Rather than protest when her English teacher angrily pounded the big red mushroom-shaped button on her desk, Abby simply gathered her things. She’d been to the Principal’s office before. The janitor would walk her down the hall and—-
Her classmates gasped. Abby turned. Standing in the doorway was Smackie, the former Sumo wrestler who normally handled only tough cases. He was six-nine and four hundred pounds of melancholy. His baton looked tiny in his huge hands, but it was deeply stained with the blood of recalcitrant students.
She pictured the headline: TEEN REGRETS INSULTING TEACHER.
As she walked down the hall, Abby heard the handcuffs that hung from Smackie’s belt jingling like they were trying to escape. She felt lucky he hadn’t cuffed her, but the contraband in her pocket seemed so bulky and obvious that even the dim-witted guard would notice it sooner or later. Her only hope: distract him.
“Sorry to interrupt your lunch,” she said, though it was mid-afternoon.
Smackie never engaged in small talk with students. He said nothing.
“How many rabbits you eat today?”
He poked the baton into small of her back, just below where her long black hair fell.
“None, huh? You stick with sushi or what?”
Abby gulped. Some kids ended up in the clinic after a round of discipline. One boy died after a week in the hospital.
Smackie opened the Principal's private door, seized Abby by the neck, and shoved her into a chair--exactly what she wanted.