“Come in, Arnold,” Headmaster McAvoy said as he rounded his shellacked oak desk to sit in his office chair. The chair rolled backward a bit as he settled into it. “It’s good to see you.”
Arnold scratched his week-long stubble on his face. He realized he couldn’t call it a beard, as it was a result of just ignoring hygiene and not some predetermined plan to grow facial hair. “Thanks for seeing me.”
“Have a seat.” McAvoy gestured to the chair across the desk with an open palm. Degrees and certifications hung behind him on the wall, above a coffeemaker and rows of mugs stamped with all the locations where he had travelled to throughout his adult life.
Arnold sat and cringed when he heard his small bottle of whiskey he had stowed in his blazer pocket clink against the side of the chair when
