Chapter 2: Operation Misbehave

Chapter 2: Operation Misbehave

The call with David ended, but the energy from it lingered, coiling in Alex’s gut like a live wire. The world snapped back into sharp focus. The pitying smiles, Janice Petty’s beige insincerity, the sterile architecture of the district office—they were no longer insults. They were targets.

David’s offer wasn’t just a safety net; it was a declaration of invulnerability. A golden parachute. What could they do to him now? Fire him? They’d already done that. Give him a bad reference? He was leaving the world of public education for the stratosphere of tech philanthropy. He had nothing to lose, and that made him the most dangerous man in the building.

He turned on his heel and marched back toward the glass doors he had exited only minutes before. The receptionist looked up, her expression shifting from pity to confusion as he strode past her desk without breaking stride, his face set like granite. He was no longer a supplicant coming to learn his fate. He was a commander on his way to dictate terms.

His destination was the corner office, the one with the thicker carpet and the nameplate that read: DR. MARK THOMPSON, SUPERINTENDENT. He didn't bother waiting for an invitation. He knocked twice, sharp and authoritative, and entered.

Thompson was a portly man in his late fifties with a comb-over that seemed to be fighting a losing battle against gravity. He was on the phone, leaning back in a leather chair that wheezed under his weight. He looked up, annoyed by the intrusion.

“I’ll have to call you back,” he mumbled into the receiver and hung up, his displeasure evident. “Alex. I heard about the restructuring. A tough break, but that’s the way the cookie crumbles.”

Alex ignored the platitude and the offered chair. He remained standing, a subtle power move he’d learned long ago. “I’m not here to discuss my position, Mark. I’m here to inform you of my intentions for the remainder of my contract.”

Thompson’s eyebrows rose. “Your intentions? Your intention is to facilitate a smooth transition for the new leadership team.”

“My duty, as per my contract, is to the students and staff of Northwood Middle School,” Alex corrected him, his voice dangerously calm. “And I will continue to execute that duty as I see fit until my last day. That includes protecting my staff from pointless, morale-destroying mandates that have nothing to do with education.”

A flicker of understanding, followed by a wave of condescension, crossed Thompson’s face. “If you’re referring to the end-of-year Professional Development sessions, they are mandatory. District-wide.”

Ah, the PD sessions. Three full days of what the district laughably called “training.” In reality, it was death-by-PowerPoint, led by overpaid consultants who hadn’t been in a real classroom since the invention of the chalkboard. It was the district’s annual ritual of feigning progress while actively torturing its most valuable assets. The teachers, already burned out from a long year, hated it with a fiery passion. It was the perfect first target.

“My teachers have spent the entire year in the trenches,” Alex stated, his tone leaving no room for argument. “They’ve dealt with overcrowded classes, budget cuts, and district IT that’s about as reliable as a chocolate teapot. They are professionals. What they are not are children who need to be lectured for twenty-four hours on the latest educational buzzwords. It’s a waste of their time and an insult to their intelligence.”

Thompson scoffed, leaning forward. “Be careful, Alex. Don’t burn bridges. You may still want to interview for that TOA position.”

Alex allowed a thin, cold smile to touch his lips. “The district already burned the bridge, Mark. I’m just enjoying the bonfire. As for the TOA position”—he paused for effect—“I formally withdraw my name from consideration.”

The Superintendent’s smug expression faltered. He’d expected a disgruntled employee, not a declaration of war. He was used to people being afraid of him. Alex felt no fear, only a profound, liberating sense of purpose.

“I’m finishing my contract,” Alex said, his voice dropping to a low, steady tone. “But for the next six weeks, Northwood runs my way. I suggest you stay out of it.”

Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked out, leaving a stunned silence in his wake.

Back in his office at Northwood, the familiar controlled chaos of the school day was winding down. The final bell had rung, but the building was still alive. He saw Ms. Albright, the brilliant, perpetually under-funded science teacher, packing up her room. She gave him a weary smile.

“Ready for three days of ‘Paradigm-Shifting Pedagogy,’ Mr. C?” she asked, the sarcasm thick.

“Something like that,” Alex replied, his mind already working.

He sat down at his desk, the worn spot on the wood grain a familiar comfort. He’d spent countless hours here solving other people’s problems. Now, he was going to create a few. He pulled up the district’s online policy database—a labyrinthine, thousand-page monstrosity of digital red tape that he knew better than the people who had written it. This was his turf. This was where he’d fight his first battle.

He typed in a few keywords: Professional Development, Mandatory Attendance, Contractual Obligations, Exemptions.

He scrolled through pages of dense, mind-numbing legalese. For twenty minutes, there was nothing. Then, he saw it. Buried deep in a subsection of an addendum from 2012, a relic from a previous administration that had long been forgotten.

Policy 4131.5b: Alternative Professional Growth Activities. In lieu of district-mandated training, a certified staff group may, with administrative approval, engage in a site-based collaborative curriculum planning session, provided it aligns with the school’s stated annual goals and a formal report is submitted within 30 days.

It was perfect. A loophole the size of a truck, hidden in plain sight. Karen Reed and her sycophants would never find it. Thompson had probably forgotten it even existed. But Alex remembered. He remembered everything.

His fingers flew across the keyboard, composing an email to his entire certified staff.

Subject: URGENT UPDATE: Mandatory Professional Development

Team,

Per district policy 4131.5b, I am exercising my administrative authority to approve an alternative professional growth activity in lieu of this week’s district-mandated training sessions.

All Northwood certified staff will be engaged in a vital, site-based collaborative curriculum planning project. Your presence is required on campus in your classrooms during standard contract hours to prepare materials for the 2024-2025 school year. You may work collaboratively or individually. You may also leave as soon as your work is complete.

I trust you all to use this time professionally. I will handle all communication with the district office regarding this matter.

Consider this your first mission for Operation Misbehave.

He hesitated for a fraction of a second over the last line before a wicked grin spread across his face. He deleted it. No need to show his whole hand at once. Let the actions speak for themselves.

He clicked ‘Send.’

The first shot was fired. The teachers of Northwood Middle School were, for the moment, liberated. And Alex Carter, the lame-duck Assistant Principal with nothing to lose, leaned back in his chair, feeling more alive than he had in years. The war had just begun.