Principal Yu Times 32

Principal Yu is everywhere. He haunts students day and night, seemingly without rest. I’ve seen him on the train, in my kitchen at 1:00 a.m. during a dream sequence, and, worst of all, in my drafting class. Prompted by pure curiosity (and funding from the National Security Agency), I decided to take matters into my own hands and feet. I swore to track down the reason for our principal’s omnipresence.

I started bright and early at 5:30 a.m. on a Tuesday morning after I forgot I had a chemistry lab due. After scurrying off the train and looking around frantically, I spotted him. His traditional zip-up with a bright red “S” was a dead giveaway. Despite my best efforts, I quickly lost track of Principal Yu, as he veered off into McDonald’s while I was stuck behind the many tall kings of the boys’ basketball team. Instead of digging into the deep mystery behind the odd appearances of the principal, I was stuck listening to them discuss the latest “Cocomelon” video.

“They should add more kazoo noises to the theme song,” one of them said. “It would really help make it more sophisticated.”

“I can’t believe you just said that!” replied the other, running away in tears.

As I walked up the steps to the bridge and pretended not to be winded, I opened my eyes in horror at the sight that beheld me: Principal Yu was holding the door open for students, politely saying “Good morning.” That phony! He had transported himself from the McDonald’s to the school entrance in a matter of seconds. I HAD to get to the bottom of this.

After suffering through a long day of school, during which I openly wept eight times (a new record), I anxiously awaited the end of my club meetings to try and dig up more information. A hunch led me directly to the Hudson Staircase.

All of a sudden, I heard a high-pitched voice echoing through the stairwell.

“Everything is going to plan,” said the indiscernible voice. “The students don’t suspect a thing, and the Principal Yu X-Model Three is slowly spreading through Tribeca. I can’t believe we pulled this off!”

I opened and closed the door of the stairwell loudly and began stomping down the stairs, hoping to make the person aware of my arrival. I made it to the first floor faster than the freshmen running to Music Appreciation and was about to exit the building when someone opened the door to aid my escape.

“Good luck with your homework!” blurted Principal Yu.

Taken aback by his reappearance, I jumped up, nervous about this confrontation. I replied with an attempted casual, “You too!”

“Have a good night!” he exclaimed with a smile, not acknowledging my homework rebuff.

I returned to school the next day, but shockingly, big man Yu wasn’t there to open the door. Something had gone drastically wrong. At the cusp of my worry, shadowed hands suddenly gripped my denim blend jacket—where were they taking me? They hustled me down the stairs and into Moran’s office. It was quiet—too quiet. Walking through the office door, I was quickly surrounded by thousands of TV monitors showing security camera footage, and on every screen was a picture of me. I could see myself in the stairwell, on the train, and at lunch eating my spicy sausage and jam sandwich (don’t knock it ‘til you try it). But sitting in an office chair in the center of the room was Mr. Moran.

He dramatically swiveled to face me before saying, “We all know why you’re here.”

I rolled onto my side to look at the wall and the cabinet, which stood with its doors ajar, shiny metal peeping through. There were 10 different Yu heads, arms, and other assorted body parts on the cabinet shelves: dismantled robots ready for activation as soon as possible.

Suddenly, the shrill noise stopped. “Stupid fire alarm,” muttered Moran. “It’s so difficult to plot world domination in these conditions.”

I didn’t reply. I knew I had to get out of the building ASAP, otherwise I might feel tempted to join the Yu robots myself. I mean, thinking of becoming a piece of metal on a daily basis is healthy, right?

I did the most logical thing and imagined I was a freshman late to gym class. My legs started pumping faster than they ever had before as I double-crossed the security guards and sprinted to the first floor exit, trying to make it out of the school to get some decent internet.

After hiding in the hedges near Rockefeller Park for about three hours while studying for my French quiz, I successfully rid myself of Mr. Moran and the Yus. But I knew I had to keep going. I ran all the way home in my Converse (and ended up fracturing both of my feet), and wrote up this analytical report of my investigation that you have just read.

I would like to conclude by saying that I have since been expelled from Stuyvesant due to “disorderly conduct,” and my parents have sent me to a Canadian boarding school. Due to my absence, I am leaving the removal of the Yus to my good friend Robert Mitchell, the local cockroach living in the boys’ locker room. I wish him all the best in finishing off my investigation and hope that once he is done, he can help me sneak back across the border.