These days, every school has a “Joe”: someone to provide a sly shot of the banned pick-me-up to keep you sharp.
I did business in the basement art room, killed years ago by budget cuts.
Just before first period Principal Singh walked in. My heart raced but my expression remained bored.
“I’m Viraj, sir,” I said, sounding confused.
He put a bill on the desk. “Dark roast, double cream.”
I grinned and knocked three times on the kiln where the bean boys worked, receiving a steaming cup marked JUICE.
“Thanks, Joe.” He took a sip. “Stay in school.”