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The doors were still shitty, and a stiff wind could probably blow them down.
The office was beyond the large foyer, being blocked by just one wooden door and surrounded by glass.
“Jesus, it hasn’t changed a bit.” Dillon said, eyeing the colorful green and black banners hanging from the ceiling.
“Go Benton Bengals.” I said dryly and raised my fist.
“Bengals, fight, fight, fight,” Dillon sang loudly, becoming even louder as the sound of his voice echoed off the stone walls.
I rolled my eyes at the imbecile and walked through the office door, closing it firmly behind me.
“Can I help you?”
The woman asking it was the same woman who’d been there all those years ago when I’d attended.
The evil Mrs.Threadgill.
Mrs. Threadgill was the foul biddy who used to write me tardies, and send me home if my shirts had anything ‘provocative’ on them, regardless if they did or not. Hell, I’d been sent home my senior year for a Coke shirt because she’d thought it was promoting drugs.
I’d hated her guts, and I damn well knew she remembered me as soon as she saw me. It was kind of hard to forget a kid that was 6’4 and 200 pounds with the face of an Italian Stallion in my freshman year of high school.
Now I was two forty, but who was counting.
“Mr. Spada, what can I help you with?” Mrs. Threadgill asked coldly after I’d taken too long to answer.
“We’re here for Ms. Sheffield’s chemistry class. Can you tell us where to go?” I asked nicely.
Mrs. Threadgill looked at me as if he’d grown a second head. “You’re,” she sneered. “With the fire department now?”
I smiled widely at her. “For ten years now.” I informed her brightly.
She sniffed and then stood stiffly before walking to the door and opening it.
“I’ll take you. I have to escort Mr. Fairway back to Ms. Sheffield’s class anyway.” She said gesturing to a young boy that was sitting outside the principal’s office.
Of course, the first thing the woman heard was Dillon singing the Benton fight son at the top of his lungs to a crowd of young girls.
“Dallas Berry, that is quite enough.” Mrs. Threadgill reprimanded. “Mr. Fairway, please follow me.”
Dallas, not one to stop when he was told, finished the song despite the old woman’s glare, drawing chuckles from his underage fan club.
“This way,” Mrs. Threadgill snapped before shuffling down the back hall towards the science labs.
The young boy who looked like a little punk dressed in designer clothing seemed like a real winner.
His clothes were about three sizes too big, and he was holding his pants up by the buckle of the belt.
I wanted to pants him.
“Michelle, please tie your hair back or get out of my lab. You probably wouldn’t look so good bald.” Adeline’s voice scolded from behind the chemistry lab’s door.
“But Ms. Sheffield, if I tie it back it gets creases and looks like shit...”
Mrs. Threadgill opened the door so quick I barely saw her move. “Ms. Cox, I suggest you follow Ms. Sheffield’s direction or you won’t get to see the fireman do their demonstration, and if I hear you curse on the school grounds again, I’ll be speaking with your parents.”
Yep, the old goat still had it. She used to use the same line on me sixteen years ago. Worked every time.
“Firemen?” Michelle and Adeline asked in unison.
