Piss off the powerful. “It’s goingto be a disaster,” whines Hank, holding the top of his head as if he’s afraid it’ll pop off. “We’ll be totally humiliated,” says Frank, clutching his skull too. “Maybe we should just call it off.” Carter also looks sad and deflated. And he hasn’t made a single bad pun since we started the emergency meeting fifteen minutes ago. Pretty much all anyone has done so far is sit around and heave noisy sighs. Not even Mrs. Pratt is her typical cheerful self. The whole classroom has a dank atmosphere about it—like one of those rainy graveside funeral scenes in an epic drama. But there is one bright spot, at least for me. Because the meeting was last-minute, Jack couldn’t get off work from his internship. This means I don’t have to feel his moony eyes on me every few seconds or make up some reason to sprint down the hall when he asks to talk to me. “I’m sorry I didn’t pay Master-Man his deposit yet,” Drip says morosely. “I was going to this weekend.”
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