The Headmaster

         “Mr. Hadgewick!” exploded the sharp voice in his left ear.  Justin jumped and his pencil snaked a jagged line right across the paper on his desk. 

         Oh no, thought Justin as he brushed his shaggy black hair out of his green eyes.  I’m in for it now.  There was no way to cover up his latest caricature of Professor Nelson.  And this one was really good!  Justin had nailed Nelson’s huge nose and protruding lips when drawing him standing behind a student whipping him with a huge Latin book.  He had planned to put it online this evening using his secret Facebook account.  So far he’d posted ten of his drawings and they’d gone viral, at least among the students at Lanthom Academy.  So much for that idea.

         Justin looked up over his left shoulder to see Headmaster Smyth-Burns standing there.  The Headmaster looked as he always did, wisps of grey hair smoothed down on his head as if they dare not move, robe immaculately pressed and flowing gracefully from his shoulders.  The man stood straight, his manner making him seem taller than he actually was, and his penetratin blue eyes looked directly into Justin’s. 

         Of all the people to catch him, why did it have to be the Headmaster.  His reputation for uncaring sternness was legend among the students of Lanthom.  No one had ever seen him smile - at least no one currently attending the school.  There was a legend among the sixth-years that he had smiled once when they were first-years.  As the story went, it happened when a young fifth-year was caught cheating.  Even at twelve years old, Justin knew the story had probably been embellished over time but still the image of Smyth-Burns almost salivating during the young man’s expulsion rang true enough to be believed.  Justin wondered if he’d be expelled too. 

         The Headmaster slowly reached down to take the paper from under Justin’s hands.  Once he’d retrieved the incriminating evidence Smyth-Burns took a step back and Justin knew that was his cue to stand, board-stiff at attention, by his desk.  He didn’t look at the Headmaster but instead stared out the window, wondering how close he was going to come to dying once his father found out he’d been expelled.  “Come with me,” Smyth-Burns said quietly, not waiting for an answer.  The pair walked quietly from the room. 

         So this is how a man feels when walking up the gallows steps, thought Justin.  He stared at the Headmaster’s back as they walked down the hallway.  There was no give, no forgiveness, no mercy at all in the Headmaster’s stance.  Justin thought about begging for one more chance but knew it would do no good.  He wondered if Smyth-Burns would even give him time to say goodbye to his friends.  Probably not, he figured.  The Headmaster was always going on about the integrity of Lanthom men and how they should hold themselves to a higher standard in life.  He was sure the Headmaster would never understand the humor in a caricature of a teacher that everyone hated.  Nor would he understand a young man’s need to say goodbye when his life was over.

         Finally, they arrived at the door to the Headmaster’s office.  Taking a key from inside his robe’s pocket, Smyth-Burns slowly unlocked the door.  The sharp click of the key was monumentally loud in the empty hallway.  Justin thought it sounded like the horrible snick of a guillotine.  Smyth-Burns’ face held absolutely no expression as he pushed open the door and waited for Justin to walk in.  Justin would never know if the man had actually slammed the door or if the sound of a jailcell being shut was in his own head.

         “Take a seat, Mr. Hadgewick,” ordered the Headmaster as he walked behind his desk.  Justin did and then sat there for what seemed an eternity as Smyth-Burns studied the Justin’s drawing.  “Hmmmm,” mused the Headmaster.  “You show talent here.”

         Justin was sure he’d heard wrong.  He had to have heard wrong.  Maybe the Headmaster was toying with him.  He wanted to take the man’s comment as an opportunity to pour out an explanation, but that was a first-year move.  As a second-year Justin had absorbed at least enough Lanthom philosophy to know actions spoke for themselves and no amount of words could change them.  He sat there, eyes still down, and asked quietly, “Excuse me, sir?”

         “You will do me the courtesy of looking at me when speaking, Mr. Hadgewick,” ordered the Headmaster sharply.

         “Yes, sir,” Justin said.  Raising his eyes to meet those of the Headmaster’s was like pushing up a five hundred pound manhole cover to escape a flooding sewer.  Justin struggled to push his gaze up and slowly, finally succeeded.  When his eyes did meet those of the man’s, however, he was even more surprised.  Was that?  No.  It couldn’t be.  The Headmaster never smiled.  Ever.  But Justin could swear the man’s lips were turned up in the most minuscule of grins.

         “I said you show talent here, Mr. Hadgewick.  You seem to have an innate flair for emphasizing a person’s characteristics.  Professor Nelson does have quite the shnozz, doesn’t he?”

         Justin was thoroughly lost.  Was the Headmaster trying to encourage him to say something that would only incriminate him more?  Why do that if his fate were already sealed?  And what was the small grin about?  Justin began to wonder if he were actually going to be expelled.  Maybe... just maybe there was a spot of hope to be found if he were extremely cautious.  “Well, it seems to be proportionally larger than most sir,” he replied.  After a moment of silence he added, “At least that’s how I see it, sir.”

         Then the universe flipped on its axis.  Smyth-Burns actually smiled.  More than smile he let a small chuckle escape.  Justin didn’t know what to think now.  Headmaster Smyth-Burns chuckling?  Wasn’t that one of the signs of the Apocalypse.  Justin sat quietly, stone-still, and waited.

         “Me too, boy,” chuckled Smyth-Burns.  “Me too.”  The Headmaster stopped chuckling and looked directly at Justin.  But instead of the firm, hard eyes that students usually found when talking to Smyth-Burns, Justin found compassion in the look.  “And he’s quite stern as an instructor, isn’t he?”

         “Yes, sir,” ventured Justin.

         “But have you ever considered that Professor Nelson’s sternness might be a garment he puts on, like his robes?”

         Justin knew it couldn’t be.  He knew, just as every other student in the school did, that Nelson hated the boys. No one was really sure why, but it was common knowledge.  But then again, it was common knowledge that the Headmaster never smiled and what had just happened?  The universe had flipped again and Justin didn’t know where he stood now.  The only thing he was sure of was the question burning in his mind.  “I don’t think so, sir.  Everyone knows Nelson -- “

         “Professor Nelson,” corrected the Headmaster.

         “Sorry, sir.  Professor Nelson.  Everyone knows he hates the students.”

         “On the contrary, my boy.  Professor Nelson is one of the most caring instructors I have ever had the pleasure to work with.  He is stern because he has to be.  His calling requires that he teach you not only Latin but life.  And life requires that you meet deadlines, you perform difficult tasks without complaint or excuse, and that you find a way to to carry out your obligations without losing sight of having fun.  That’s a lot to teach a young man and various people have different ways of doing it.  One of Professor Nelson’s methods is to assign a bit more homework than most teachers -- a good thing in a class like Latin -- and to watch who can handle it an who cannot.  You don’t know it but there are students in this school right now that have struggled with Latin immensely and I have seen Professor Nelson go out of his way and give up his free time to help students who show they are truly trying.”

         “No way!”

         “Yes, way,” smiled the Headmaster.  “But in general he comes across as a martinet because if he were to be any other way, you lot would rebel.  His sternness is a tool, a robe he wears, just like his instructor’s robes.”

         Justin’s mind slowly wrapped around what he’d just been told.  Nelson care? It was too much to believe.  But the Headmaster’s reputation for honesty was even more well-known than his reputation for not caring and Justin had seen evidence of that last year.  If the Headmaster said Nelson took struggling students under his wing then it must be so, although Justin couldn’t quite picture it.  Honesty’s the best policy, huh? he thought.  We’ll see.  “I think I understand what you’re saying, sir.  Meaning no disrespect, I’m not sure I actually believe it, but I do understand.  I think.”

         “Not surprising,” sighed the Headmaster.  “Professor Nelson is very good at his job.  Every facet of it.  But you keep that in the back of your mind and chew on it for a while, agreed?”

         “Yes, sir.”

         “Now, as to this drawing.  I cannot allow a student to disrespect a Professor, no matter what provocation the young man may believe he has.” 

         “I understand, sir,” Justin said, feeling his head lay back on the block.

         “You will serve a detention for this.  Professor Nelson and I will consult on what the proper punishment should be and we will notify you tomorrow.”

         “Yes, sir.”  Detention?  Not expulsion?  Justin felt the universe begin to fall into place again.

         “And I will be consulting with Professor Mills about developing your artistic abilities.  I know you have your classes and homework and football practice, but you should be able to fit an hour a week into your schedule, shouldn't you?”

         Justin had heard tales about Moody Mills.  Most of his friends that signed up for art classes spent the time before their sessions with her wondering what kind of mood she would be in that day as it determined how unbearable or enjoyable the time would be.  Justin almost groaned but then thought about what the Headmaster had said about Nelson.  Maybe he would just have to meet with Mills to see how things went.  Maybe she wouldn’t be so bad.  And it would be fun to get better at drawing, a favorite past-time of his.  Besides, if she did turn out to be moody he could just claim he had too much homework.  “Yes, sir.  I think I can squeeze in an hour a week.”

         “Good man,” smiled the Headmaster.  “Now one more thing,” he said as all expression drained from his face.  Justin couldn’t help but squirm in the seat a bit.  He knew it’d been too easy.  He heard the guillotine lock in place above his neck.

         “Yes, sir?”

         “You are not to let the other students know we had this pleasant chat.  Obviously your friends will already know that you have been called into the Headmaster’s office.  That kind of news travels fast in a place like Lanthom.  You will tell them we had a discussion and will make it sound like something you never want to do again.  You may also tell them that you have to wait to find out what your detention is.  Tell them Professor Nelson and I are probably cooking up something good.  That’s not far from the truth because it will be good -- good and fitting to this minor transgression.  Do you understand?”

         Justin felt the light go on in his eyes as he stared into the Headmaster’s.  Smyth-Burns wore his reputation like a robe too, Justin just knew it.  “Yes, sir, I believe I do.”

         “Good,” said the Headmaster as that small grin flashed across his face again.  “Now go back to class, boy.  I have work to do.”

         Justin schooled his face into what he hoped appeared to be a properly penitent expression before rising from the chair and heading back into the slightly changed world of a Lanthom student.