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*This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, living or
dead, is purely coincidental.*
Cookie sat slouched in the familiar worn gray chair that stood directly in front
of the principal's desk. The once smooth fabric was now beat up and fraying,
mainly around the end of the chair's armrests due to nervous or bored kids
digging their nails into the fabric. Cookie was proud to say that she had done
nearly half of the damage on many of her previous visits. She sat there now
twisting a loose thread between her fingers when she heard heavy footsteps out
in the hallway. The doorknob squeaked as it was turned, and the door whooshed as
it was swiftly opened and closed.
Principal Raymund J. Petesby, as the gold-plated sign on his mahogany wood desk
so clearly stated, stepped boldly into the room. Petesby wasn't a small man, but
he definitely wasn't tall (more than half the students in seventh grade and
above were taller than him). He was in his late forties and was graying slightly
at the temples, even though he used a variety of hair dyes in the fruitless
attempt to cover it up. His gray (Cookie was positive that this must be his favourite colour) suit was neatly pressed and his tie, a dull black one, hung
neatly against his blue shirt. Beady eyes peaked out from behind out-of-date
reading glasses, which were continuously slipping down on his abnormally large
nose.
Petesby walked past Cookie to his desk and began to sit down in his chair (gray,
but not at all worn-out) but thought better of it and remained standing.
Instead, he took to pacing, a task that Cookie found terribly annoying. He
walked around Cookie's chair a few times with a bland expression on his face.
Cookie just slouched lower, rolled her eyes, and continued to finger the loose
threads on the armrest.
Petesby stopped and appeared to be figuring out what he was going to say.
Finally he spoke. "It's the first day of school, Carla."
Cookie rolled her eyes. First of all, why did he have to play the ???baby game',
as Cookie had dubbed it, where he asked all these little questions and made all
these stupid statements that he already knew, just to get to the problem, which
he also already knew. Why couldn't he just get to the point? Secondly, he called
her Carla. Carla, the dumb name her halfwit parents had given her and that he,
in all his stupidity, continued to use. Her name was Cookie now. Carla was her
past life. "It's Cookie," she muttered.
Petesby ignored her. "The first day, Carla. And on the first day, kids don't get
in to trouble, do you hear me?"
Cookie snuffed. What did he think he was, a psychiatrist? He didn't have the
right to say what happens and what doesn't. If a kid gets into trouble, it
doesn't matter if it's on the first or the last day.
"I said do you hear me?"
Do you hear me? Do you hear me? Do you hear me? The voice echoed though her
mind. What did it take to shut the guy up. She grunted.
"Is that a yes, Carla?"
This guy literally belonged in a madhouse.
"I'm waiting, Carla. We can do this now and get it over with, or we can take all
day. It's your decision."
My decision, yeah right, she thought. You could let me go to class right now and
that wouldn't be my decision. She wanted to yell and to scream at him, but she
wasn't giving him that satisfaction. "It's a yes, sir," she said calmly.
"See how simple that was?" he said in his ???I'm the mommy and you're the
know-nothing- little-two- year-old' voice.
Cookie grinded her teeth but resisted the temptation to get angry. "Yes, sir."
"I'm not very happy with students who get into trouble on the first day of
school, especially this early in the morning," he lectured.
Cookie glanced at the clock. It wasn't even nine. She had been sitting here in
this dump for 45 minutes.
"Now, I've only just arrived here, Carla, because my car wouldn't start this
morning, so it wasn't a very joyous welcoming when Mrs. Bossley, our new school
secretary, told me that I had a student in my office already."
It was September and his car wouldn't start. A likely story, Cookie thought. It
was more probable that he overslept than anything else.
"Because of that, there wasn't time for me to be informed of your latest
escapade, so I asked Mrs. Bossley to send anyone else involved with it down to
me. They should be here any minute." He paused and glared at Cookie. "While
we're waiting, I'll start with you. I want the facts, Miss Ismackly, and only
the facts. Tell me anything else and, I warn you, there will be heavy
consequences."
Petesby was interrupted by a knock at the door. It was the secretary, Mrs
Bossley. "Excuse me, sir, but the students you requested are here," she said
timidly. Her voice and appearance greatly contradicted her name. She backed away
and three new faces appeared in the doorway. Two of them Cookie knew, but one
face was unfamiliar.
The taller of the three was Verity Maycasie, Cookie's best friend and partner in
crime, so to speak. She had long blonde hair, which was now dyed a shocking
shade of pink and orange ("I gots' it dun ???specially for school, Cooks, you
like?" she had asked), blue eyes, and big feet. Her smartalecky mouth got her
into trouble more often than not, giving her the chance to visit the principal
almost as much as Cookie. She was dressed now in a short jean miniskirt, long
yellow socks and a white jacket atop a stretchy blue tank. She had high
platform heels (which made her even taller), and a smirk lingered on her face.
The shortest one was her other best friend, Dellie Kregg. At only four foot
eleven she was a great deal shorter than both Cookie and Verity. She had short
red hair, gelled into spikes, that stuck out at odd angles all over her head.
And that was about as far weird as Dellie got. As for her talents, she was a
whiz with computers and could get into almost any system in the world. But as
for the other person dragged into the office, Cookie couldn't recall a name.
The boy, for he was a boy, was slightly taller than Dellie and had tousled light
brown hair. His feet were crammed into old shoes that looked two sizes too
small, and on his arm was a cheap plastic wrist watch. His clothes, which hung
off his small body in big folds, were faded but clean, and his eyes were
shifting all around the office, not making direct eye contact with anybody.
The principal glared at Verity and Dellie and directed them to the couch along
the wall. His voiced softened when he saw the newcomer, who was obviously a
first-timer at this school. "Hello there, son." he said in his ???I'm the good guy'
voice. "I am Principal Petesby. And what would your name be?" The kid, Cookie
saw with appreciation, wasn't fooled by the act.
"It's Brett," he muttered.
"Well hello, Brett. What grade are you in this year?"
"Eighth, sir."
"Do you have a last name?" Petesby coaxed.
"Yeah," Brett grunted.
"Would you mind telling me what it is?"
"Yeah,"
"Rudeness is not tolerated at this school, Brett. I hope that you understand
that."
"It's as clear as mud," Brett mumbled.
"Are you going to tell me your name or not?" Petesby asked sweetly.
"Not."
"Well then," Petesby concluded, "I can see that this isn't getting anywhere." He
pushed the button on the intercom.
"Yes?" came the muffled voice of Mrs Bossley.
Petesby instructed her to find out the name of the student who she had just let
in with Verity and Dellie.
"Ah, yes sir, his name is Benjamin Dover. He just transferred to this school.
He's in the fifth grade."
Petesby grinned manically. "Thank you, Mrs Bossley." He turned to Brett. "So, Mr.
Ben Dover, what do you think of that?" Petesby ignored the girls' sniggers.
Brett cocked his head and stared at Petesby.
"I think you need to get your hair dyed, sir," he said politely.
Petesby fumed. "Since it is your first time at this school I will excuse your -- er
-- unacceptable behaviour and intolerable lies. Why don't we go clear some
things up with Mrs. Bossley, now? Yes, that's a good boy." He lead Brett out of
the room. Petesby turned before closign the door. "I'll deal with you later," he
scoffed at Cookie, Verity, and Dellie. "Stay still and keep your mouths shut."
The door slammed.
Verity and Dellie burst into laughter. "Ooh we got him good, didn't we, Dell?
That ol' sucker didn't know what hit ???em." Verity slammed her fist on the desk.
Between fits of laughter, Dell and Verity filled Cookie in on their prank of how
they had hacked -- er, gotten into -- the school's computer records and changed
Brett's (that was his real name) student info. He was really Brett Ronalson,
eighth grader. "We stood outside the school lookin' for new kids. Told ???em our
idea. Brett was the only one game enough."
Dell broke in. "Well, he was the only one we had time to talk to, that is,
before Mrs. Canistel hauled us in. She thought we were causing trouble, the
suspicious old bat. We stopped off at the computer lab on the way to do what we
needed to do."
"We missed you, Cookie, where were you?"
"Oh, I had some of my own things to do," she smiled. "I'll tell you guys all
about it later" Her grinned widened. "Now who's for getting out of this dump?"
The girls cheered and slapped five.
Cookie hoisted herself up of the chair, and strolled to the door. Verity and
Dell followed. "G'day, Miss Bossley," she said as she passed. Mrs. Bossley was
too surprised to answer.
The three friends strolled down the hallway. "Today we own the world," Cookie
said happily. "Today we own the world..."
THE END
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