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“Just put it over there,” Mrs. Lashley, the art teacher, pointed to the far corner of her classroom. Scott nodded and hoisted a card table under each arm, making his way to the spot she’d chosen. The bell rang as a few more students walked into the room, adding their own chatter to the already bubbling room. Every class had been like that; those kids who hadn’t seen each other all summer were catching up, and those who had were keeping up a running commentary and analyzation of the day’s events.

Scott quickly set up the tables and left, nodding at Mrs. Lashley as she waved her thanks. He walked about halfway down the empty hallway before turning to and quietly opening another door.

The fortyish, dark-haired man at the front of the classroom finished his introduction to the junior-level Western Civ. class before handing out a pre-test and then coming over to Scott.

“Sorry to interrupt, Mr. Richardson,” Scott said.

“Not at all,” Mr. Richardson smiled and waved his hand dismissively. “I know you’ve got to just come when you can.”

“What’s the problem,” Scott asked.

“Two of my power outlets aren’t working,” Mr. Richardson answered, leading Scott over to his desk in the front corner of the classroom.

“Have you tried the others in the room?”

“Yes. And all the lights are working fine as well.”

“I’ll take a look at it. It might take a day or two to find the problem or fix it,” Scott said.

“That’s fine,” Mr. Richardson said. “As soon as you can is just fine.”

As Mr. Richardson got back to his class, Scott removed the plates and checked the hardware, hoping that the problem would just be a faulty outlet. Of course not. That would be too easy, he thought. He used the current detector he’d brought with him to confirm that there was, in fact, no power coming to the outlet. Quickly putting the plates back on, he stood up and pulled a small spiral notebook out of his back pocket, adding “Outlets. Lamar Building. Room 12. No detectable current” to the growing list. Hopefully he wouldn’t have to call an electrician.

Scott’s next stop was just down the hall from Mr. Richardson’s class, but might has well have been on the moon.

“It’s about time,” Mr. Jones snapped as Scott stepped into the room. Mr. Jones quickly gave his American history class a short reading selection and stepped over to Scott. “I paged you at least an hour ago.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Jones. I got here as quickly as I could,” Scott said, his voice calm and unruffled.

“Hmmph,” Mr. Jones huffed. “Well, I’m not in the mood for excuses. I need three more desks for my students. Three of whom have been sitting on the floor in each of my classes, by the way.”

“I’m on it.”

It was a common first day problem. The class numbers somehow never managed to be exactly right. Late registrations, last minute schedule shifting…it all culminated on the first day of school, and meant a lot of desk hauling for Scott. He put three desks in the Mr. Jones’ room, then proceeded to move four desks from Mrs. Winters’ room to Miss England’s room, rebooted three computers – technically not his job, but the IT guy only came in twice a week, and who else were they going to call? -- and adjusted air conditioning before heading to the cafeteteria for lunch. Not bad for the first day of school, he thought as he walked into the cafeteria. He waved at Mrs. England, the cafeteria administrator, as he grabbed the lunch she’d set aside for him – a meatball sub with chips and a big chocolate chip cookie. He walked quickly to his closet and sat down in his office chair with sigh. Overall not a bad first day of school morning, and at the moment he was caught up. But Scott had been at Eastbrook long enough to know that the peace probably wouldn’t last, and he better take advantage of a short break while he could. And a meatball sub was just the way to do it.