Mr. Nefarious and Sonny Schore

Mr. Nefarious wasn’t anywhere to be found. When I arrived at his office door there was a sign taped up that read: Gone Piping. He’s the biggest dork I know I thought. There’s only one place he could be.

I jogged out to the quad and spotted el dorko, my professor, billowing smoke in large segments like he was birthing clouds.

Mr. Nefarious looked startled by the heavy slaps of my feet getting closer—he whipped around with an excited grin, clenching his pipe. I knew he was feigning surprise when he obnoxiously belted, “Mmmmyyyyeeeeeeeesss?” as I leaned on his shoulder and caught my breath.

“Sonny and the custodian found the fish in the heater. His classroom smells soooo vile, and he’s got a class in a few minutes. Ha ha ha, I know you did it.”

“Meee? What a filthy accusation. I’d never pull such low brow shinanigans.” The way he spoke was so playfully condescending he might as well have winked and nudged me with his elbow.

“Ok, whatever. Ha ha. Beware. Sonny’s on the war path.”

View this story's 4 comments.