Rebel at Spruce High (Spruce Texas Romance #5) - Daryl Banner Page 0,13
face, blinding me, I slip on something squishy and slam to the ground with an ugly grunt. A war cry from a suddenly-returning Kelsey booms overhead, something shatters, a tray smashes a hard surface, and then the loud, digital screech of a fire alarm rings out. My ears fill with madness as feet slap the tile all around me from bodies running past and shouting maniacally.
In other words, the first day of my senior year at Spruce High is going so well.
02 | TOBY
This is how six students end up in six chairs lined up outside Principal Whitman’s office, drenched in a comical assortment of mashed potatoes, soda stains, and yogurt, and awaiting our turn in the hot seat. Hoyt, Julio, Benji, Kelsey, Vann, and myself.
None of us speak to each other. But when I sneak a glance in Hoyt’s direction, I find an amused smirk on his face. I’d almost say he looks proud of what just happened in the cafeteria.
As is expected, Hoyt, Julio, and Benji each get their turn in the principal’s office first. When they leave, each one carries a more smug look than the last, and I find myself deeply relieved to not be in their presence any longer. Kelsey is brought in next, which leaves me and Vann alone, waiting our turn.
Becky is still at the front desk, but there’s a notably wary look in her eyes as she keeps glancing our way. I’m sure she’s deep in thought piecing together why her lovely office aide is sitting in a chair outside the principal’s office covered in yogurt and mashed potato cocktail, next to the scary new guy everyone’s whispering about. I wish I had a better answer for her other than “jock buddy-feeding mishap plus botched rescue mission”. With some things, it really is a you-had-to-have-been-there situation.
I sneak a glance at Vann, but he’s just staring down at his boots with that same stubborn scowl of his. Strangely, he is the only one of us without any semblance of food on him, though I think I see a sticky spot on his leather jacket. I hope that comes out.
I want to thank him. For standing up for me. For being a total stranger and yet putting it all on the line in front of the school’s biggest star athletes. Yet somehow, nothing comes. My throat is just as tight and obstinate as it was in chemistry class when I could barely manage a proper hello without wanting to piss myself.
The door flies open and out marches a very perturbed Kelsey, heading for the exit to the office without even so much as a look my way. My brow furrows with concern as I watch her storm off.
“Toby Michaels.”
And now it’s my turn.
The principal’s office is a room I’ve been in only twice in my four years here at Spruce High. The first time was to be told I was a nominee for the E. Tompkins Mathematics Award. (I ended up losing to a smarter kid at another school.) The second time was to commend me on a short story I wrote about life as a gay teen that got a (modest quarter-page) mention in a nationwide magazine.
And now I’m here because of mashed potatoes.
“Toby,” Principal Whitman starts, adjusting his glasses. He’s a stout, darkly-bearded man with a warm and rosy complexion, yet stern, cold eyes. I never know where he stands on anything. “I’ve heard a few different versions of a story that all centers around you.” He clears his throat rather gruffly, then lifts his eyebrows at me. “How about you tell me your version of today’s events? What happened during lunch, Mr. Michaels?”
Mr. Michaels. That’s the stepdad Carl’s name. Not mine. It will never be mine. Just Principal Whitman calling me by that sets me in the wrong mood to begin with.
Still, this is my principal, and I need to make sure the jock idiots didn’t win him over with their football charm. “Well, I—”
“And do speak up,” he interrupts me. “My hearing isn’t what it used to be. I’m old.”
I give him a dubious look. He can’t be older than fifty.
Still, I speak up as requested. “Well, to be honest, I spent most of the kerfuffle on my back on the cafeteria floor, blinded by dairy product. But it began with Hoyt Nowak and his friends coming to my table and … basically messing with me.”
“Messing with you how?”
“Hoyt poured stuff into my mashed potatoes and tried to feed them