Monday morning. Sunshine. Birds.
Matt was feeling pretty good.
He ducked through the school doors — he always had to duck — and looked around. Same hallways. Same lockers. Same bulletin board with the same flyer about the bake sale that had been there since October.
Normal.
Then Estephen grabbed his elbow.
"Matt," he said. His scales had gone the yellow of a very worried banana. "Something is wrong."
Matt sniffed the air. He smelled something strange and metallic, like batteries and burnt toast.
From somewhere deep in the school came a sound.
Whirr. Clunk. WHIRR.
Then: "ALL STAFF REPORT TO THE GYM. THIS IS NOT A DRILL."
Matt and Estephen looked at each other.
"That," said Estephen, "is not the principal."