“What?” Principal Jason asked.
“I need them,” Brice placed his jacket under his arm. “I requested them a month ago.”
“We don’t have the money now,” Principal Jason pointed at Brice's chest.
“Why don’t you donate the calculators?” Brice asked. “You clearly have enough money driving a Maserati and wearing new suits everyday.” More than likely they had been purchased with stolen school funds.
“You’re young and stupid. Learn how the system works and then you will get more out of it.”
“You mean how to take care of yourself,” Brice said. Jason talked about thievery like he strived for it.
“Do what I ask, or I’m going to write you up.”
He thinks he has him on a leash, Brice thought. Pulls it every time he wants something.
“Be up there, Brice.”
Brice took his post at Cody’s door. Students were allowed in five to seven at a time to not rush through the wooden metal detectors. The detectors were added at this door and tables alongside the wall with trays mark for different types of guns. The officer who worked the metal detector mimicked a robot as his arms and legs shifted. Qadira was up next, she made it around the building.
“Good morning, Qadira, again,” Brice said, slapping his hands together.
“Hi, Mr. Frankel,” Qadira said.
“Are you here to help?” the officer said, placing Qadira’s suitcase onto the table. “Nobody likes to work with me, because I’m thorough on these weapon sweeps because kids like these hoard drugs and guns in big items like this.”
“I’m here until relief comes for me,” Brice said, wrestling the bag from his coat pocket. He tossed the bag on top of the Samsonite. “I did a weapons sweep of the bushes.”
The officer ripped the bag open, retrieving a gun. “We’ll find plenty more before the sweep is over.” He tagged the guns and placed it in a tray marked small handguns. Then he opened Qadira’s suitcase, tossing her textbooks on the table. He checked every part of her clarinet.
“Are we taking the quiz?” Qadira reached over to place her books back in her luggage. Brice aided her.
“I’ll tell you when you get to class.” Brice paused. “Why don’t you go to study hall?”
“You’ve got to check them all,” the officer continued, putting the next student's book bag on the table.
Are we treating the students like potential felons so we can prepare them for jail? Brice wondered.
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