“Good evening, Mr. Stock. Please step over here so we may have a look in that backpack, please,” bellowed the school’s vice principal, Mr. Stuckley. “Planning to do homework at the homecoming dance, are we?”
I turned my head to see who Mr. Stuckley was speaking to. So did the two volunteer mothers manning the ticket table, and I found amusement as both their facial expressions drew noticeably uncomfortable once seeing the target of Mr. Stuckley’s attention. It was Adam Stock, another sophomore in my class who was dressed-to-impress this evening wearing black jeans, a tuxedo-printed t-shirt, polished cowboy boots, and a top hat that would make Slash envious.