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Tuesday 200 — #36

They’ve caught me.

I’m sitting in the principal’s office. Mrs. Phelps gave me the note during homeroom. Report to Hardcastle’s office at 9am sharp.

He’s at his desk, thumbing through a file, swatting at the fly buzzing around his sunburned forehead. I thought we’d covered our tracks, but something kept niggling at the back of my mind. What had we missed? Had Phelps started feeling guilty and confessed? Surely she had more to lose than I did.

“Mr. Slocum, you must be very proud of yourself.”

Asshole. Thinks he‘s so clever with his sarcasm. I just stared at my lap, pulling at a hangnail.

“This isn’t easy for me, Slocum, but it seems you’re hiding something.”


“Seems you’ve got some surprising talents. Based on your essay and interview, you’ve won Most Promising Senior, which as I’m sure you know entails a $5,000 scholarship.”

“Thank you, sir.” I tried to hide the smirk.

“You’ll get a letter and details in the mail. Congratulations,” he sneered, dismissing me and the fly with a sweep of his hand.

As I walked to the door he said, “Oh, and Slocum?”

“Yes sir?”

“You know she’s only screwing you to make me jealous, right?”

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