Read Online Colin Fischer by Zack Stentz, Ashley Edward Miller - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Zack Stentz, Ashley Edward Miller
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springs.
Up-down, up-down
…
Images from the day flashed through Colin’s mind like a slideshow, in time with every launch from the surface of the trampoline: a basketball, sailing through the air…Mr. Gates, writing equations on the blackboard…The gentle curve of Melissa’s body, as she wrote in his Notebook…Mouths chewing food…
And the handgun, lying abandoned on the cafeteria floor.
From the kitchen, Mr. Fischer absently watched his son leap higher and higher. “Maybe we could dust off those old NASA plans for a moon colony and ship Colin and Danny there until graduation,” he mused.
“Send Colin first,” Danny muttered, finally finished with his dinner.
“I made five free throws!”—Colin suddenly exclaimed at his father, shouting to be heard as he leaped upward—“and three perimeter shots”—as he went down again—“today in PE!” He let himself settle into a standing position. “Mr. Turrentine says I have a killer jump shot!” Colin stopped to catch his breath.
For a moment, Mr. Fischer just looked at Colin, as though he didn’t understand what he’d just heard. Then he burst into laughter and stepped outside:
“You played
basketball
?”
The parking lot of West Valley High was filled with cars, ranging from expensive SUVs to thirty-year-old Japanese imports held together with wire. As Colin climbed out of the back of his father’s Audi (which, per his request, had been parked in the first available spot), he produced his Notebook and a fresh green-ink pen and began to write:
7:58 P.M. West Valley High School parking lot. School almost as busy as during the day, except more because there are an average of 1.6 parents per student. Auditorium will be crowded, loud. Probably smelly.
Colin was right on all three counts.
He disliked auditoriums immensely because of the crowds, the smell, and the noise. Over time, he’d learned to deal with them by closing his eyes, breathing through his mouth, and allowing the discordant voices to meld into white noise. This was more difficult to pull off during an awards ceremony because Colin was invariably asked to stand and be recognized for his citizenship, effort, or academic achievement. However,if he moved as quickly as possible to the stage and back to his seat, it wasn’t too bad.
Dr. Doran had been addressing parents, teachers, and a smattering of students for almost ten minutes, offering the obligatory empathy, assurances, and calls for unity—most of which Colin had tuned out. His mind was exploring more important matters. Specifically, he wondered who owned the gun, who had been careless enough to drop it on the floor, and if they were indeed one and the same person.
“As long as everybody stays cool,” Dr. Doran concluded, “we’ll all be just fine.”
Colin heard the low buzz of voices, indicating side conversations beginning among the crowd. His own parents just looked at each other, although Colin found it difficult to decipher the meaning of their furrowed brows.
“So that’s it?” A woman’s voice carried above the noise of the crowd.
Colin sat up straighter, so he could see where the question had come from. He needn’t have bothered; the woman rose from her seat, unbidden. “A few touchy-feely seminars, a week of cops on campus, and you hope this all goes away?” she asked.
Dr. Doran considered the woman carefully, and Colin saw his principal’s eyes lock in on the boy seated beside her: Rudy Moore.
Rudy was dressed in a pressed, button-down oxfordand a conservative silk tie. His hair was damp, indicating that he’d taken a shower between the end of school and the beginning of the assembly. Colin found this strange but couldn’t put his finger on why.
“I assure you,” Dr. Doran replied evenly, “we take this very seriously. However, I would remind you that West Valley High had the best safety record in the district until this incident.”
Rudy beckoned his mother to lean down and whispered
Up-down, up-down
…
Images from the day flashed through Colin’s mind like a slideshow, in time with every launch from the surface of the trampoline: a basketball, sailing through the air…Mr. Gates, writing equations on the blackboard…The gentle curve of Melissa’s body, as she wrote in his Notebook…Mouths chewing food…
And the handgun, lying abandoned on the cafeteria floor.
From the kitchen, Mr. Fischer absently watched his son leap higher and higher. “Maybe we could dust off those old NASA plans for a moon colony and ship Colin and Danny there until graduation,” he mused.
“Send Colin first,” Danny muttered, finally finished with his dinner.
“I made five free throws!”—Colin suddenly exclaimed at his father, shouting to be heard as he leaped upward—“and three perimeter shots”—as he went down again—“today in PE!” He let himself settle into a standing position. “Mr. Turrentine says I have a killer jump shot!” Colin stopped to catch his breath.
For a moment, Mr. Fischer just looked at Colin, as though he didn’t understand what he’d just heard. Then he burst into laughter and stepped outside:
“You played
basketball
?”
The parking lot of West Valley High was filled with cars, ranging from expensive SUVs to thirty-year-old Japanese imports held together with wire. As Colin climbed out of the back of his father’s Audi (which, per his request, had been parked in the first available spot), he produced his Notebook and a fresh green-ink pen and began to write:
7:58 P.M. West Valley High School parking lot. School almost as busy as during the day, except more because there are an average of 1.6 parents per student. Auditorium will be crowded, loud. Probably smelly.
Colin was right on all three counts.
He disliked auditoriums immensely because of the crowds, the smell, and the noise. Over time, he’d learned to deal with them by closing his eyes, breathing through his mouth, and allowing the discordant voices to meld into white noise. This was more difficult to pull off during an awards ceremony because Colin was invariably asked to stand and be recognized for his citizenship, effort, or academic achievement. However,if he moved as quickly as possible to the stage and back to his seat, it wasn’t too bad.
Dr. Doran had been addressing parents, teachers, and a smattering of students for almost ten minutes, offering the obligatory empathy, assurances, and calls for unity—most of which Colin had tuned out. His mind was exploring more important matters. Specifically, he wondered who owned the gun, who had been careless enough to drop it on the floor, and if they were indeed one and the same person.
“As long as everybody stays cool,” Dr. Doran concluded, “we’ll all be just fine.”
Colin heard the low buzz of voices, indicating side conversations beginning among the crowd. His own parents just looked at each other, although Colin found it difficult to decipher the meaning of their furrowed brows.
“So that’s it?” A woman’s voice carried above the noise of the crowd.
Colin sat up straighter, so he could see where the question had come from. He needn’t have bothered; the woman rose from her seat, unbidden. “A few touchy-feely seminars, a week of cops on campus, and you hope this all goes away?” she asked.
Dr. Doran considered the woman carefully, and Colin saw his principal’s eyes lock in on the boy seated beside her: Rudy Moore.
Rudy was dressed in a pressed, button-down oxfordand a conservative silk tie. His hair was damp, indicating that he’d taken a shower between the end of school and the beginning of the assembly. Colin found this strange but couldn’t put his finger on why.
“I assure you,” Dr. Doran replied evenly, “we take this very seriously. However, I would remind you that West Valley High had the best safety record in the district until this incident.”
Rudy beckoned his mother to lean down and whispered
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