the man?”
Abby jabbed a finger toward the hall. “Talk to Anne Little. She’s one of those.”
“One of those?” I said.
Abby nodded, and before I could ask one of those what , she’d walked me out and withdrawn to her classroom. She shut her door.
Contemplating her words, I strode to the main corridor. The inmates were in tumult again, but a scan through the area let me locate a well-dressed man. He was darkly tanned and wasn’t yelling for help. He wielded a weapon for crowd control, so I felt safe walking through. “Smart idea,” I said, indicating the long stick in his hand. It was wrapped in blue and yellow school colors, the stick I’d seen leaning inside the office window.
“Our spirit stick,” he said. “Different grades win it when they yell the loudest at pep rallies. And sometimes we carry it to show the kids our school spirit.” He smirked.
I took the stick, surprised by its weight. “This is heavy.” I swung it and watched its long blue fringes shake. Giving the stick back, I introduced myself and said, “I saw you in the office. You looked like the only calm person there.”
“I’m a guidance counselor,” he said, as though that title explained his unruffled demeanor. “Harry Wren.” Harry turned to the students, his gaze daring them to act up.
The groups seemed friendlier, probably because they were feeding themselves. I enjoyed whiffs of their nachos and pizza and chocolates. Many students held throwaway plates and guzzled food as quickly as my car with the biggest tank had sucked up gas. Fewer people were out than before, and I could walk through the hall without having an elbow strike my head. I could also look for Kat. First I needed to find the right facilities.
I saw a girl who’d been quiet in my class and asked directions to a restroom. Her face withdrew inside her Buster Brown haircut. She pointed toward what I supposed was a door hidden behind a clump of teens.
“No,” a girl near her said. “That one’s for us. She needs the teachers’ one.”
“Thanks,” I said, “but it really doesn’t matter. This one should do fine.”
The room smelled of hair spray and smoke that created a misty dome. Squeals of alarm sounded, and someone announced, “A lady’s in here.”
Four toilets flushed at one time. Tendrils of smoke drifted above closed stalls. Since no one was smoking in front of me, I felt duty-free of taking charge of this conduct, which must freely occur. I entered a stall, found the lock broken, and read who loved whom and who was a whore, a word all of the writers had misspelled.
Emerging from the cubicle, I considered that I might begin my afternoon classes with a brief spelling lesson: “ Ho is something Sir Lancelot might have yelled, like ‘Onward, ho!’ The word is not a noun.”
I saw Kat. She came through the door behind three other girls. Excited, I called, “Hi, Kat.”
She ducked her head, made an about-face, and rushed out.
Chapter 6
The girls that Kat had followed into the restroom stopped and stared at me. “Hello,” I said, my granddaughter’s behavior making me troubled. I needed her friends here to explain. They all spun and went back out without doing whatever it was they’d intended.
I left the restroom and scanned the wide hall. Some teens lounged against walls and talked softly. Others hustled along and yelled. No sign of Kat. Had she come into the restroom to smoke? Or worse, had my presence embarrassed her?
I wandered around, looking for my grandchild. Some halls I found were labeled Mathematics, Science, English, Business, Computers, and Swimming Pool. Other pathways weren’t named. The scent of fast foods reached my nostrils, my stomach responding with a twitch. It was late morning, much earlier than I normally ate lunch, but my slice of bread had evaporated eons ago. I’d have to feed the gnawing in my belly before worrying more about Kat or getting my information about Sledge to Anne Little. And Abby Jeansonne
Abby jabbed a finger toward the hall. “Talk to Anne Little. She’s one of those.”
“One of those?” I said.
Abby nodded, and before I could ask one of those what , she’d walked me out and withdrawn to her classroom. She shut her door.
Contemplating her words, I strode to the main corridor. The inmates were in tumult again, but a scan through the area let me locate a well-dressed man. He was darkly tanned and wasn’t yelling for help. He wielded a weapon for crowd control, so I felt safe walking through. “Smart idea,” I said, indicating the long stick in his hand. It was wrapped in blue and yellow school colors, the stick I’d seen leaning inside the office window.
“Our spirit stick,” he said. “Different grades win it when they yell the loudest at pep rallies. And sometimes we carry it to show the kids our school spirit.” He smirked.
I took the stick, surprised by its weight. “This is heavy.” I swung it and watched its long blue fringes shake. Giving the stick back, I introduced myself and said, “I saw you in the office. You looked like the only calm person there.”
“I’m a guidance counselor,” he said, as though that title explained his unruffled demeanor. “Harry Wren.” Harry turned to the students, his gaze daring them to act up.
The groups seemed friendlier, probably because they were feeding themselves. I enjoyed whiffs of their nachos and pizza and chocolates. Many students held throwaway plates and guzzled food as quickly as my car with the biggest tank had sucked up gas. Fewer people were out than before, and I could walk through the hall without having an elbow strike my head. I could also look for Kat. First I needed to find the right facilities.
I saw a girl who’d been quiet in my class and asked directions to a restroom. Her face withdrew inside her Buster Brown haircut. She pointed toward what I supposed was a door hidden behind a clump of teens.
“No,” a girl near her said. “That one’s for us. She needs the teachers’ one.”
“Thanks,” I said, “but it really doesn’t matter. This one should do fine.”
The room smelled of hair spray and smoke that created a misty dome. Squeals of alarm sounded, and someone announced, “A lady’s in here.”
Four toilets flushed at one time. Tendrils of smoke drifted above closed stalls. Since no one was smoking in front of me, I felt duty-free of taking charge of this conduct, which must freely occur. I entered a stall, found the lock broken, and read who loved whom and who was a whore, a word all of the writers had misspelled.
Emerging from the cubicle, I considered that I might begin my afternoon classes with a brief spelling lesson: “ Ho is something Sir Lancelot might have yelled, like ‘Onward, ho!’ The word is not a noun.”
I saw Kat. She came through the door behind three other girls. Excited, I called, “Hi, Kat.”
She ducked her head, made an about-face, and rushed out.
Chapter 6
The girls that Kat had followed into the restroom stopped and stared at me. “Hello,” I said, my granddaughter’s behavior making me troubled. I needed her friends here to explain. They all spun and went back out without doing whatever it was they’d intended.
I left the restroom and scanned the wide hall. Some teens lounged against walls and talked softly. Others hustled along and yelled. No sign of Kat. Had she come into the restroom to smoke? Or worse, had my presence embarrassed her?
I wandered around, looking for my grandchild. Some halls I found were labeled Mathematics, Science, English, Business, Computers, and Swimming Pool. Other pathways weren’t named. The scent of fast foods reached my nostrils, my stomach responding with a twitch. It was late morning, much earlier than I normally ate lunch, but my slice of bread had evaporated eons ago. I’d have to feed the gnawing in my belly before worrying more about Kat or getting my information about Sledge to Anne Little. And Abby Jeansonne
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