Page 44 of What You Wish For

“What the hell was that?”

“Awatergun,” he said. “And it got their attention, didn’t it?”

“Not in a good way.”

“I’m not here to coddle them.”

“Why are you here?”

“To get this place on track.”

“It’s already on track. It’s one of the best elementary schools in the country. It’s famous for being amazing.”

“It’s also a death trap. And I’m here to fix that. And if they don’t like it, they’re more than welcome to quit—every last one of them. Yourself included.”

But no way was I quitting now. “I can’t quit,” I said.

“Sure you can,” he said, in a tone likeI dare you.Then he met my eyes and said, “There is nothing more expendable than teachers.”

Rude. And insulting. Max had spent decades filling this school with superstars—the best of the best of the best. Teachers were anything but expendable. The best teachers lifted kids up with excitement and drive and curiosity—and the worst teachers did the opposite. And no one on earth should have known that better than Duncan Carpenter.

I looked down for a second to try to regroup. What was I even trying to accomplish here? I wanted him to snap out of it. I wanted him to be his old self again. I wanted him to reach his potential. But I didn’t have any leverage. Was he bluffing? If he really didn’t care if everybody quit, I wasn’t sure what to do.

And that’s when I saw something sticking out from under Duncan’s desk.

Something furry.

Something that looked like a paw.

I stepped closer and leaned around to get a better look.

Curled up under the desk was a large, gray, very furry dog—fast asleep.

In this entire sleek, gray, cold office, the dead-last thing I would’ve expected to see was a fluffy dog—and, of course, the gray fur against the gray carpet had camouflaged it.

“Is that a poodle under your desk?” I asked.

“It’s a labradoodle,” Duncan said, like it was obvious.

I leaned a little closer. “Is it… yours?”

“It’s a security dog,” Duncan said, all business. “A guard dog.”

“It doesn’t look very on guard right now.”

“Even security animals have to rest.”

“Fair enough. What’s its name?”

Duncan stood up a little taller. “Chuck Norris.”

I let out a laugh. Then my face fell. “Oh. You’re serious.”

“He’s in training,” Duncan said, unamused.

“I guess I would have just expected a German shepherd or something. Something scary.”

“This dog is plenty scary,” Duncan said, as we stared at the not-at-all-scary pile of snoozing fluff. “Or at least, he will be when I finish with him.”

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