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PRINCIPAL OBSESSION
RYAN
“Help me to understand why you thought this would be funny?” I wring my hands as I wait for any one of them to formulate a logical response, but I know one won’t come. They’re punks born and raised on the right side of town and they’ve never had to face a single consequence for their actions. Smug little rich boys who are about to graduate high school, undeservedly, and go off to some expensive college to drink and party their way to a tailor-made job secured by their father’s money and influence.
“You stole property,” I add.
“They’re just goats, Sir. The farmer already came and got them,” the boldest one replies.
“Let me see if I have this right. You went to a farm, broke and entered, stole four goats, labeled them with the names of your female classmates, set them loose in the school, which you also broke into after hours, and recorded it to post on the internet. Does that cover it?” I ask.
They try their best to hide the pride they’re taking in hearing the blow by blow of their escapade, but they can’t hide the glib smirks on their faces, and this angers me even more. Maybe it’s because I had to deal with guys like this when I was in school. I had to watch as they got opportunities handed to them when guys like me who worked hard to earn our way always took a back seat. We had to fight for the leftovers when they got done pilfering the scholarships, awards, and titles. Fuck these kids and the soulless, superficial miscreants who raise them.
There’s no way that I can continue looking at their smug faces without losing my temper so I tell them, “Return to class. Once we’ve spoken to the farmer and determined whether or not he’s going to press criminal charges, we’ll be calling your parents.”
They file out and my secretary enters my office. “The girls are out here,” she tells me. She’s been here long enough to know that this is an exercise in futility and that no real discipline will be dished out to these kids.
“I’ll see them one at a time.”
My meetings with the first three girls go exactly as I expected. They’re meek, underdeveloped physically, and plain. Just the type of girls that high school bullies tend to target. They rarely focus on the ones that will put up a fight, and this sickens me even more. I’ve had more than my share of altercations, physical and otherwise, and I have never swung on an opponent that wasn’t a good match for me. There’s no pride to be found in besting a weaker person, and anyone who disagrees needs to take a hard look at themselves. I apologize and assure the girls that action will be taken and, of course, textbook protocol recommends that they speak with the counselor if needed.
This ridiculous senior prank is taking up my entire day, and I take a moment to look out the window and breathe before calling in the last of the victims. “Let’s just get this over with,” I mutter to myself and open the door, but when I look out into the waiting area, I can’t believe what I see. There’s only one student seated there, and she is not at all like the others. I stand like an idiot and stare at her until, finally, she stands, straightens her short skirt, and asks, “Are you looking for me, Mr. Rogers?”
“Yes, yes come in, please,” I stammer, trying to get a hold of myself.
I’m still standing in the doorway when she slips by me so close that I can almost feel her body against mine. She flashes a naughty smile and then looks down at her shoes. I take a moment to examine her from behind. Her nice, round ass is asking a lot of that little blue skirt as it bounces from side to side. Yeah, when it comes to sex appeal, she’s got it coming and going.
She sits in one of the two chairs that face my desk, crosses her legs, and cups her hands in her lap. Normally, I would stand through the interview because I hate sitting eye to eye with these kids, but I need to hide my growing erection so I swiftly move to my desk and sit down.
“Your name is?” I clear my throat and ask her.
“It was on a goat, or don’t you remember?” Her snide reply makes me want to take her over my knee right now.
“Again, what’s your name?” I demand of her in a more authoritative tone.
“Sorry, I was just trying to lighten the mood. I’m Rose. Rose O’Connor,” she replies.
“I thought I knew just about every student here, if not by name, then by face anyway. Why have we never met before, Rose?”
“Staying out of the principal’s office has been one of my goals.” She shoots me that smile again.
“Noted. I’m sorry we have to meet under these circumstances. Let me ask you, Rose, why do you think you were targeted in this prank?” This is a question that I’ve been asking myself from the moment I laid eyes on her. With a face and body like that, she should rank very high on the school popularity quotient.
“I don’t know. Maybe you should ask them, not me,” she answers.
“I’m asking you,” I clap back, still thinking about paddling that fine ass.
“If I had to take a guess, I would say that it’s because I won’t have sex with them,” she replies in a very matter of fact way that catches me off guard.
“Explain.” I sit forward in my chair and rub the engorged monster in my pants.
“They all think that they’re the shit—excuse my language—and that they can get any girl they want, but I’m not into sweaty jocks and rich boys so they call me a prude,” she answers.
“Are you?” I lean back in my chair watching for any change in her demeanor.
“Am I what, Sir?” She wiggles in her seat, and I imagine the sudden rise in temperature that she must be experiencing.
