“This is ratings ,” Janine corrected. “The PTA said if we raise $500 tonight, we can fix the water fountain that sprays sideways .”
(He was. From the roof. With a camcorder from 2004.)
Melissa swept his feet. He landed on a pile of leaf bags.
Last week’s faculty meeting had ended with Melissa calling Jacob a “gentrified hacky sack” after he suggested replacing detention with restorative yoga. Jacob, in turn, had challenged her to “settle it like adults.” Melissa heard settle it like Philly . And now here we were.
“I yield,” Jacob wheeised, helmet visor fogged.
Janine Teagues never thought she’d be producing a pay-per-view event, yet there she was, holding an iPad above her head like the Statue of Liberty while Gregory Edmunds muttered into her shoulder.
“The water fountain lives!” Janine squealed.