Boarding School by Clint Adams Read Free Book Online Page B

the program that the half dozen or so other students in there were watching was blaring out into the north hall.
    Right away Mr. Stuart understood from my reaction that he had failed to communicate with me. But incredibly, instead of hoping that I hadn’t caught on about his condition and passing me by so he could run up the stairs and perhaps still capture the young assassins before they could get away, he decided to remain in front of me and give speaking another try. “Buziawoziavizia! Vizia! Vizia!” He was still quite intent on getting an answer out of me.
    By this time, I’m sure my mouth was gaping open. “Huh?” All I could do was stare at the man in wonder. I had never in my life seen an adult authority figure behave so strangely. Alcohol had always been present in my family during social gatherings and holidays, but none of the male role models within my parents’ sphere had ever permitted themselves to drink to the point of becoming so out of control in front of others. So I really had no idea how I was supposed to respond in a situation like this.
    Apparently then, Mr. Stuart realized that I was neither involved in the conspiracy in question, nor was I deserving of his wrath. So he then tried to make up for his bluster by saying something kind to me. “Aw, vuja meeja vuz.” At least the man’s tone was now softened even if his meaning was still anyone’s guess.
    Earlier that day I had taken a nap and had apparently slept on my hair funny. So throughout this particular evening, I had a small lock which was curled out and up on one side of my head which made it noticeably independent from the rest of my hair which always hung straight down. As I stood there dumbstruck, I watched as Mr. Stuart then raised his index finger to my head and touched my little flip of hair. As strange as this gesture seemed, I supposed that this touch from him was intended to show me that he no longer considered me a suspect in the just ended balloon/foyer caper. And then, as if he needed to point out to me that he was thoroughly soused, he spoke to me one last time.
    “Aw, you… cute little vujaujamoo.” Then he passed me by and continued on up the staircase so he could see for himself if there were still any activities going on in the dormitory which required his supervision.
    For a moment after he had left, I just stood where I was. I was still unclear over what it was exactly that had just happened to me. But before I had time to sort it all out, I could see the dean of students, apparently motivated also by the events which had just transpired outside, suddenly roar into the building through the front doors and walk straight to where I was still standing by the stairs. When he reached me, he also stopped and spoke to me.
    “Did you see Mr. Stuart come through here?” he asked out of breath. The man was something like seventy pounds overweight.
    “Yes, sir,” I answered quickly. I was worried that I was about to be in trouble again.
    “Well, what did he say?”
     
    At last, my first letter from my parents arrived from Europe a few days later. After I had found the air mail envelope resting against the side wall in my mail slot, I decided that I wanted a quiet place where I could read what my parents had to say to me in peace. So after lunch I walked down to the lower campus in search of a private spot.
    When I reached the bottom of the long set of cement steps which led down the hill from the landing next to my dorm, I turned to my left and walked into the small two-story frame building which the Annex dormitory was attached to on this building’s upper level. Originally built as a lakeside tavern, this old structure later had become the Academy’s canteen. Today, the soda fountain was gone and the place was set up as a coffee house which meant that it was still being used every so often for school parties. As I entered what was now referred to simply as the Annex, I found more blue carpeting plus dark wooden