“We need to reach your parents,” the office lady said, once they were alone in the empty hallways of the old building.

“You can’t,” Alan said. “They don’t have a phone.”

“Then we can drive out to see them,” the office lady said. She smelled of artificial floral scent and Ivory soap, like the female hygiene aisle at the drugstore.

“Mom’s still real sick,” Alan said, sticking to his traditional story.

“Your father, then,” the office lady said. He’d had variations on this conversation with every office lady at the school, and he knew he’d win it in the end. Meantime, what did they want?

“My dad’s, you know, gone,” he said. “Since I was a little kid.” That line always got the office ladies, “since I was a little kid,” made them want to write it down for their family Christmas newsletters.

The office lady smiled a powdery smile and put her hand on his shoulder. “All right, Alan, come with me.”

Davey was sitting on the dusty sofa in the vice principal’s office. He punched the sofa cushion rhythmically. “Alan,” he said when the office lady led him in.

“Hi, Dave,” Alan said. “What’s going on?”

“They’re stupid here. I hate them.” He gave the sofa a particularly vicious punch.

“I’ll get Mr Davenport,” the office lady said, and closed the door behind her.

“What did you do?” Alan asked.

“She wouldn’t let me play!” David said, glaring at him.

“Who wouldn’t?”

“A girl! She had the blocks and I wanted to play with them and she wouldn’t let me!”

“What did you hit her with?” Alan asked, dreading the answer.

“A block,” David said, suddenly and murderously cheerful. “I hit her in the eye!”

Alan groaned. The door opened and the vice principal, Mr. Davenport, came in and sat behind his desk. He was the punishment man, the one that no one wanted to be sent in to see.

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