The Teachers’ Lounge Bluff

Von Nessi stared through the opening. Four staff members sat around the round lunch table beneath a humming fluorescent fixture. A bowl of pretzels occupied the center beside a stack of dollar bills, several coins, and a bottle wearing a paper sleeve from the faculty Christmas raffle. Coach Henderson had loosened his tie. Miss Miller had removed one shoe and was using the other to hold the table leg steady. Mr. Holloway kept his cards hidden behind a laminated notice about fire-drill procedures. Mrs. Jenkins had arranged her chips in neat little towers, each topped with a different colored button.

Von Nessi’s first thought was that this was a disciplinary matter.

His second was that the bottle was probably not lemonade.

His third was that Mrs. Jenkins had an excellent poker face.

The door gave a small metallic groan.

Every head turned.

“Vice Principal von Nessi,” said Miss Miller.

The mop bucket rolled six inches into the corridor.

Von Nessi stepped forward and caught the door before it swung wider. “Good evening.”

“It’s nearly one in the morning,” said Mr. Holloway.

“Then good late evening.”

Coach Henderson lifted his mug. “Coffee?”

Von Nessi could smell the whiskey from the doorway. It mingled with pretzels, old upholstery, and the sharp lemon scent of the cleaning spray someone had used to wipe down the table. “What is happening here?”

“Professional development,” said Mrs. Jenkins.

“With cards?” Von Nessi glanced at the money.

“Risk analysis,” said Miss Miller.

“With whiskey?”

“Impulse control,” said Mr. Holloway.

Coach Henderson leaned toward the pile. “And poor financial planning.”

Von Nessi pushed the door inward. It moved half an inch, then stopped with the stubborn finality of a filing cabinet that had developed principles. He pressed harder. The bucket squealed. The wastebasket tipped, spilling three dry markers and a laminated photograph of Superintendent McReynolds onto the floor.

The photograph landed faceup.

Superintendent McReynolds smiled from it with the strained confidence of a man who had been told the picture would only take five minutes.

Von Nessi looked at the photograph, then at the table. “Everyone out.”

Nobody moved.

The door suddenly sprang back. The mop bucket shot into the corridor, the wastebasket rolled toward the trophy case, and Von Nessi stumbled over the textbook. He caught himself against the jamb, but his shoulder struck the light switch. The lounge lights went out.

In the darkness, someone knocked over a mug.

“Don’t touch the money,” Mrs. Jenkins said.

“I’m not touching the money,” said Coach Henderson. “I’m touching the table.”

“You’re touching both.”

Von Nessi found the switch again. The lights flickered on, revealing the new arrangement. Mr. Holloway was standing on his chair. Miss Miller had one hand in the pretzel bowl. Coach Henderson was crouched beneath the table with his tie caught around a table leg. Mrs. Jenkins still held her cards, though one of them had somehow migrated to her forehead.

The door remained wide open.

From the corridor came the slow, echoing hum of the school’s ventilation system.

Von Nessi straightened his jacket. “This is not acceptable.”

“Of course not,” said Miss Miller. “That’s why we locked the door.”

“It wasn’t locked,” said Mr. Holloway.

“It was jammed.”

“It jammed after Coach tried to lock it.”

Coach Henderson emerged from beneath the table with a red mark across his cheek. “The latch has been unreliable since September.”

“You reported it,” Von Nessi said.

“I reported the drinking fountain.”

“That was also unreliable.”

“It still is.”

Von Nessi stepped into the lounge, intending to shut the door from the inside. The moment he crossed the threshold, the door swung toward him and caught the back of his jacket in its hinge.

He froze.

Mrs. Jenkins studied him. “Are you all right?”

“I’m attached to the building.”

Coach Henderson reached for the handle. The door resisted. He pulled harder. Von Nessi’s jacket tightened across his shoulders and lifted him onto his toes.

“Stop pulling,” Von Nessi said.

“I’m trying to open it.”

“You’re trying to remove my clothing.”

“I can do one or the other.”

Miss Miller stood and tucked her cards into her blouse. “Perhaps we should all remain calm.”

“You have cards in your blouse,” said Mr. Holloway.

“I’m remaining calm privately.”

Coach Henderson gave the handle another tug. The door released with a violent snap, sending Von Nessi backward into the table. The money jumped. Coins scattered across the floor. The bottle in the paper sleeve wobbled, toppled, and rolled beneath the refrigerator.

A thin stream of amber liquid began creeping across the linoleum.

Mrs. Jenkins rose with remarkable speed. “That was not mine.”

“It was in your hand,” said Mr. Holloway.

“It was in the sleeve.”

“The sleeve was in your hand.”

“The bottle was on the table.”

“And now it’s under the refrigerator,” said Miss Miller.

Von Nessi looked at the spreading puddle. “Nobody move.”

They all moved.

Coach Henderson grabbed a stack of napkins. Mr. Holloway seized the pretzel bowl and held it under the leak, though the bowl was nowhere near the bottle. Miss Miller tried to pull the refrigerator away from the wall and succeeded only in turning it slightly, exposing a gray sock, two orange crayons, and a fossilized sandwich. Mrs. Jenkins dropped to her knees with a handful of paper towels.

Von Nessi, still caught halfway in the doorway, reached for the bottle. His sleeve brushed the light switch. The lights went out again.

There was a crash.

Then a pause.

“Who has the bottle?” he asked.

“I have the pretzels,” said Coach Henderson.

“Why?”

“I panicked.”

The lights came back on.

The bottle was now upright on the floor, balanced on top of the overturned wastebasket. The refrigerator stood at an angle. Mrs. Jenkins had whiskey on one cuff and a pretzel stuck to her shoe. Mr. Holloway held the fire-drill notice like a shield. Miss Miller’s missing shoe had landed in the sink.

Von Nessi finally freed his jacket and shut the door. It clicked closed.

For three seconds, nobody spoke.

Then the handle turned.

The door opened two inches and stopped against the mop bucket, which had somehow rolled back into position.

Von Nessi stared at it. “We need to leave.”

“Agreed,” said Mrs. Jenkins.

He grabbed the bucket and dragged it away. The door opened another inch, then jammed against the wastebasket.

Coach Henderson kicked the wastebasket aside. The door opened another inch and stopped against the mathematics textbook.

Mr. Holloway picked up the textbook. “This is the problem.”

“No,” said Miss Miller. “The problem is the gambling.”

“The textbook is obstructing the exit.”

“The gambling is also obstructing the exit.”

Von Nessi pressed his shoulder to the door. The hinges complained. The entire frame shuddered. Somewhere beyond the lounge, an automatic light flicked on, illuminating the corridor in a pale rectangle. The school looked suddenly awake and observant.

He imagined writing the report. At approximately 12:47 a.m., I discovered four staff members engaged in unauthorized card play, consuming alcohol, and using school property as a barricade.

He imagined Superintendent McReynolds reading it.

He imagined Superintendent McReynolds asking why the vice principal had entered the lounge instead of calling security.

Then Coach Henderson slid a fresh stack of bills toward the center of the table.

“Since we’re trapped,” he said, “we might as well finish the hand.”

Von Nessi turned. “You cannot be serious.”

“I’ve got a pair of sevens.”

“That is not a reason to continue.”

“It is if you’ve got twenty dollars invested.”

Mrs. Jenkins gathered the scattered bills. “He’s right.”

“Mrs. Jenkins.”

“Not morally. Mathematically.”

Miss Miller retrieved her shoe from the sink and wiped it with a napkin. “You were going to report us?”

Von Nessi looked at the open door, the crooked refrigerator, the amber stain spreading beneath it, and Superintendent McReynolds’s photograph lying face down near the wastebasket. “I was going to determine the facts.”

“You have determined them,” said Mr. Holloway. “We are trapped, and Coach is cheating.”

“I am not cheating.”

“You dealt yourself six cards.”

“That was an administrative error.”

Von Nessi should have left. He should have summoned someone. He should have written the report and let the district sort out the consequences.

Instead, he noticed the empty chair.

It sat between Mrs. Jenkins and the refrigerator, its wooden seat polished by years of staff meetings and reluctant attendance. On the table, the bills waited in a loose, untidy pile. The whiskey smelled warm and expensive. The fluorescent light buzzed above them. Beyond the jammed door, the corridor remained empty.

“What are the stakes?” he asked.

The room became very still.

Coach Henderson grinned. “Now there’s a professional-development question.”

Von Nessi removed his wallet. “I asked what the stakes are.”

Mrs. Jenkins pushed a stack of chips toward him. “Five dollars to enter. Fifty-cent rounds.”

“Small game,” said Miss Miller.

“Small game,” Mr. Holloway agreed, while discreetly moving three bills beneath his elbow.

Von Nessi counted out five dollars, then stopped. The empty chair seemed to lean toward him.

“Five,” said Mrs. Jenkins.

Von Nessi placed a twenty on the table. “I’m not sitting down for five dollars.”

Coach Henderson’s eyes brightened. “That’s the spirit.”

“That is not the spirit,” said Miss Miller. “That is a warning sign.”

Von Nessi took the empty chair. It creaked beneath him. The jammed door stood open behind his shoulder, exposing the table, the bottle, the cards, and every bad decision in the room to anyone walking past.

Mrs. Jenkins dealt.

The first card slid across the table and struck Von Nessi’s knuckles. The second landed in the puddle of whiskey. The third disappeared beneath Coach Henderson’s cuff.

“Excellent,” said Mr. Holloway.

Von Nessi picked up the wet card. The ink had blurred into a gray cloud.

“What is it?” Miss Miller asked.

He held it toward the light. “I believe it’s a queen.”

“Could be a six,” said Coach Henderson.

“Could be a disciplinary memo,” said Mrs. Jenkins.

From the corridor came a distant metallic clatter, followed by the squeak of wheels.

Everyone looked toward the open doorway.

Von Nessi kept his cards close to his chest. “Deal again.”

The door gave another long, complaining groan, as if the school itself had begun to object.

End of chapter one. 7 more chapters and about 19,732 words in the full book.