Page 33 of Tank’s Weakness

“I want to know what just made you turn red, but I won’t ask what you are thinking about.”

“I appreciate it.” I chuckle lightly.

“It must be really new if you don’t know if he can cook or not,” she teases.

I blush harder. “We’ve only been on a couple of dates.”

“Bless you. I’ve been with my husband for so long that I honestly can’t imagine dating in this day and age. It actually sounds exhausting.”

“You aren’t wrong,” I muse. “Enough about me, though. How’s this school year going for you?”

She groans. “I swear every year I think this will be the easiest class I’ve ever had, and then about midway through, they pop off and ruin it. Don’t get me wrong, I love the kids, but sometimes I just wonder what they become possessed by.”

I shake my head, smiling. “I had a little boy stick a bead up his nose this morning. I don’t even have beads in my classroom. Turns out he got it from the girl whose bookbag cubby is next to his. He took it off a keychain she had on her bag.”

Mrs. Stephensen shudders. “I don’t even want to think about how many fingers have touched that bead.”

“Me neither. Made for an eventful morning, though.” I shrug as I take a bite of my salad.

“I bet.”

Before either of us can say anything else, the principal walks in.

“Oh no, he’s got that look on his face like someone did something wrong,” Mrs. Stephensen whispers.

“I wonder who he’s after,” I murmur back.

Then his eyes lock on mine and he starts moving toward me.

Shit.

My heart sinks.

“Maybe it’s just about the bead?” Mrs. Stephensen says hopefully.

“Fingers crossed,” I say under my breath.

“Miss Harris, will you please come with me?” he asks.

“Of course,” I say as I stand.

With shaky hands, I put the lid back on the container of salad. “Is it okay if I bring my lunch with me?” I ask, voice steady.

“That’s fine. This won’t take long,” he says.

Picking up the salad, I follow him, ignoring the stares. As we walk toward his office, my heart races. What could this be about? Surely not a bead in a kid’s nose. I try to come up with something, anything, but nothing pops.

When we enter the office, the secretaries don’t even look my way, making it sink in further how bad this must be.

What do they know that I don’t?

When we enter Principal Marshall’s office, he shuts the door behind us.

“Please have a seat,” he says.

I do as he asks and set the salad next to the chair.

“Is everything okay, Principal Marshall?” I ask as I fold my hands in my lap.