Give us a break
It was on the 8th grade, the third floor supervisor escorted us to the Vice-Principal’s office. The Vice-Principal had a reputation of being a strict disciplinarian. We trembled at his laud drill-sergeant voice. As we walked the long corridor and stairway to the second floor, my mind rushed ahead thinking on the consequences the three of us would suffer for being naughty during recess and what explanation I was going to come up with to explain the sure detention to my parents. We were not assiduous visitors at the Vice-Principal’s office, but had had our share of encounters with the floor supervisor. This time was it, we were doomed; there was no way we could get away. The Vice-Principal sat behind his desk looking not too happy to have to deal with not just one, but with three troublemakers. My legs were shaken and my knees began to hit each other, and my head moved up and down agreeing with the charges pressed against us. The Vice-Principal pause before the final verdict, but in a mo