ON TUESDAY, it’s actually kind of nice to be back at school. Mrs. Green is in a good mood, Kyle Keefner’s absent, and there are no surprise drills.
During lunch, Doc, Joon, and I meet with Principal Coffin to get permission for a comic art club.
“I could teach ’em the writing, storyboarding, penciling, inking, lettering, coloring—that is, if they want,” Doc says, sliding our Sketchpad of Mystery across the desk so Principal Coffin can see it.
She puts on thick reading glasses and makes a big show of examining the drawings. The big old wall clock behind her ticks loudly. It makes me think of the clock at Horton Plaza.
“You and young Stanley here? You created this John Lockdown character?” She peers up at us, over her glasses. “From my secret safety code phrase? You’ve lifted, and revealed, the secret Peavey code phrase?” She frowns. “I thought I made it clear that the phrase was to remain a school secret.”
I feel my cheeks start to burn. Doc fidgets with his pencil. Would she fire him for something like that?
“It’s my fault,” I hear myself blurting out. “I was just writing down thoughts on the pad, you know, and I was wishing for—I don’t know. Something good to come out of all the stupid horrible, scary drill stuff. A superhero that could . . . protect me.”
It sounds so stupid when I say it out loud. Joon looks kind of shocked. And did I just call our principal’s safety program “stupid, horrible, scary drill stuff”?
There’s a long silence. Principal Coffin frowns even harder and says: “What do you mean, exactly, by ‘stupid, horrible, scary drill stuff?’” She makes a point of crossing her arms. Her forehead’s full of puckered, wrinkled lines.
Oh, boy.
“I didn’t mean to be rude. I mean, the drills are good. It’s good to be safe. I get it. But sometimes . . .”
“Sometimes what?” She leans forward.
“Sometimes they totally go overboard with too much drama. Like, totally over the top. It’s awful! Ma’am.”
She gasps. Joon gasps. Doc takes a small step back toward the door.
“I mean—I know they’re necessary. But always being reminded about all these terrible things that could happen any minute at school? I just can’t handle that level of impending doom.”
I shrug, and look down at the floor. I hold my eyes wide so no one notices there are tears forming in them.
I’m a wimp. Just like Cal says. And now I’ve gone and insulted the principal. It just all came rushing out of nowhere! She’ll hate me now. With three years of middle school left to go.
Principal Coffin gets up from her chair. She comes out from behind her desk and stands over me, frowning harder than ever, hands on her wide hips.
And then she bends down and puts her hands on my shoulders.
“Thank you, Stanley,” she says. Her eyes are giant and misty behind her reading glasses. “Here I thought I was just spicing things up, to make it fun for the kids! Telling me how you really feel about it? That was brave, Stanley. And I appreciate it.”
I just know Joon is smirking like crazy, standing behind me.
“So what do you think about the comics club idea?” Doc says softly.
Principal Coffin smiles—and nods.