Pierce peered down at the file, his face a mask of mock surprise. " …and with his usual, um, enthusiastic outbursts," he drawled, air quoting ‘enthusiastic', " Griffin broke his window and... accidentally shot Rose who was just chilling in the parking lot." He looked up, beaming at Clay, Lyra, and Belle. " Quite the story, wouldn't you say?"

Clay, Lyra, and Belle exchanged panicked glances, willing Pierce to keep his 'childlike awe' hidden. This was going south fast. Belle mouthed "Just stay out of it," to Lyra, who only managed a pathetic thumbs-up in return.

Pierce chuckled, " 'Autistic'. You have a fantastic choice of words, Clay."

Clay sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I... I didn't mean it in a negative way…"

Pierce waved his hand dismissively. "Oh, of course, of course! Right, right. Wow, I mean... this is quite different from the, cough camera footage we have. You guys were getting into it, and all these brawls, until Belle gets smacked with a TV and-"

"It's altered, sir," Clay blurted out, instantly regretting the words as soon as they left his mouth.

"Nowww," Pierce purred, leaning back in his chair, "I think that's very clever, Clay. The logs do state the footage was altered, but I just have this little feeling..." he paused for dramatic effect, "... it wasn't. Someone cleverly altered the logs to say the footage was altered! And lucky for you, the security guards... who are supposed to be keeping an eye on things 24/7... are, you know, on break. Can you believe it? On break! I told those guys to stay until their other partner arrived... oh, these kids these days..." he shook his head in mock disappointment.

Clay, Lyra, and Belle stared at Pierce, speechless. Their eyes locked in a silent plea.

Pierce sighed dramatically, picked up the file again and perused it, looking up at Lyra with a mischievous glint in his eye. "So, to recap," he said, "Lyra, you were just…?"

Lyra jumped in quickly, "Visiting Pierce to study together!"

Pierce grinned, "Right, right. Study... what again?"

"Calculus…"

"Calculus?" Pierce burst out laughing.

"Yeah, uh, calculus...because, well, you know, I'm studying civil engineering, which involves a whole bunch of math… Plus, Clay's great at calculus! I heard he's, like, a senior prodigy or something…"

"Wait, Lyra, honey! Orientation Day was just on Monday! Classes started this week, seriously? You telling me some college professor is tossing calculus quizzes in people's faces already?!"

Lyra glanced back and forth from Clay to Pierce, feeling thoroughly embarrassed. “Y-Yeah… kinda.”

Clay stepped in quickly. “To be fair, Their calculus teacher's Mr. Uno, sir."

Pierce's jaw dropped as realization dawned on him. "Fuck! You've got me beat…", inside his head, he muttered.

"Oh, and, uh… I joined Lyra and Clay, you know, shortly after…" Belle blurted out, looking flustered. "I mean, as far as I know, girls are totally allowed in boys' rooms, right? Like, it's totally cool, isn't it?"

Clay gave Belle a gentle shake of his head, mouthing silently, "Stop talking." Belle, catching his drift, cleared her throat and fell silent.

Pierce was deep in thought. He was starting to suspect these three were smarter than they let on. Sure, they were all pretty smart, but there was something… mischievous… about them.

"Honestly, I just don't get why you're all refusing to admit it," Pierce sighed, sounding defeated.

"Uh, admit what, sir?" Clay asked, confused.

"Look, if the murder was truly an accident, then you all have a chance to get a lighter sentence. Covering it up? That's a whole different ball game. Come on, it was your sister! Right? An accident, that's all it was." Pierce looked pointedly at Belle.

"Please, sir, we didn't do it!" Belle pleaded.

"From the footage, I saw Belle shooting Rose. Clay, if you hadn't covered for Belle and Lyra, you could've walked away! Sure, maybe some assault charges for, you know, defending yourself from Belle's attack, but that's unlikely. Don't you see?"

"Sir-" Clay started, but Pierce cut him off.

Belle looked down, guilt washing over her. Lyra glanced nervously at Clay, who seemed increasingly uncomfortable. Lyra wasn't sure what to do.

"I heard, sorry, Belle, was your ex? Are you seriously willing to do all this for her? After everything she's done? Her crazy outbursts?" Pierce questioned, raising an eyebrow.

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"I DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT!" Clay snapped.

Pierce stopped, noticing Clay's suppressed anger. A smirk crept across his face. "Sorry!" he chuckled, enjoying Clay's reaction.

Lyra, trembling, spoke softly, "Sir, please, talking about 'what ifs' without any, uh, proof, is, well, we'd like to leave, sir."

Pierce rubbed his temples, feeling his brain working overtime. He was starting to feel like a bad guy in a teen drama, the super strict teacher who just didn't get it.

On one hand, he couldn't help but think, "Alright, they're teenagers. They screwed up, yeah, a BIG screw up, but they're not monsters." What Pierce was really thinking was, "These kids are bonkers. I bet they don't even know what 'responsible' means!"

On the other hand, a pretty loud voice in his head was screaming, "Pierce! You can't just let them skate! Someone died! This wasn't some teenage prank gone wrong. This was... well, this was a whole other level of messed up."

It was like having two grumpy old uncles arguing inside his head. One was like, "Give them a break, they're kids! Maybe a detention and a lecture about the dangers of impulsive decisions?" The other was like a drill sergeant, "Hold on, Chief! This calls for military strategy! We need to dissect their motives, analyze their alibis, and be prepared to unleash the full force of the school disciplinary system!"

He took a deep breath, trying to reconcile his inner conflict. He felt like he was navigating a minefield, one wrong step and BAM! Headmaster Pierce loses his job, becomes a social media meme, and starts doing stand-up comedy routines about teenagers and their bizarre logic.

Suddenly, Pierce's eyebrows shot up like startled caterpillars. A chill ran down his spine.

His mind raced, piecing together the puzzle like a frantic jigsaw enthusiast. Clay, Lyra, and Belle - all seemingly distraught, all playing the innocent victim card. Then, Griffin. Poor, sweet, slightly-offbeat Griffin, forever the target of jokes, the odd one out.

He imagined the scene: Clay, Lyra, and Belle huddled together, plotting their scheme. Belle, chewing gum furiously, probably suggesting they blame Griffin because "he's totally weird and nobody'd suspect him." Lyra, looking concerned, nervously agreeing, "Yeah, maybe, but wouldn't that be… kind of mean?" Clay, rolling his eyes, probably saying something like, "Relax, Lyra, it's not like we're going to actually hurt him. It's just a little… redirection of blame."

Inside Pierce’s head, a courtroom had sprung up. A jury of scowling, clipboard-wielding pigeons perched on the gallery benches, pecking nervously and whispering amongst themselves. “Feather-brained fools,” Pierce muttered to himself, molding imaginary evidence with his thoughts. "Alright, let’s get this show on the road."

On one side stood the defense table, where Clay, Belle, and Lyra sat looking like porcelain dolls with various shades of “I-totally-didn't-do-it-you-crazy-man” plastered across their faces.

The prosecution, of course, was Pierce, resplendent in a mental suit of armor forged from legalese and tempered with righteous fury. He felt a surge of power as he imagined himself bellowing, “Order! Order in the court! We have here an egregious act of…” He paused, struggling for a dramatic word, “super-misdemeanor!”

He envisioned the evidence he’d uncovered in his mind’s eye. Mountains of meticulously-catalogued doodles from Lyra’s notebook that subtly hinted at a deep and abiding hatred for Griffin’s “unintentional musical stylings.” A carefully curated timeline charting Belle’s increasingly frequent trips to the dark side of the internet, where dark magic marketplaces presumably lay hidden under aliases like "BlingQueenBee" and “GlamourGoddess666.” And from Clay, he saw digital footprints leading to a clandestine network of student loan fraudsters—$$$ signs everywhere, even if the connection was tenuous at best.

“The verdict, jury,” Pierce screamed, throwing his hands up in the air, his office chair tipping precariously. “ARE YOU READY?!”

The pigeons, startled by the outburst, flapped their wings, sending Oscar-worthy down feathers showering the courtroom.

Pierce smiled, a triumphant glint in his eye. "I mean, come on, they’re guilty as charged!" He turned, expecting the court of feathered justice to erupt in a unanimous cry of “Guilty!”, but all he heard was a chorus of confused coos.

"Fine,” he grumbled. "This is a whole different case! Just you wait. These kids pushed their luck too far. “

He leaned forward conspiratorially, his words echoing in the silent office.

“They're not getting away with this…"

Pierce flicked his wrist like he was conducting a symphony orchestra, the office door swinging open with a dramatic whoosh.

"Alright, you thr-." He paused, mouthing a fake “ow” and pretending to rub his chin in thought. "You entertaining geniuses, you can go. Shoo!" He waved his hand dismissively, eyebrows arching in mock surprise.

Belle jumped up, her blue eyes wide as saucers. "S-seriously, sir?" she stammered, “Actually?”

"No! Of course, yeah!"

Lyra mumbled a shaky "Thank you, sir!" more out of relief than genuine gratitude, practically dragging her feet towards the door as she ushered a zombie-like Clay along behind her. Belle, pale-faced and looking slightly shell-shocked, chimed in with a weak "Thank you, sir," before trailing after Lyra like a lost puppy. Clay’s head hung low, stubbornly refusing to acknowledge the outside world, occasionally peeking up with sorrowful eyes that seemed to carry the weight of a thousand existential dreads. He trudged along beside Lyra, looking anything but enthusiastic about escaping Pierce’s office—more like he was running from a minor, yet utterly crippling, psychic attack.

Just as they reached the door, Pierce sprang into action. He raised his hands, miming a laser gun and firing it at the door with exaggerated "pew-pew" noises, a thinly veiled devilish grin spreading across his face.

Then, in a flash of theatrical flair, he flicked his wrist, and the door swung shut with a satisfying click.

Lyra, Belle, and Clay slumped outside Pierce’s office, looking like they'd wrestled a hurricane and lost. They hadn't exactly conquered the Headmaster; more like managed to stumble out of a meeting that felt like a wild, improvised play where the script kept changing, and the director seemed determined to make everyone spontaneously combust. Their relief was mixed with the kind of "wow, we're still alive" exhaustion only surviving a Pierce encounter could bring.

A heavy silence hung in the air, punctuated only by the distant sound of shuffling feet and hushed conversations from other students.

Lyra broke the silence with a hesitant, "A-are you okay, Clay?"

Clay sighed, his shoulders slumping further like a deflated balloon. "I'm fine," he mumbled, his voice a monotone parody of normalcy.

Lyra shoot a worried look at Belle who simply shrugged, her expression a mix of boredom and "I-can't-believe-this-is-happening-again".

Yeah, calling this whole situation a "mess" would be the understatement of the century.