As he removed framed family photos and knickknacks out of a small cardboard box, JC whistled that one latin-pop tune that had been playing seemingly at the top of every hour on the Top 40 station. It had gotten stuck in his head despite cutting it off halfway through the first chorus when he pulled up to the school. Not that he minded, it put an extra pep in his step.

He snapped his fingers in time with the beat playing in his head, surveying the placement of his pictures in relation to the chunky iMac G3 desktop that sat in the corner, tilted to block allow more space on his large dark wood desk. The rest of the empty office was shockingly white, he needed something to balance the color. And, besides, he had always been a fan of the rich color, allowing the grains running through the finish to stand out. It was eye-catching an something about it brought a more mature feel to the room, or so he felt. He was younger than the last man in his position, or so was pointed out in every newspaper in town reporting on his promotion, and he wanted to be sure that his new school took him seriously. That, even if he was younger, he had plans to turn the school around.

“Upside, inside out / She's livin la vida loca / She'll push and pull you down / Livin la vida loca…”

He sang under his breath while carefully applying a large calendar to the center of his desk. He frowned, spotting a crease near the bottom right hand corner. It must have been bent in the move. His salary hadn’t kicked in just yet; his trusty jeep could only hold so much, and he may have gone a little overboard when it came to getting supplies for his new position. What could he say? He was excited. And anxious. And a little bit nervous. He just wanted to make a good first impression.

That plan, apparently, decided to fall by the wayside when the door to his office burst open, slamming against the wall with so much force it bounced back and nearly hit the blond-haired man that stormed through, square jaw set. JC noticed that his curls seemed to bounce with every angry stride into the room. His hands slowed in polishing the fingerprints off his new desk placard: PRINCIPAL CHASEZ etched into the gold plating.

“May I help you?” JC asked, carefully setting the nameplate down at the front of his desk.

Before the red-faced man could say anything, a woman rushed in, eyes wide and cheeks flushed. “I’m sorry, Mr. Chasez! I tried to tell him that you were busy and to not be disturbed but—”

“That’s alright, Miss Sawyer,” JC said, holding up his hand and flashing an easy smile in her direction. “I can handle this. No harm done.” Her teeth clamped down on her bottom lip, eyes shifting between the two men before letting out a resigned sigh. Throwing a half concerned, half apologetic look his way, she closed the door. “Now”—JC made a sweeping motion with his arm towards the chair across from his desk and then pressed his hand against his hanging tie as he sat himself—“to what do I owe your visit, Mr. Timberlake?”

“Justin,” the man immediately replied.

JC nodded. “Justin.”

“Look, I know you’re new here and all, but I’m going to cut to the chase. The funding for the music program has been dwindling over the years. I have the numbers.” Justin reached down and handed over a piece of paper. JC hummed as he looked it over, eyes shifting from row to row like a bar on a typewriter. He drummed his fingers against his mouth as Justin continued. “I’ve been told year after year that they’re going to do everything they can to keep it. But nothing’s changed, man.” JC noticed a hint of a southern accent wrapped around Justin’s words and briefly wondered what exactly had brought him to Orlando of all places. “We don’t have enough instruments. We can’t get enough sheet music or stands or books for all the kids. They deserve more. Some of them…man, some of them—I can just see it in their eyes, they-they need this. They need this class. And I need to give more to them. I can’t just let them…skate by. Don’t take money from us!”

Leaning back in his seat, JC pushed a hand through his long, shoulder-dusting hair and blew out a breath. The springs creaked as he rocked in his seat momentarily. His eyes briefly rested on the small lion paperweight statue his mother gifted him for the new job and then lifted to Justin’s face; now less tense and more apprehensive. A fire flickered in his gaze. JC’s mouth quirked in the corner.

“I can tell this is important to you,” he said.

“You have no idea,” Justin commented. He rubbed his palms against his jeans and licked his lips. “Music means a lot to me. It changed my life. I just know it can do good things for these kids. They deserve it.”

“I agree,” JC commented. “Which is why I’m going to make sure the music classes get the funding they need.” Justin’s eyebrows furrowed and JC sat up straight. “I know you’ve heard this before. But, that’s the thing, you’ve heard it before. I actually plan on making sure it sticks around. Honestly, it’s one of the reasons I took the position here. I’m a firm believer in kids having a way to express themselves, to be heard. What better way than through music or art?” He pulled open one of his drawers and removed a notepad. Grabbing a pen, he clicked the top and began to write on it. “I’ve gone over the numbers, too. There’s money we can take out of the budget in other places to keep the music program.”

“Yeah?” Despite the skepticism in his words, JC spotted the hope in Justin’s eyes.

“Yeah. For example, sports team uniforms tend to get replaced every other year. They’re barely used and that’s not necessary. Keeping the uniforms longer would put money back in. Also, I’ve already had audits performed on some of the staff to see if they could take on a few more responsibilities to streamline staffing. Any donations made will be looked into thoroughly to ensure the funds are being spread more fairly rather than being funneled into one avenue.”

“Well…”

JC lifted his head, taking in Justin’s squirming in his chair. “Yes?”

“It’s just…” Justin rubbed at his nose, “I don’t think we should take away from sports completely.”

Lifting an eyebrow, JC said, “I never stated that I would take from the sporting program specifically. But I admit, I am looking at it.”

“I know but…that usually means messing up P.E. right?” When JC didn’t say anything Justin rushed on, “It’s just my buddy, Chris, is head of the athletic department. He likes it there. The kids love him too.”

“Chris…?”

“Kirkpatrick.”

Ah, yes. JC had heard his name being tossed around. So far, he’d only been introduced to his secretary, Miss Sawyer, Mr. Bass the social studies teacher, and Mr. Fatone the English teacher. The school Nurse, Miss Bennet also made an impression, but that was more because she walked right into a door when he passed than having a conversation with him. He made a mental note to check in on her and be sure she was okay.

“We shoot some hoops when the tykes are at lunch sometimes. To blow off some steam. Clear our heads.” Justin shrugged. “You know, if you ever need a break.”

“Thank you, I’ll keep that in mind, but I don’t think I’ll need it.”

Justin scoffed. “You’re the new principal of this school and you think you won’t need to blow of some steam? Just wait until you meet the PTA moms, they'll eat you alive. Good luck, then, man.” The legs to his chair scraped against the ground as he stood. JC mimicked him and stuck out his hand, clasping Justin’s in a quick shake. “And welcome. I’m sure you’ll be better than the last guy.”

“Well, I’m going to do my best,” JC said with a modest shrug. “In the end, I just hope to improve the school.”

“From where I stand, you’re already off to a good start.” Justin used two fingers to wave a mini salute and left the room.

JC unceremoniously fell back into his chair, picked up a mini football, and tossed it into the air. His first day was off to a good start. Now all he had to do was keep that momentum going when the school year officially started in a few months’ time.

How hard could it be?