Boarding School by Clint Adams Read Free Book Online Page A

teacher there wore a mustache. I have no idea how such a phenomenon came to be. Perhaps they had all gotten together before the school year and had colluded to grow facial hair. In any event, it was a rather strange thing to see.
    The other characteristic which all of our teachers seemed to have in common was a well-developed skill for giving homework assignments. I suppose the theory was that if we were always busy with our studies, we would never have time to get into trouble. Matt and I and the Venezuelan boys next door were all good kids. We always followed the rules of the school which included our nightly observance of study hall. Every so often during this period, at least at the beginning of the year, a teacher would come through our hallway to make sure that we were actually doing our homework and not horsing around, instead. Since we were required to study with our doors open, he would come in and then stand in our doorway for a moment to say hello to us. After our response, he would then move on to the room next door and do the same until he had worked his way past all four rooms on our floor. And when he was satisfied that we were all being diligent in our work, he would then leave us by going through the large wooden door at the other end of our hallway. After that, things for us would become quiet again.
    In our little hall, we were isolated from the goings-on of the rest of the school, but in time we began to hear about shenanigans which some of the students in the larger dorms would sometimes pull. This was true for both Ulster Hall and especially the Annex where the kids were all older and seemed to me to be more wild than the average Academy student.
    On Saturday nights there were almost never any structured activities for us to get involved in. Occasionally a movie might be run on a portable projection screen that a teacher would set up for us in the library, and this diversion from an otherwise dull evening would help to pass the time for a little while, at least. But in general we were always left to our own devices once dinner had been finished. Also, lights out was later on Saturday nights. Instead often o’clock, we were allowed on this one night of the week to stay up until midnight, thus prolonging our boredom on these occasions. It was on one of my first Saturday evenings when I got to see for myself what my mother had meant when she had expressed her belief that our headmaster was overly partial to alcohol.
    On the second floor of Ulster Hall, was a door that led out onto the top side of the foyer which stuck out over the front entrance to the building. The foyer had apparently been deemed unsafe to walk on because it was falling apart, so students were not permitted out onto its deck—ever. Of course on this particular night, some of our more illustrious students had chosen to ignore the “DANGER” signs which were posted on and around this door, to venture out onto the roof of the foyer anyway. And then to further draw attention to themselves, these boys elected to heave giant water balloons at anyone who might happen to blunder by on the drive below. At this same moment, I had just happened to be looking for something to do downstairs in Ulster Hall and was utterly unaware of the events which were taking place upstairs and on the drive outside. So when all hell finally broke loose and the kids on the foyer began to scatter, I was surprised to notice Mr. Stuart suddenly charging into the building from outdoors so he could confront the hooligans and dispense some discipline. An instant later, before I was able to put together that something was going on, the man had me cornered at the base of the main stairway—where I had been standing—and then he began to speak to me.
    “Hey, there! Do you bizzawojabizja?” he asked angrily.
    “What was that, sir?” At first I thought I was just having trouble hearing my headmaster because the open doorway to the TV lounge was nearby and the sound from