The Files of the Big Damn Principal

"Impressive," she muttered, turning in circles as she walked into the marble-inlaid foyer. Clearly, Fandom High School wasn't the indigent, newly-established program she'd thought. She paused, staring at an oil painting of a woman dressed in combat gear with sunglasses on one wall, her attitude martial and disdainful at once.

She put her bags down on the parquet, and hoped that someone would come find her. Really, the place was huge. If Dean Washburn thought Susan already knew where her office was, this could get more than a little problematic.