suit pants. I tried not to breathe my sigh of relief too loudly. I’d stashed some damp paper towels on top of my stuff for extra cover, but what if he’d reached into the trash can just a little bit deeper?
Then he moved to the first stall and pushed the door open. When he saw that it was empty, Dr. George moved to the second stall and then on to the third, the very stall in which Joe sat on a toilet with my small desk and chairs resting on his lap. He was probably dying from the weight and panic. The door didn’t budge when Dr. George pushed.
“Occupied,” Joe’s voice rang out.
“Who are you? I demand to know what’s going on!” Dr. George said.
“Uh, do you really want to know what’s going on in here?” Joe said.
“Stop this foolishness! I know trouble when I see it. Now what are you two up to?”
“Dude, there’s only one of me in here, and I’m telling you, you don’t want to know what’s happening in here,” Joe said. The desk must have been getting heavy because Joe’s last few words strained as if he was being choked. Under the circumstances it actually sounded authentically gross, if you know what I mean.
Dr. George must have heard it, too, because his scowl disappeared and he looked uncertain for the first time.
“I still want—” He was cut off by the recess bell.
“Sir, that’s the bell. It means I have to go back to class. Can I please go?” I begged while dancing impatiently.
“I know what that bell was.” Dr. George sneered as he glanced at his watch and then walked toward the bathroom door. “I have an important meeting right now, but I’m going to find out what sort of racket you’ve got going on in here, Mr. Barrett. You’d better believe that. How does one more day of detention sound in the meantime?”
“For what?”
“Okay, you want two?”
I kept my mouth shut, figuring that there was no response I could give that wouldn’t result in more detention.
With that he nodded and showed me his teeth in what I can only imagine was another attempt at a smile. Then he was gone. I waited a few moments to make sure he wasn’t coming back and then I quickly helped Joe put the desk back. Fred came back, and I hooked up the DVRs again and then locked the bathroom from the outside.
“What are we going to do, Mac?” Joe asked.
“I don’t know,” I said, “but you guys better get to class. We can’t all be in detention today. We still have a business to run.”