Ms. Holiday hadn’t replied to any of his calls. He worried she was sick, but with a limited staff it was also possible that the com-link was down and there was no one to repair it. He hoped it was just a glitch. He didn’t want to think about what he would have to do if she got the virus. What if she attacked him? How could he fight someone he cared so much about?
“We’re going to deal with this,” Brand said as he led the boy to Principal Dove’s office. He knocked and was invited to enter.
Ms. Dove sat behind her desk. Her big, bulky body and huge eyes reminded Brand of a barn owl. A hungry barn owl. He and Flinch probably looked like fat mice.
“What can I help you folks with today?” the principal asked with a beaming smile.
“We’ve come to speak to you about Flin—I mean, Julio,” Agent Brand said.
Ms. Dove sat back in her chair. “About his expulsion.”
Brand nodded.
“I expected his parents to want to discuss this, Mr. Brand. How unusual that the school’s janitor has come to his defense,” the principal said as she peered over her desk at him.
“Julio lives with his grandmother, and at the moment she is quite ill,” he replied. “I’ve known Julio for a long time. I worked at Nathan Hale Elementary before I came here. I’ve always found him to be an incredibly respectful and cheerful young man, so I’ve come to vouch for him.”
“Well, in my experience, children change, Mr. Brand,” the principal said. “The summer between fifth and sixth grade can transform a sweet and helpful little lovebird into a cranky old pelican.”
“I’ve seen that myself,” Brand said. “I’ve had to scrub this school from top to bottom every day because some of these formerly sweet children are tearing this place apart. But Julio is not one of them. In this case I think we have a little less pelican and more a situation of adjustment and growing pains. Sometimes a little birdie needs time to get used to his new nest. Isn’t that right, Ms. Dove?”
Ms. Dove nodded. “That’s true. But I’ve seen a lot of birdies, Mr. Brand. I’m pretty good at picking out the sweet ones from the bullies.”
“Bullies!” Flinch exclaimed.
“I hardly think Julio is a bully,” Brand said.
“Mr. Brand, please don’t take this the wrong way, but I think I know my birds. I would never presume to tell you about mops and cleaners,” Ms. Dove said with a smile. “I’m afraid my mind is made up. This is Mr. Escala’s last day here at Thomas Knowlton Middle School.”
“You must reconsider,” Brand said. “He’s a good boy.”
Ms. Dove shook her head. “I’ve already put in for a transfer for him, and he’s been accepted at Harris Middle School for Troubled Teens.”
“Harris Middle School!” Flinch shouted. “That’s a last-chance school.”
“A last-chance school?” Brand asked.
“Yeah, it’s the place they send kids who have been kicked out of every other school in town. It has a barbed wire fence and a guard tower. You don’t graduate from there—you get out for good behavior!”
“Mr. Escala, why waste everyone’s time when the inevitable is right in front of our faces? I think we all know how this story ends,” Ms. Dove said.
“Ms. Dove, may I be honest with you?” Brand asked.
Ms. Dove cocked a curious eyebrow. “Please.”
“I went to a boarding school when I was a child and I had a lot of teachers who liked to call themselves disciplinarians. Some of their passion came from a good place—you know, a real desire to help children. But some of it came from a bad place. Some of it was mean-spirited. Sometimes a teacher would single out a kid to make him an example for the others. I suppose they thought if they could make one kid’s life miserable, the others would fall in line and behave.”
“Are you suggesting I’m picking on Mr. Escala?” Ms. Dove said, her smile suddenly turning into a frown.
“Well, Ms. Dove, you may know birds, but I know people. I know a bully when I see one.”
“You have quite an imagination,” she grumbled. She reached into her desk and pulled out some forms and signed them quickly.
“There. That’s settled,” she told Flinch. “You are no longer a student at this school. I wish you the best with your future endeavors and please empty out your locker before you leave at the end of the day.”
“Julio, come along,” Mr. Brand said as he rose from his chair.
“But I’m a good kid!”
“Come along,” Brand said. “This woman is a fool. This isn’t over, but we’re through here today.”
Flinch followed him out the door and into the hallway.
“That wasn’t exactly what I was hoping for,” Flinch said. “Oh, man. I’m going to Harris! The school uniform is an orange jumpsuit with your number printed on the front!”
“Julio, I know this looks bleak, but I have considerable power with the government. I can fix this. If Ms. Dove cannot compromise, then I will have her transferred to another school. Why, I might even have her deported just to teach her a—”
Just then, the door to Ms. Dove’s office door exploded, sending wood and metal shrapnel in every direction. The blast knocked Brand and Flinch to the floor.
“What was that?” Flinch asked.
From the office emerged a figure dressed in an enormous white bird suit. It had legs as orange as a chicken’s and a plume of bright red feathers on its head. It was Ms. Dove, and she was wearing one of the most ridiculous costumes Brand had ever seen. He might have laughed if not for the murderous look on the woman’s face.
“Are you out here in this hallway plotting to take me down?” she cried. “Do you fools really believe that the likes of you could do it?”
“Ms. Dove, what on earth!” Brand said.
“Don’t call me that! From now on you will bow to your knees and address me as Colonel Cuckoo!” She shook her tail feathers and flapped her arms aggressively, sending a shower of loose feathers to the floor.
“Those who choose to challenge me will face my wrath!” she crowed, then scratched at the floor with her feet. She let out a vicious squawk and rolled a white egg across the room.
It stopped at Flinch’s feet. Flinch started to laugh at it, but then three little panels on the shell slid open and steam seeped into the air. The egg began to beep faster and faster. A bomb!
Brand grabbed Flinch and dragged him around the corner just as the egg exploded, sending chunks of the wall tumbling to the floor where they had stood.
“Flinch, we need to split up. Try to lure her out of the school,” Brand said. “Those egg bombs could hurt the rest of the students.”
“I’m on it, boss,” Flinch said, turning and running down the hallway.
Ms. Dove stalked close behind, flapping her wings and tossing egg bombs. Explosions rocked the school.
Brand hobbled into a bathroom and shut the door. He was about to call for Benjamin when he spotted four boys huddled in the corner with screwdrivers, removing the plumbing from the sinks and toilets.
They looked at him.
He looked at them.
And then he exploded. “It’s you!” he cried. “You’re the kids who are making my job impossible.”
“Busted,” the redhead said with a laugh.
“Now, before you get all bent out of shape,” the short one said. “We’re just expressing our artistic freedom.”
There was another explosion in the hallway and the light fixtures in the bathroom rattled.
“What was that?”
Brand ignored the boys and pinched his nose. “Benjamin, are you there?”
Benjamin’s voice was on the other end. “Yes, sir.”
“We’ve got a problem topside. The principal is infected and is roaming the hallways in a chicken suit. She’s throwing egg bombs at everyone.”
One of the boys, who had an annoying whistle in his voice, shouted, “We’ve got to see this!”