I've never been in here before.
It's a fact that I pride myself in. While my grades are divided between D's and C's, my attendance and behaviour have been impeccable. I did miss one day of class earlier this semester, knocking the Perfect Attendance award out of my grasp and into the hands of some nerd. Not that I was aiming to win the stupid thing. Actually, I do my very best to stay invisible. To be the wallpaper. The forgotten and the left-behind. Not a single friend to vouch anything for me. Never in trouble, never on a podium. It's been this way since the seventh grade, and it's the way I like it.
So now that I'm here, staring at the dark blue walls of the front office, here to see the principal, I wonder what it is I've done to be called in here.
The other two students waiting for Principal Cranston sit across from me. They look like they were in a fight. One has a black eye, the other a swollen lip. They're slouched over, averting their eyes and making sure they don't accidentally graze each other's elbows or a knees.
What the hell am I doing here?
Shelley, the secretary, sits behind a large desk, never once looking up at any of us. She's super gangly, with extra sharp features, black-rim glasses and dark blonde hair pulled back into a tight bun. A typical look for a receptionist in a school - or so I'd imagine. This is the first time since freshmen orientation that I'm seeing her. She hasn't changed at all. I'm pretty sure she was wearing the same loose white blouse and ugly gold bug broach too.
"Are you new?" One of the beaten-up guys asks me. He's the one with the black eye.
"Yeah. It's my first day." I lie.
"You a Sophomore?"
"Yep." Another lie.
"Where'd you go before?"
"Oh, some tiny school up in Nowhere, Colorado." This is kind of fun. Maybe I can invent an entire life for him, and he'll be completely amused. "Only good thing there was the weed."
"Sweet."
"Veronica Boniadi? You can go in now," the secretary says, still not glancing up.
"Good luck," the guy with the black eye says to me.
I give him a curt smile before heading into the office.
It's exactly as I remembered. Same dull brown walls covered with certificates, awards, a signed basketball jersey, black and white photographs of couples I assume are Cranston's friends and relatives, a painting of a lion sitting still in an emerald meadow. Same overside oak desk topped with more photographs, a dull gold faceplate with his name on it, a tiny zen garden, a Rubik's cube, and a Newton's cradle in motion. It's funny how most people remain exactly where they are for years, not even attempting to change their surroundings
Principal Cranston, a man of maybe fifty, has a very bald head, a thick frame covered with a grey suit, and frameless glasses. He sits with his elbows on the table, his hands in a triangle with his fingertips touching, and he stares at me over the edge of his glasses. There is a rather thin, closed file right in front of him, and I can clearly see my name across its top.
After having taken a seat across from him, I wait for him to say something. The silence is worse than the worry I felt before stepping in here. When a minute morphs into a thousand years, I finally speak, "Uh... why am I here?"
"Miss Boniadi, what do you see on the wall to my left?"
"Awards?"
"And what are those awards of?"
I squint my eyes for a second, "Excellence?"
"Exactly. Given to this school by the state, for superb grades achieved by my students throughout the years. Apollo Collegiate has an outstanding reputation for academia and athleticism, stressing importance on both, and receiving award after award for many, many courses and school teams. This on top of our excellent extra curricular activities and clubs, has placed us above all other schools in the Northeast region of the country."
"Wow... that's fantastic. Congratulations," I say, trying hard to not place any bit of sarcasm on my words.
"This year, however, the school's grade-point-average has fallen. In record time, we've had four Senior students dropping out before the first semester was fully underway, seven students already failing all assignments and first wave of quizzes administered, and four athletes out with severe injuries. We've suffered in all branches. Miss Boniadi, do you understand what it is I'm trying to say?"
"Yeah, lots of bad luck for you."
Cranston gives me a small smile, opens my file, then clears his throat. "Yes, it's very unfortunate. What's more unfortunate, for you in particular, is that you fall right after the seven students who failed. You are the eighth student dropping our overall average well below what it should be."
"Isn't this a public school? Why do you care so much?"
"Miss Boniadi, just because this is a public school doesn't mean we shouldn't care. We strive for excellence the same as any boarding or private school."
I sit up a bit in my seat, "Okay, I'm not failing, so what exactly does this mean for me?"
"Those who have been failing will be receiving extra night classes, vigorous tutoring sessions, and will be expelled if their grades don't improve in the next six weeks. You, and two other students who are just above the border, will be receiving private tutoring from three of our top students."
This is ridiculous. What right do they have to force this onto me? I didn't break rules, or fail, or cause any problems. I stand up, almost too quickly, and give myself a head-rush. "You can't do this. It's not my fault this school sucks. You can't punish me for something that isn't my responsibility."
"This isn't a punishment, Miss Boniadi. This is an opportunity. If you don't help raise the school's academic standing, we will lose sponsorships, recognition from the state, and our reputation."
"So what? Why should I care? This is my final year, and then I'm out of here. Why can't you find a dumb Junior to torture with this crap?"
"Language, Miss Boniadi. There is no such thing as a 'dumb' student. Only those who have not reached their full potential. It's my responsibility to seek out those who could benefit from extra help, and provide it."
"Bullshit, you only care about how much money some rich aristocrat will give you, and your reputation-"
"That's enough, Miss Boniadi. I have no choice but to give you two days of detention, starting today. And as for your private tutoring, it's either that, and you try to raise your grades, or detention for every single day for the rest of the year."
"That's extortion!" I hiss.
"Yes, I'm extorting better grades from you. You can call up the FBI if you should choose to. Additionally, please be advised that your first session starts tomorrow, during your lunch period, in the library. A student by the name of Jay Alderan will be waiting for you. Now, please run along to your next class. You may ask Shelley for a late note." He doesn't wait for me to leave before closing my file, placing it in a drawer, pulling out another file, and asking his secretary to send in the next student.
I continue to glare at him, hoping he'll look up again and meet my wrath, but he doesn't. His focus remains on the new file before him. Not until the door of his office opens does his waver his attention.
"Hey, Nowhere-Colorado. Why are you still here?" the boy with the black eye says, more amused than anything. "You got into a fight with Asshole Ashby too?"
"Language, Mister Tsukomo. Miss Boniadi, you may leave now."
Defeated, I drop my shoulders, my head and my attitude, and sulk out of the office.