Steve's Tale

"It's a frame-up, I say!" John exclaimed from behind bars.
I munched on my Mookie Bar, wondering if he'd ever get to the point. "You didn't do it, then?"
"I said I was framed, didn't I?"
"You didn't write all those things about Ms. Strong on the back stairwell?"
"Perhaps frame is too strong a word."
"Perhaps." I nodded. John's face was against the 12" X 8" clearing space that was the only way I could see into his cell.
"When am I getting out?" He said.
As if I knew. I watched him inside the Detention Tank, one of Ms. Strong's latest security devices, to keep, what was it? "Menaces to society in, and the rest of us, out!"
John'd been in there a lot the last two days. From what little I could see beyond John's face on the other side, he was in there alone. Not surprising. Security at Minuit High wasn't particularly tight and only the few were caught on misdemeanors strong enough to warrant on-campus suspension.
I tried to look around John's big head. "What's it like in there?"
"As if I know," John said calmly, "All I do all day is look out and scream, trying to get attention."
"And you think this will get you out sooner. "
"I think Ms. Strong might have mercy on a poor madboy and institutionalize me if I keep this up."
I indexed my forehead with a repeated tap. "Always thinking..."
"You're telling me," John said, "She's got it in for me, I tell you!"
"Mr. King," Ms. Strong said, approaching me fast on her long, powerful, and short-skirted legs, "Shouldn't you be in class?"
"This is my study period, Ms. Strong," I said, politely offering her the last bite of my Mookie Bar.
"Sophomore?" She said, turning the pages of her clipboard, presumably to check my story out.
I nodded, "Yes'm."
"Don't give in to her, Stevie!" John screamed. "The worst she could do is give me some company in here!"
"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Both Ms. Strong and I said at once. I smiled. She frowned slightly, which made me follow suit. The last thing anyone wanted to do was get on Ms. Strong's bad side. Unfortunately, the last thing anyone knew was which was her good side, and where she hid it during shool hours.
"Your story checks out, Mr. King," Ms. Strong said, "But I suggest you go to the library or leave campus for the time of study. I wouldn't want to speak to your family about a behavior problem."
"My mother loves hearing from you, Ms. Strong." Sang John, wild-eyed and wooly haired.
"John, shut up!"
"Fine advice, Mr. King," Ms. Strong said, "Have a nice day."
"Talk to you later, John." I said, hoping to get away from Detent Tank before their latest confrontation boiled over.
"And Mr. King," Ms. Strong said, "Please inform Mr. Burghlar's family that until someone comes down to discuss his behavior with administration, he will be unable to leave the building."
"Right, Ms. Strong," I said, turned, and tried not to run away from the scene and the clime.
Since she failed him in Computers for the third semester straight, John'd been incorrigibly in hate with Ms. Strong. That was fine. His mother wouldn't let him date yet, so giving Ms. Strong heck was probably John's most able sexual sublimation. Understandable, sort of, since Ms. Strong, frightening as she may be, is also pretty hot. I hoped he'd grow out of it soon.
I went into the bathroom, to throw out the Mookie wrapper. Love those things, but they get me so sticky.
"Hey, Steve," the new kid, sitting on the window sill, said.
"What's up, Arnie."
The thin reedy boy jumped off the window sill, came up close to me. "Gimme all your money," he said in what would have been a threatening tone, had it been somehow less nasal. I didn't know what to say. I thought Arnie was my friend. I considered wiping my hands on his vest-sleeve, but then noticed he had none.
Something flushed. From out of a stall appeared another familiar sight, a huge, menacing sight that dwarfed all possible danger emanating from thin Arnie.
"Hey, Pol." I said relieved, "Take care of this garbage for me, will you?"
Pol came between us. Arnie looked up at my huge friend. I smiled a superior smile, waiting for the inevitable.
"Sure," Pol said, taking my wrapper and tossing it in the can.
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