In a Student's Company

2 - A MEETING WITH MRS CAMPBELL

2 - A MEETING WITH MRS CAMPBELLAngus felt calm. He sat in a hard, plastic chair provided for students summoned to the front office. He was confident selling chocolates wasn’t worthy of a capital punishment like expulsion. Mrs Campbell’s office door, which had remained unopened since Angus’s arrival, was painted a dreary green. There was no name plate or indication of what a visitor would find inside.

So much for needing to see me right away, Angus thought, staring at a clock on the wall while his precious lunch time slipped away. Mr Tilley, a man only a year Angus’s senior, sat at a small desk across from Mrs Campbell’s closed office door. His knees banged against the desk every time he repositioned his legs.

“How’s your art coming along?” Angus asked Mr Tilley.

“Fine thanks.” Mr Tilley was doing his best to sort and re-staple a pile of teacher professional development booklets whose pages had been printed in the wrong order.

Angus had found out, in the few times they had made conversation and from various other sources, that Mr Tilley’s dream was not to be a principal’s assistant. Mr Tilley had finished dux of his school last year. He assumed achieving dux implied he could pursue any career he desired, and decided to study contemporary art. Although his ATAR had been 99.4, he was rejected from every university to which he applied because his artistic skills were “unique”, according to one of the rejection letters. Truth was, his university application portfolio was indistinguishable from a child’s work. Mr Tilley’s mother, ever supportive of her son, suggested community art classes. Additionally, through family connections she got him a job assisting in the art rooms at Angus’s school. After little more than a week, the art teacher, patient as he was, refused to employ Mr Tilley in the art room any longer.

“He gives bad art vibes,” the art teacher had told Mrs Campbell. As “bad art vibes” were insufficient grounds for firing, Mr Tilley was given the next vacant administrative position—assistant to Mrs Campbell. Despite the setbacks, he kept a sketch pad and pencil in his desk’s top drawer for moments of artistic inspiration and attended numerous art classes a week. Angus admired Mr Tilley not because of his skills, which never seemed to improve, but for his persistence.

“Got any new works?” Angus asked.

Mr Tilley nodded. Ensuring Mrs Campbell’s office door was still closed, he pulled out his sketch pad and held up the most recent page. It was a rough pencil sketch of what appeared to be a wonky, broken version of the chair in which Angus sat.

Angus nodded supportively. “I can see what it is.”

“Thanks.” Mr Tilley smiled. “Still working on the shading.”

The office door opened to reveal Mrs Campbell. She wore one of her green blouses with a big silk bow at her midriff. She appeared tranquil, as if she had just woken from a nap. Mr Tilley quickly hid the sketch pad in his lap.

“Mr Tilley, could you please get me a coffee?” Mrs Campbell asked with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Without looking at or acknowledging Angus, the principal closed the door.

Angus didn’t consider himself a bad student. He wasn’t rude to teachers. He wasn’t antagonistic to other students. In his thirteen years of school, he had only received two detentions, both for missed homework in Year 10. As a preventative measure against wasting any more lunch times on being incarcerated, he challenged himself to never receive any more homework-related detentions. When he felt he had mastered that, he increased the difficulty. From the start of Year 11, his challenge was to never again do homework at home. He had read numerous online articles that provided evidence against doing work at home, and strongly agreed with them.

“How do you never have homework?” Lucas would complain. “I always have to spend at least half an hour every night finishing the maths questions.”

“Three ways to avoid homework,” Angus explained. “One: only do the bare minimum. Two: make homework your priority in free lessons. Three: if the homework is so hard that you can’t work it out during your free lessons, leave it and don’t stress. Teachers rarely give detentions because you genuinely didn’t understand the work. Some do, but that’s the risk element. You’ve got to work smart, not hard.”

Angus was succeeding in his challenge, and homework wasn’t part of his school life anymore.

Sitting outside Mrs Campbell’s office, Angus considered the possibility that his principal had called him in for advice on how to help other kids be more productive with their homework. He would be glad to give his advice on the matter. Mr Tilley returned with a mug of coffee from the staff room. He paused at Mrs Campbell’s door and knocked once. The door instantly opened.

“Thank you for the coffee,” Mrs Campbell said. She poked her head out the doorway and looked down at Angus.

“Come in, Angus. Sit down.”

Angus entered the office. It was sparingly decorated. Family photos of nieces and nephews adorned the filing cabinets, and a framed copy of Mrs Campbell’s Master of Education degree hung on the wall. He took a seat in one of the two visitors’ chairs. These chairs were cushioned and should have been far more comfortable than the hard plastic one, but nothing at that moment could have made Angus comfortable. His peace had stayed outside.

Mrs Campbell gently placed her coffee onto a hand-painted coaster and looked at the steaming beverage with a caring smile. She didn’t say anything for a few moments, leaving Angus to wonder at her thoughts. He fidgeted with a pen in his pocket.

She eventually looked up at him. “Do you drink coffee?”

“I’m fine for the moment, thank you,” Angus said politely.

“I’m not offering you a coffee. I’m just asking if you like it.”

Angus decided the best strategy was to play along with wherever the conversation was going.

“I don’t mind coffee, but I only have it about once a month.”

“I really like my coffees,” Mrs Campbell said. “Tea is great, but a cappuccino is just wonderful.”

“I heard it’s quite addictive,” Angus added, content with discussing coffee and nothing else.

Mrs Campbell didn’t immediately reply. She sat forward in her high-back leather chair, staring at the boy. Angus, unsure where to look, shifted in his chair and gazed out a window facing the oval. In the distance, he could see a Year 9 boy eating a Waffleo.

“Coffee is quite addictive,” Mrs Campbell said finally.

Angus exhaled, without realising he’d been holding his breath.

“I try to not have more than one a day,” Mrs Campbell continued, “but I could very well be addicted. You know, I was recently doing some research on the health benefits of coffee. It turns out there are only a few. Do you know what the unhealthiest part of a cappuccino is?”

Angus knew the answer was sugar. He knew Mrs Campbell knew the answer was sugar, so he doubled down on sugar. “I’d say the sugar. It’s insane how much sugar people put in their coffee. My uncle puts about three or four teaspoons of sugar in his coffee, and he has at least five coffees a day.”

“That’s right. Sugar is the unhealthiest part,” Mrs Campbell said. She took a sip of her coffee. “In case you were wondering, this coffee is sugar free. And you mentioned coffee is addictive. Do you know what they say is more addictive than coffee?”

Angus paused to emulate a moment of deliberation. “Cocaine?”

“No—sugar,” Mrs Campbell corrected. “I’m surprised you didn’t know that.”

She stood up from her desk and searched for something on the shelf above her desk. “You are a very bright student, Angus. I am sure you’ll do many great things after you graduate Year 12. I was wondering if you would be kind enough to give me your opinion on… an idea I have.”

Angus felt his heart rate increase as Mrs Campbell found what she was looking for. She placed a Caramilk bar in front of him on the desk.

“As you know, at the start of this term—less than two weeks ago—I announced that the canteen would no longer be stocking chocolate bars or any other products with high sugar content. Were you here on that day?”

Angus continued to play along. “Yes, I was.”

“Excellent. And do you remember what I said at the start of this year about why we are striving to become a healthier school?”

He was growing tired of the condescension. “You said unhealthy food and drink cause childhood obesity, and the way to solve that is to take away the ability for kids to choose what they eat for lunch?”

“That is a very disrespectful version of what I said, Angus.” Mrs Campbell picked up the Caramilk and turned it over in her hands. “I believe kids can choose what they eat, but within reason. Surely you are aware that children need guidance and teaching and support for making healthy food choices.”

“High school students? People old enough to have jobs and earn their own money?” Angus said slowly, keeping a measured tone. “I’m sure junior school kids need guidance, but by the time we get to high school, we know that sugar and fatty foods are bad for us.”

Mrs Campbell nodded, appearing to listen thoughtfully. Angus had never had this long of a conversation with his principal and wasn’t sure if he was crossing a line. His plan was not to provoke her, but he felt any manager, or principal, should be willing to receive feedback.

“My idea that I’d like to run past you is whether we should ban the school canteen completely,” she announced.

“Ban the canteen? Why?”

“Because I don’t think it’s a good use of school resources. All the canteen does is sell food and drink, and most of the food and drink sold in the canteen contains some form of added sugar.”

Angus couldn’t help but imagine the demand for his contraband goods if the canteen disappeared.

“I think that might work,” he concluded.

Mrs Campbell let out a small laugh. “You agree that banning the canteen will help solve child obesity?”

“I don’t see why not.” Angus shrugged. “Or maybe just remove everything from the canteen but apples and those ham sandwiches.”

Mrs Campbell waited until Angus was looking into her eyes. “Stop selling chocolates.”

“As in, stop selling? Or stop selling chocolates?” Angus asked quietly, taken off guard by the abrupt judgment.

“You are not to sell anything at all,” Mrs Campbell said. “If I catch you selling or hear of you selling anything to students in or around school grounds, you will receive a detention and a parent-teacher meeting will be scheduled.”

The purpose of a parent-teacher meeting was to allow the teachers and parents to scheme together and come up with punishments for the student that would further erase the division between school and home. Angus’s parents, Thomas and Cathy Newman, were kind, caring and supportive. That made the parent-teacher meeting threat hold gravity. Threatening a parent-teacher meeting on a kid with deadbeat, careless parents was as good as threatening a pet dog-teacher meeting.

“What about the kids who sell chocolates for fundraising? Are they allowed to keep selling?” Angus asked, grasping for a loophole.

“This isn’t about them—this is about you. You may not sell anything at school. Is that clear?”

Angus had no more arguments and accepted the defeat.

The end of lunch bell rang, and Angus was sent promptly back to class.

“It’s over?” Lucas asked quietly as he and Angus opened their laptops in the library.

“It’s over,” Angus confirmed. Nothing felt more humiliating to him than being told to stop what he was doing without a decent reason or explanation.

One of their classmates, Eli, overheard the conversation. “You’re not selling chocolates anymore?”

“Mrs Campbell,” was all Angus had to say.

Eli understood. “Have you got any left?”

“Half a dozen. Why?”

“Are you going to eat them?”

“I don’t know. Probably. I paid for them.”

“Can I have one?”

“A free one?”

Eli smiled. “Yes, a free one.”

“No.”

“Well, I’ll buy the rest from you for a discount.”

“I’m not allowed to sell any,” Angus said. “I’ll get in trouble.”

Eli nodded toward Lucas. “Then get Lucas to sell them to me. Lucas can give you the money afterward. Did Mrs Campbell say Lucas couldn’t sell chocolates?”

Lucas held his hands up defensively. “Don’t involve me in your weird, money-laundering chocolate trade.”

Peter, who was sitting next to Eli, joined the conversation. “I’ll do the trade—for a cut of the profits.”

“Wait, now I’m lost,” Angus said.

“The deal is, you give me the chocolates,” Peter explained. “I’ll sell the chocolates to Eli. I’ll keep, say, half of the money, and give the rest to you. That way, you haven’t technically sold anything. You’re merely giving me the chocolates out of the goodness of your heart, and I’ll give you some money from the goodness of my heart.”

“That’s literally just me selling you the chocolates for half price,” Angus said.

“Or, alternatively,” Eli said to Peter, “once you have the chocolates you could agree to charge me a lower price, so Angus receives less money.”

“You two are not convincing me that this is a good idea,” Angus said.

“It would be a good idea for you all to be quiet and get back to work!” Mrs Van Paul, the librarian, called from her desk.

“Okay, final idea,” Eli whispered excitedly. “Angus, you trade six chocolate bars with Peter for, like, six bags of chips. Then it’s definitely not a sale—it’s a trade. Peter and I will each buy three packets of chips to do the trade with you.”

Lucas, although pretending to be working, shook his head. “Six bags of chips for six chocolate bars? That’s not a fair trade. Chocolate bars are worth way more than bags of chips.”

“Are you kidding? Chips and chocolates always carry the same value in food trades,” Eli said.

Angus craned his neck to watch Mrs Van Paul leave the library to visit the bathroom, make a cup of tea or whatever else teachers did when they needed a break each lesson. He picked up his school bag from under his chair and removed the remaining chocolate bars. He held one out to Lucas, who shoved it in his pocket, looking around for any witnesses or cameras. Peter and Eli each received a chocolate like it was gold, making empty promises to pay Angus back. Angus turned to the table next to him, where two of his classmates, Rachael and Brooke, were focused on their work.

“Do you girls want one?” Angus asked, holding up two bars.

Rachael looked up from her maths book. She had been engrossed in her work and hadn’t heard any of the boys’ conversations. “No thanks. I don’t have any money on me.”

Angus placed the two chocolates on their desk. “They’re free. I’m banned from selling them.”

The girls exchanged a surprised glance, then quickly hid the chocolates in their pencil cases. A few minutes later, Mrs Van Paul returned.

Angus walked over to her desk. “Hey, Mrs V. I’ve got a present.”

He presented his last Caramilk chocolate bar. Mrs Van Paul, a twenty-plus-year veteran of teaching, waited in anticipation for something to happen. “Is it a joke chocolate?”

“No tricks. It’s just a chocolate bar. I had half a dozen spare from a business project. I’m watching my weight. Getting my body ready for the summer,” Angus joked, giving his belly a pat.

“Aren’t we all,” Mrs Van Paul replied. She took the chocolate. “Thank you, Angus. That is very kind. I shall enjoy the sugar rush while I teach the Year 7s in the next lesson.”

Angus went back to his desk and slumped into his chair. He was aware his homework-free streak was on the line if he didn’t finish his maths questions that lesson, but he couldn’t focus.

“Do you know who else is in Business and Enterprise?” Angus asked Lucas.

“I couldn’t even tell you who’s in the same maths class as me, and that class hasn’t changed since the beginning of the year.”

“Rachael is,” Brooke said.

“Really?” Lucas asked.

Rachael sighed. “Yep.”

Lucas had never considered that Rachael would be interested in business.

Maybe she’s bored of being the best at everything else and looking for a challenge? he wondered.

Rachael Armand had achieved dux of the class in Year 11 and a merit award for all her subjects. There was a running joke among the Year 12s that the day she got a bad grade for an assessment was the day they’d all give up and drop out. She didn’t appreciate that joke.

“Did you forget to put your elective preference form in as well?” Lucas asked with a hopeful smile. If the school’s star student had messed up, he wondered if he could use that in his negotiations with Mrs Campbell.

“No, there was a subject clash,” Rachael said. “I wanted to do Material Products, but to do that, I had to drop Modern History and choose between BnE or Drama.”

“And you chose to be in a class with myself and Lucas?” Angus asked in a silly voice. “That’s nice of you.”

She smiled. It was true there were worse possibilities than having Angus and Lucas as classmates, but she didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of knowing that. “I chose the subject, not the classmates.”

“Well, there goes my only chance at a merit award,” Angus said. Rachael shook her head. “You’ll get it. I doubt anyone else in the class has started an actual business before.”

“I doubt anyone else in history has been asked to stop running a business by a principal either,” Angus grumbled.

“Paul Jacobs, 2002,” Mrs Van Paul said, rearranging some books on a nearby shelf. “He was unlucky Mrs Campbell caught him before the police did. Now settle and do your work or I’ll unleash her on you, too.”