The Dak Prescott School of Maturity: Chapter 7

INT. ASSISTANT PRINCIPAL’S OFFICE – DAY

DOUG MARTIN meekly pushes open the door and slinks inside.  The woman behind the desk gives him a friendly smile and gestures towards a seat, which he takes.  He sits nervously, his feet swing back and forth three inches above the floor.

TRACY WOLFSON: Now Doug, I imagine you’re probably wondering why I called you in here…

DOUG MARTIN: [blurts out] I didn’t do anything!  It was all Cam’s idea!

TRACY: [surprised] What was Cam’s idea?

DOUG: Um, nothing.

TRACY: [stares at him sternly]

DOUG: …I’m just saying Cam said he thought it would be funny if someone drained the water and then filled up the fishtank in Dean Prescott’s office with yogurt.  And I said that if they were going to do that, they should probably make sure to put the dean’s Siamese Fighting Fish somewhere safe.  I don’t know if he actually did it.

TRACY: Hmm.  That’s very mature of you to have thought about protecting the fish.

DOUG: Well, you know, I got a lot of sympathy for things that live in aquariums.

TRACY: Anyhow, Doug, I didn’t invite you in here to snitch on your classmates.

DOUG: So what’s wrong? Is there a problem with my grades?

TRACY: No, not at all.  Your grades are terrific.  In fact, that’s why you’re here.  Your test scores indicate that you aren’t someone that needs much in the way of maturity lessons.

DOUG: I keep telling you guys that.

TRACY: And you were right!  So you’re being transferred to a different school.

DOUG: [alarmed] Transferred?

TRACY: Effective next week, you’re headed off to Anger Management Tech.

DOUG: In Oakland?

TRACY: That’s the one.

DOUG: Did Jameis put you up to this?  It’s not funny.

TRACY: What? No. Now Doug, you’ve only been here a short time…

DOUG: [scowls]

TRACY: …but it’s become clear to us that you have some issues with your temper that need to be worked on.  Every time someone mentions anything even tangentially related to your height, you completely lose composure.  All someone has to do to get a rise out of you is mention something like, say, “top-shelf liquor” and you fly into a rage.  [holds up a compact mirror]  See? Look at your face. It’s beet red!

DOUG: Yeah, well, what about that shit on your face?

TRACY: [frowns] Are you really resorting to childish name-calling, Doug?

DOUG: [pouts] Maybe.

TRACY: You should know that throwing immature insults at me isn’t going to turn back the clock. You and I both know you don’t belong here.

DOUG: [contrite] I’m sorry I said that Mrs. Wolfson.

TRACY: That’s okay, Doug. I’ve heard it all before.  Mainly from my doctor, who keeps asking me why I don’t just get it removed.  [turns the mirror towards herself] I always thought it made me look like Cindy Crawford!  Of course, to look like her I’d have to grow about nine inches taller, ha ha ha! 

DOUG: [is pouting again]

TRACY: Oh, right!  The height thing.  Anyhow, I’m sure you’ll be wanting to say goodbye to your classmates.  Just…make sure you let Eli down easy.  He tends to get attached.