Chapter 1
No one had the nerve to tell Principal Frisch that his fly was down. More specifically, none of the assembled staff knew him well enough to share this vital information with him. This despite the fact that they’d had ample opportunity thirty minutes ago, when they were casually milling around the cafetorium before orientation began. But now he was fifteen minutes into his opening remarks for the new school year, and there was no turning back.
At first, staff compensated for the awkwardness by looking Frisch straight in the eye, avoiding any glances toward nether regions below. Nothing, say, beneath his shirt collar. He, on the other hand, seemed to be focusing on some point just above their eyebrows, their hair lines, or off-center, near the tips of their ears.
You got the impression that he’d taken a course on public speaking in preparation for his first year as principal in a new school district. But any strategies he’d learned hadn’t worked themselves into the actual delivery.
Not only was Frisch expected to fill the enormous shoes left to him by the previous principal, Athena Galanos, but he was also tasked with somehow shoring up Apex’s sagging standardized test scores, currently ranked second to last in the district. But not for long! Frisch told himself.
Another reason no one felt comfortable telling Frisch about his wardrobe malfunction was that, like many schools, the staff at Apex was overwhelmingly female. The few guys on campus held mostly non-classroom jobs --PE coach, guidance counselor, and psychologist. And then there was Mike Hughes, the only man in the world who could pull off teaching kindergarten without seeming creepy. If any of them noticed Frisch’s dilemma prior to the start of the meeting, they must’ve each assumed someone else would warn him.
Now Frisch was holding up the red emergency folders used for fire drills, and asked everyone to store them near their classroom door. As he continued on to the uniform policy, mandated reporting of suspected child abuse, and procedures for daily attendance, his audience’s eyes started to glaze over, and one or two of them slumped in their chairs. The majority of teachers had been tenured for over twenty years, and none of this was new information to them.
The only fresh face was Ashley Fitzgerald, a wisp of a girl who barely looked old enough to buy cigarettes. She was the new speech pathologist, and she listened to Frisch with all the intensity of a graduate student preparing for finals. Because, just three months ago, that’s exactly what she had been.
At last Frisch seemed to be wrapping it up. The unspoken rule at Apex was for the principal to make a brief “welcome back,” distribute staff handbooks, and dismiss teachers to work in their rooms or, as many of the old guard did, to take a very extended lunch break.
But clearly Frisch was unaware of this cherished tradition, and people were starting to get antsy. It wasn’t his fault. He thought it was going great. Toward the end, he even started looking a few of them in the eye.
By the time he finally wished them all a great year and “to be the ones who make a difference in children’s lives!” he was smiling proudly like the brave captain he felt he was, hands planted at his waist. The gesture caused his fly to peek open a fraction more. Yes, this was his school, this was his year, and it was all going to be great!
The last couple teachers had just filed out when he bent over to pick up his papers and realized with horror that his zipper was down. Well, he thought, at least no one seemed to notice.
Before he had a chance to correct the problem, Stephanie, his office manager, walked in. Frisch strategically hid behind an open laptop.
“You got a call from the district office,” she stated, handing him the yellow memo slip. “Also, a lot of the teachers are complaining that you kept them too long. Ms. Galanos always used to dismiss them after half an hour --max.”
“Thank you, Stephanie,” he replied, a little crestfallen.
“Oh, one more thing,” she paused on her way out.
“Yes?”
“Your fly’s down.”
