Chapter 2 Fake Apology

"Your behavior is ruining the air of hard work! You must be punished!"

He jabbed a finger in my face. "You're giving me a 5,000-word reflection! I want to see it in my office by tomorrow morning, and you're not going to go to bed until you finish it!"

The bell rang, and everyone started packing up.

I slowly bent over and picked up the scrap metal.

Leslie went by me. There was a smirk on his face, apparently gleeful about my predicament. He said softly, "Some people think too highly about themselves."

I ignored him and went back to my seat, then took out two pieces of blank paper. As if that man was worth wasting my time writing a reflection for.

I wrote my so-called reflection on the first paper, and a string of numbers on the second. It was already lights out for the dorms. I snuck out quietly and folded the first paper, then slid it through the crack under George's office door.

I sent the second to the headmaster's office.

…

The next morning, I walked into the classroom, immediately noticing the shift in atmosphere.

Ivory placed a new phone on my desk and said quietly, "The homeroom teacher told me to give you this. It's compensation from the school."

I couldn't even get a word in before someone kicked the classroom's door open.

George was standing at the entrance, his expression dark. He held up the sheet of paper with nothing but the word 'Reflection' written on it, glaring at me. "Get over here, Finn!"

I stood up, but another silhouette came in a hurry and pulled him back. It was John Lawson, the headmaster. His forehead was drenched in sweat, and his tie was crooked. "Calm down, George!"

He yanked George back so hard he was nearly dragging him. After they went into the corridor, he slammed the door shut.

The door cut off most of the conversation, but we could vaguely hear John roaring with worry, "That's Samuel Hoffman's number! It's that sly old fox! Do you know what this means? If he leaves Peak High, we lose the millions, and our reputation tanks! You'd better apologize right now!"

A few minutes later, the door opened again.

John was standing at the entrance, and his smile was stiff and forced. Behind him was George, looking grimmer than ever, as if he'd been forced to do something unsavory.

He trudged slowly toward my desk while everyone watched him in silence.

George forced his words out. "I'm sorry for my rash behavior yesterday. I shouldn't have smashed your phone."

He paused, as if he was enduring some sort of humiliation. "I've been informed of your special circumstances, and I'm sorry."

He turned, walking away, but he was tense as a board.

I knew this wasn't the end of it. His apology was barely skin deep, and there was no trace of sincerity in his eyes. I knew the war against me was just beginning.

…

During math class the following day, I put on my noise-canceling earphones as usual and was about to deduce a Fields' Medal-level hypothesis when someone pressed a hand over my notebook.

It was Leslie.

He adjusted his glasses and said almost bureaucratically, "New rules from Mr. West. To ensure discipline and the focus of students go uninterrupted, electronics are banned from all classes from today onward."