Chapter 4
Just One of the Reasons Principal Van Vreeland Has Always Hated Christmas

One magnificent trophy. Just one, and that’s all.” Principal Isabel Van Vreeland stood brooding at the window of her office, staring off past the parking lot into busy Friedman Street. “It’s my greatest dream in life, you know.”

“I know, ma’am.”

Assistant Principal Jasper Ferrars stood way over by the door, as far away from his boss as he could get while technically remaining in the room. He could have reminded her that, just last week, she had said that all she ever wanted was for Mary Todd Lincoln to achieve the highest standardized math scores in the county. He also could have mentioned that, two weeks ago, she swore that her greatest dream in life was to be the first woman to solo-kayak across the Bering Strait. But he decided, given her current state of mind, to hold his tongue.

“A golden, gleaming trophy. When I was six, I asked Santa for one, but he brought me a box of plastic pencil sharpeners instead.”

“Really?”

“Just one of the reasons I’ve always hated Christmas.”

Principal Van Vreeland sighed and settled into her big black office chair to eat her lunch of pork chops and applesauce. Jasper lingered, shifting nervously from foot to foot on the plush carpet, until—abruptly and a little too loudly—he said, “Ma’am, I have to tell you something.”

“Yes?” She looked up sharply, smoothing the scarlet bib tucked into her blazer. “What is it?”

“Uh . . .” Jasper flashed a sickly smile. “Never mind, ma’am. It’s nothing.”

It was not, in fact, nothing. Jasper had a secret to tell the principal, a secret sure to bring the full weight of her anger down upon his head. Once in the safety of the outer office, Jasper loosened his tie and gasped for air. When was he going to tell Principal Van Vreeland the truth? When . . . and how? Maybe he could just write her a note. And then move to Borneo and live in the jungle, with the parrots. Jasper had always loved parrots.

“Excuse me? Mr. Assistant Principal?”

Standing politely beside Mrs. Gingertee’s desk, wearing a determined and eager expression, was a plucky eighth grader in round glasses and butterfly barrettes.

“Good news, Mr. Ferrars,” Bethesda Fielding announced confidently. “I am going to find that trophy!”

For the first time that day—for the first time in what felt like years—Jasper smiled.

“Well, then. How can I help?”