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tter a protest, but Mr. Tyson whispered: “Let Ed finish. We
Coach Miller asked them all: “How


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lot to him.”
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y’all know what grief is? Raise your hands.”
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d filthy wisecracks. With uncharacteristic composure the

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he serenely announced: “All right, y’all. Git

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d and hurled a heavy-duty staple gun at the treasured glass
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shouted from the back row.
into the creation of the mural. No other
ad invested countless hours
exhi
school in the state could have boasted a more glorious

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g for calm. He promised to remedy the situation
buttons, a hand rest
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d. “I’ll handle him.”
transcript doctored up so she could get into
e senior had needed her
deal with the girl
Buford University. Mr. Tyson had eagerly struck a
the coach walk th
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never, ever forget the shock of seeing
conference room, shouting some
is name, even barging into his private
sports com
thing about getting major league publicity for the regional

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elf for assuming that since his secretary and most of the school were
forget to lock his door! The c
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s jitters for making him
was such a religious fanatic he’d never forge
the bargain. The coach
by something whic
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Mr. Tyson felt any
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f girls to tears of shame. Nor had
serious professional misconduct. C
n school, but it still amounted to
girl's
oach Miller might have told other faculty members, or even the
his be
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nd principles could be bought by principals. Once
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o late, Clarence,” the vice princip
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pered, tugging at his sleeve. “I’ve already
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ity.”
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“Relax, Claren

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for a long time, and now they’d found the perfect excuse for their
t
Shane Flink, the King Cobra, signalled his gang to
big blow-out.
army camouflage fatigues and
rise up and storm the stage. Shane wore
Shane
a metal-studded headband topped with spiked, red-tipped hair.
the a

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vidently these school dropouts had sneaked into
zipped opened and weapons withdrawn from th
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,


9
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