Son of a B______!

Beckett knows. He always knows.

Whenever the Headmaster heads out of town for an overnight trip, Beckett seizes the opportunity. Remember our Disney holiday? Beckett got the better of the Headmaster that day, but who's laughing now? Certainly not Beckett, whose body lies rusting in the Howard County landfill.

But Son of Beckett lives. The last remaining oil-fired appliance in the Academy - the furnace, source of all that is warm and good - carries the bitter grudge forward. The Headmaster went to North Carolina for the Thanksgiving holiday, and as he sat at the banquet table engaged in enthralling conversation with the In-Laws, perhaps pausing only to dab a spot of gravy from the corner of his mouth, Beckett went to work. The phone call from Academy staff came quickly enough - "The heat isn't working and we're FREEZING!" The Headmaster set his napkin gently on the table and swallowed hard. With veins bulging in his neck, he raised a fisted fork to the ceiling and shouted "BECKEEEEEEEEEETT!" A small piece of turkey and one green bean fell to the table as the father-in-law dropped his jaw open. Yeah, good times.

Although there was positively nothing the Headmaster could do to salvage what little remained of his reputation with the In-Laws, he awoke this morning (after a long, cold night) with some small hope that, by fixing the furnace himself, he might salvage what little remains of the Academy's endowment. The Headmistress was skeptical - she waited at the top of the stairs with a twitchy finger on the speed-dial, ready to call in the professionals.

Several hours later, with every tool in the Academy's workshop brought to bear, the Headmaster emerged victorious and positively reeking of #2 fuel oil. Who knew there were SO MANY parts in a furnace?!

So, Son of Beckett, who's laughing now?


Oh crap, we're in trouble....