Page 37 of What You Wish For

We assumed these were rhetorical questions, but then he waited for an answer.

Finally, Carlos shrugged and said, “Because we’ve never had a problem before?”

Duncan nodded and pointed at him. “Exactly.” Then he addressed the room. “No one ever has a problem—until there’s a problem. The state of things at this facility is, frankly, an insult. An insult to you, and to me, and to the children who come here every day. You’re begging to be attacked.”

I wouldn’t saybegging.

Did Duncan have a point? Probably.

Were security practices a little too lax at our breezy island school? Maybe.

But was he alienating everybody in the room right now? You betcha.

What could he have been thinking? This was ourvery firstmeeting. Even people with terrible people skills didn’t have people skills this terrible. Why wasn’t he charming everybody and being awesome? There was no way he didn’t know what we’d all just been through with Max. What exactly about scaring the hell out of everybody with a fakegun and then calling our sweet, sunny school “a nightmare” seemed like a good idea?

From the looks on all the faces in the room, everybody was as lost as I was. We knew the new guy wouldn’t be Max—who could ever be?—but nobody had expected…this.

If nothing else, Duncan Carpenter had had people skills. He was—or at least had been—a genius with kids. And with grown-ups. And with animals, too, while we’re at it. Basically, if you were a living thing, Duncan knew what to say to you, and how to interact, and how to encourage you to be the best version of yourself.

Not anymore, apparently.

Max had taught us all to care desperately about the school. To be invested. To participate—actively and deeply. Nobody here was dialing it in. Most of us worked extra hours on a weekly basis. Most of us had found a dream job here—where our opinions were valued, and we were admired for whatever gifts we brought to the table, and we were encouraged to have a stake in what the place was and how it was run.

That was all Max. He’d set up a culture of admiration and support.

And he’d spoiled us all terribly.

ThisTwilight Zoneversion of Duncan didn’t see any of that. All he saw was what was wrong. Which was the absolute opposite of the Duncan I’d known—who had been the best person I’d ever met at seeing what was right.

Duncan stepped closer to the edge of the stage and stood up taller in some kind of He-Man power stance. “I want you to know that I understand Principal Kempner was pretty much the heart and soul of the school.”

Along with Babette,I wanted to add.

“But I’ll tell you something right now,” he went on. “If he wasn’t looking out for your physical safety, then he was no better than a fool.”

I felt the entire room catch its breath.

No. He. Did. Not.

Quick reminder: the man he was talking about had died right in front of us.

Babette went white, but she didn’t move.

“I want you to know,” Duncan went on, “that I’m excited to be here. Principal Kempner’s criminal neglect of your safety has given us the chance to make some epic improvements. Now it’s time to lead the nation in our next phase. The phase that will ensure the safety and security of every member of this school community and show all of America how it’s done.”

We stared at him.

He stared at us back.

Finally, he gave a little nod and said, “Thank you very much.”

And he was finished.

At least, I guess he was finished.

He hadn’t met anyone in the room, or asked us anything about this new place he was supposed to be in charge of, or interacted, or bonded, or, you know, done even one thing that he should have… but, no matter, he was picking up his broken laptop and walking off the stage.

Maybe three people clapped out of politeness.

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