Just Kidding, But Seriously...

For The Love of Cheesesticks, L.A. Fitness and Hershey Chocolate Kisses

I clamped my hand down on Raymond's jittery thigh and shot him an irritated look.

"Would you stop bobbing your leg like that? You're making me nervous," I said.

Raymond looked flabbergasted. "Bu-wha-aren't you nervous? This is Mrs. Vandenhoff we're talking about here."

I shrugged, removing my hand from his thigh because I realized how awkward that must have looked. I let my eyes rest on the door before us. A polished, gold rectangular plaque was glued to its window: Principal's Office. "I get sent here at least once a month, in case you haven't noticed. I like to call her Mrs. Vanden-whore behind her back. Makes me feel better."

Raymond shook his head vehemently, going on as if I hadn't spoken. "That woman is the Devil incarnate. I've heard horror stories about her. Derek, dude, listen to me," he added irritably, an underlying plea in his voice. "When we get called in there, do not make eye contact with her."

"Like she's some sort of wild animal?" I gave him a look. "You've never done this sort of thing before, have you?"

Again, it was as if my words went in one ear and out the other. He babbled on, shaking his head continuously enough to resemble the bobble-head toy my mom had in her car. "Don't speak to her unless spoken to. Don't touch anything shiny. And please, for the love of cheesesticks, no jokes."

"I freaking love cheesesticks," I said fervently.

Raymond looked like he wanted to strangle me. "Did you hear anything I just told you besides the word 'cheesesticks'?"

"Sure I did." I nodded. "But, Raymond-"

"Shh," he hushed me, doing that thing where he closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose in an attempt to look frighteningly angry. In my eyes, it made him look like he was trying to communicate with his nose in some sort of telepathic way. "This is all your fault."

"My fault?" I echoed in bewilderment. "Says the genius who mistook acidic solution for tap water!"

In response he groaned, burying his face in his big hands. His voice sounded muffled as he spoke. "Are they going to call our parents?"

"Yep."

"Oh my God." My best friend groaned even louder, yet the way his voice cracked hinted that he was on the brink of breaking down crying. What a sissy. "My mom is going to kill me."

"Don't worry," I said in an attempt to comfort him, "my mom kills me on a daily basis."

A faint creaking sound emanated from somewhere in front of us, and I turned to witness the sight of the Mrs. Vandenhoff's door opening sluggishly, as if it were in slow-motion. These office ladies sure knew how to make things seem dramatic.

I glanced at Raymond, who had gone a pasty white color, like a clown.

Well, the students tend to help with that effect, I added thoughtfully.

A slim-figured young woman with short red hair and a black pencil skirt appeared at the foot of the door. "Raymond Fowler and Derek Wells?"

"Hey, Marsha," I greeted the sexy office lady, flashing her my million-dollar smile.

She smiled back. "Hey, Derek. Again."

I stood up and glanced down at Raymond, who appeared to be frozen like a statue with his mouth slightly ajar and his eyes as wide as whole pizzas. "Raymond, c'mon, dude," I urged. When he continued to stare off into space, I grabbed him by his sleeve and yanked him up, dragging him with me to the opened door.