Mrs. Feffer read the gold plated triangle on the end of the desk facing Norman “Tank” Kerns. The woman eyed him over her half-moon glasses. She was ancient and frail. Tank could crush her if he sat on her.
“What do you have to say for yourself, Young Man?”
Tank sighed and began.
“I’m sorry I shoved Willie’s head in the toilet, flushed it, ripped off his underwear, ran it up the flag pole, saluted it, said the pledge of the tightie-whities, mooned the school, wrote Wee Willy’s Winkie on the sidewalk in chalk, drew it, ran from the gym teacher, disturbed 12 classes, spilled the janitor’s mop water, tripped into the cafeteria, overturned the milk cart, and broke Mrs. Finch’s glasses when she slipped on the milk.”
“Anything else, before I suspend you for three days?”
“It was all worth it!”
Tank took his suspension slip to the clubhouse that night.
“We hereby induct Tank into the Westside Zombie Ninjas of the Night club!” Cheers erupted as his slip was tacked up next to four others. “Tomorrow, we raid.”