The Landry News by Andrew Clements

Author:Andrew Clements
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Atheneum Books for Young Readers

CHAPTER 13

STRONG WINDS IN FORECAST

MR. LARSON WAS on his way out of the building on Tuesday afternoon, briefcase in one hand, red thermos in the other, when he heard the unmistakable sound of Dr. Barnes’s voice.

“Mr. Larson! Mr. Larson!” Dr. Barnes was trotting down the hall toward him, puffing, his face red.

Turning around, Mr. Larson managed to put a neutral expression on his face. He said, “Hi, Phil. How’s it going?”

Dr. Barnes winced. He preferred to be called Dr. Barnes, or Principal Barnes. Mr. Larson always called him Phil.

“What are you doing?” Dr. Barnes asked incredulously.

“It’s three-thirty—thought I’d go home for the night,” said Mr. Larson.

Patting his forehead with a handkerchief, Dr. Barnes said, “Didn’t you get my memo? We have a meeting today, right now, and you’re fifteen minutes late.”

“Hmmm,” said Mr. Larson. “Guess I didn’t get your note.”

“But how could you have missed it? Mrs. Cormier put it in your mailbox on Friday afternoon. Didn’t you get your mail this morning?”

Mr. Larson smiled and shrugged. “Guess not.”

Dr. Barnes turned and motioned, and Mr. Larson began following him down the hall toward the office. Dr. Barnes said, “I’m glad I caught you. You’re supposed to get your mail every morning, you know. Your mailbox is an important channel of faculty communication.”

With a straight face, Mr. Larson said, “You know, I’ve heard that, Phil. But it’s remarkable how many days I get by just fine without going to the office at all.”

Dr. Barnes ignored this comment and opened the door that went directly into his office from the hallway. He held the door, letting Mr. Larson squeeze past him to go in first.

Shutting the door, Dr. Barnes motioned to the chair in front of his desk. Mr. Larson put his thermos and briefcase on the floor beside the chair, sat down, and crossed his long legs. It was not a comfortable chair. Mr. Larson wondered how many other squirming people had sat across from Principal Barnes this way. On the principal’s desk was a prism of wood, engraved, PHILIP K. BARNES, B.A., M.ED., M.B.A., ED.D. On the paneled wall behind his chair, framed diplomas and certificates competed for space with photographs of Dr. Barnes shaking hands with important people, some of whom Mr. Larson could actually recognize. Ambition oozed from every photograph.

Dr. Barnes unfolded his copy of The Landry News, and slid it across the desk toward Mr. Larson. Mr. Larson saw his name there, circled in red ink. The principal said, “Tell me, Mr. Larson, what exactly is your involvement with this newspaper?”

Mr. Larson put on his reading glasses, looked down at the paper, and then up at Dr. Barnes. “I’m teaching a unit on journalism,” said Mr. Larson, “and some of the kids in the class have started a newspaper—sort of as a project. It’s good writing, don’t you think?”

“Yes,” said Dr. Barnes. “The writing is fine. That’s not the problem.”

“Problem?” said Mr. Larson. “I didn’t know there was any sort of a problem. What problem are you talking about, Phil?”

Dr.

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