Sploosh

Clara felt all warm and squishy inside, much like the banana cream pie that had just landed, as she knew it would, precisely and squarely in the face of her trigonometry teacher.

“Let the games begin,” Clara whispered to herself.

After a moment of hesitation, wherein not a soul was able to process the fact that a freshly-baked banana cream pie had appeared from nowhere, mid-toss, and proceeded from there to a splooshy finish on Ms. Rathbun’s face, the classroom erupted.

In a flash, the air was filled with banana cream pies, simultaneously flying from every possible angle in the room, each appearing mid-way to its destination. Only one face was left undefiled.

Eventually, all would realize it had been Clara, even though she hadn’t moved as much as an eyelash. Perhaps because of that, and because she had remained unsoiled.

Clara trembled with anticipation of the official response. If The Banana Cream Massacre failed to get her expelled or suspended, or it didn’t even rate a lousy detention, she would know beyond a doubt that they were, as she had suspected, completely terrified of her. Clara would be calling the shots.

And Bergdale High was only the beginning.