Mr. Sutton loved his job. He really did.

He knew that teachers were an important influence for children, and that the schooling of young people would be the basis for the future not only of each individual student, but of the country and world. Every day, he was contributing to the welfare of the world's future. What better way to do this than to be a guide? A mentor, a role model, a figure of authority and rightfulness. An assistant principal.

Yes, Mr. Sutton thought, I love my job.

Of course, he thought, as he rounded the corner into the languages wing, it has got its drawbacks.

It took three people - Mr. Sutton; Officer Kati, the school resource officer; and an irritated French teacher, whose name Mr. Sutton couldn't recall - to break up the fight.

Then, of course, Mr. Sutton had to see the fighting students in his office. The two girls had been fighting over a prom date. Seniors, Mr. Sutton had always assumed, were supposed to be more mature, but these two weren't. It had wound up with shrieking and sobbing and some rather unpleasant names flying across the room before Mr. Sutton had finally doled out their punishments.

As the girls were being escorted out by Kati, the phone rang: a teacher reporting a couple of students smoking on school grounds - in sight of the windows.

Three detentions, six reprimands, five checked passbooks, and a bus duty later, Mr. Sutton was just about ready to tackle some end-of-the-day paperwork, that letter of recommendation and an email to the department heads...

But not yet.

A pair of students, boy and girl, were seated outside his office. He glanced at the vacant secretary's desk, and sighed inwardly. She has a job, too, he thought, she's supposed to stay put.

"What can I do for you?" Mr. Sutton asked the students (hoodies and jeans, taller female, both without tails, he noted to himself automatically.)

The girl spoke up, "We have a question about prom."

"Did you ask the prom committee?"

The roll of the boy's eyes was noticeable, even though Mr. Sutton isn't looking at him. "Yes," said the girl, "They told us to ask you."

Mr. Sutton did not really want to deal with this type of thing at that moment, but he invited them into his office anyway.

"So," he said "what's this question?"

"We need permission from you to bring a boyfriend to prom."

Ah, thought Mr. Sutton, of course. "He goes to another school?"

"Yes," said the girl.

"No," said the boy.

Mr. Sutton raised an eyebrow. Or he tried to; he hadn't yet mastered the ability of raising a single eyebrow without creating a sort of lopsided grimace.

The girl gave the boy a dirty look. "He's not in school, sir," she said.

Not in school. Interesting. "Are you her boyfriend?" Mr. Sutton asked the boy.

The boy hesitated, glanced at the girl, who jerked her chin slightly to the side. Yes, thought Mr. Sutton. "No," said the boy. "I'm a senior here."

"A senior?" Mr. Sutton repeated, guessing what was coming, as he addressed the girl: "And you are...?"

"Junior," she admitted grudgingly.

"You can't bring other people, if you're being brought in the first place." He probably sounded a little snarky.

The girl's eyes widened slightly. "I didn't say I was bringing him."

Of course, "That's what you're for." Mr. Sutton addressed the boy. "Bringing along her boyfriend."

The girl was making the "who me?" face again, saying: "Did I say he was my boyfriend?"

But I thought- thought Mr. Sutton, I'm confused. "You want to bring a guy to prom who doesn't go to school and isn't anyone's date?"

They boy finally spoke up: "He's my date."

Okay, that's not unheard of, Mr. Sutton thought. I can handle gay prom dates just as well as the next guy. "How old is he?" Mr. Sutton asked. This much, at least, was simple protocol, no extra thinking required.

The hesitation, of course, was a bad sign.

"Twenty-three," the girl finally said, having shared a long look with her... gay best friend?

The gay-best-friend frowned. "Twenty-two," he said.

Mr. Sutton cleared his throat before they start arguing or something. "Either way," he said, "he can't come."

"Why?" snapped the girl, "Do you have a problem having a gay couple at prom?"

"No! Nonono." Mr. Sutton held up his hand to forestall the accusation. "It's district policy; no-one over the age of twenty-one is allowed to participate in prom."

"Twenty-one?"

"That's right."

"Aw fuc-crap." The boy turned to the girl, "I was right after all."

"Are you sure?" the girl asked, face earnest, "you can have him checked for alcohol and stuff at the door. He won't pull anything like that."

The guy is the boy's boyfriend, isn't he? wondered Mr. Sutton. "I'm sorry, but it's not my choice. It's district policy. You can take the issue to the school board, if you like, but I can tell you now that they won't change it."

Oh for God's sake, Mr. Sutton thought, the girl is actually pouting. Granted, the boy was, too, but he had a reason. "Whose boyfriend is he really?"

"Mine," said the gay-best-friend indignantly. And if the boy isn't dating a twenty-three-year-old man, then he is a really good liar, mused Mr. Sutton.

"Right, well, if you've not further questions?" Mr. Sutton motioned towards the exit.

As the door was shutting, Mr. Sutton would have sworn that he head a distinctly feminine voice mutter: "He's mine too, possessive bastard." Then the door slammed shut, leaving Mr. Sutton alone with his thoughts.

Yes, he thought glumly, opening his email, I love my job.