Read Online The Shortest Way Home by Juliette Fay - Free Book Online
Authors: Juliette Fay
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uncle Sean something to do tomorrow.”
Kevin shrugged, but he couldn’t erase the grin from his face completely.
* * *
J uniper Hill School seemed to be just as he’d left it. Oh, there were a couple of additional classrooms tacked onto the back, and a fence across the sledding hill where he and his friends had often endangered the integrity of their spines by sliding down on lunch trays. But other than that, it was the same. Same smell of tempera paint as he walked past the art room; same bulletin boards covered with book reports, each stapled onto a different color of construction paper; same sound of children’s voices growing shrill with impatience as they ticked down the last moments of the school day. And not just any school day—the last day. Summer beckoned from just beyond the heavy fire doors at the end of the hall.
Parents were arriving, claiming space along the hallway like fans lined up for hot concert tickets. Sean thought he had a good spot near the lost and found until the smell of mildewed fleece wafted by him. He maneuvered down toward a drinking fountain installed at the height of his thigh and found himself outside a classroom door with a sign that said MS. LINDQUIST, GRADE 5 . Sean peeked through the narrow window in the door. There was Kevin sitting at his desk, eyes fixed on something across the room. The kids around him were poking each other or rifling through their desks. Sean shifted so he could see what Kevin was gazing at so intently.
There was a young woman with thin brown hair and glasses who appeared to be giving instructions of some kind. A student teacher, maybe? But shouldn’t old Mrs. Lindquist be the one to give that tiresome end-of-the-year speech that no child on the face of the earth had ever listened to? Sean shifted his position so that he could scan the entire classroom, but there didn’t appear to be any other adults in the room.
A bell rang, and like a flock of birds changing direction in unison, all the parents in the hallway seemed to bring out their cameras and video recorders at once. It hadn’t crossed Sean’s mind to bring a camera because he didn’t own one. He didn’t even have a cell phone. But he felt a sudden twinge of regret that he hadn’t thought to ask Deirdre if she had a camera he could use. He looked around. The parents whose faces weren’t covered by electronics all carried various expressions of intense anticipation. A few were teary. This was clearly a very big deal.
Sean wondered if his own parents had felt the same way—he remembered them both being there, his mother holding baby Deirdre, his father’s hand tight around Hugh’s, who was practically born ready to take off the second he saw an opening. Or maybe by then his mother’s mind had already started to wander, so that she really wasn’t taking in the weight of the occasion; possibly his father was too distracted by his wife’s waning lucidity to care very much that his oldest would momentarily be marking a milestone.
The principal’s voice came on over the PA system, straining to enunciate over the rising din in the hallway. He said what a wonderful year of learning it had been for their school community, requested that all parents check the lost and found, and said a few other things to which no one really listened. And then three of the classroom doors opened and a stream of children began to march down the hall. Sean was taller than most of the other adults, but he found himself straining to make sure that Kevin saw him. Suddenly that seemed important.
The line of children spilling from the classroom laughing and high-fiving people as they marched along came to an end, and Kevin still hadn’t come out. Sean peered into the doorway and saw Kevin handing the young woman with the glasses a folded-up piece of paper. His face was so red Sean thought he might burst into flames. She smiled at him with great affection, said a few words, took a deep breath and said a few
Kevin shrugged, but he couldn’t erase the grin from his face completely.
* * *
J uniper Hill School seemed to be just as he’d left it. Oh, there were a couple of additional classrooms tacked onto the back, and a fence across the sledding hill where he and his friends had often endangered the integrity of their spines by sliding down on lunch trays. But other than that, it was the same. Same smell of tempera paint as he walked past the art room; same bulletin boards covered with book reports, each stapled onto a different color of construction paper; same sound of children’s voices growing shrill with impatience as they ticked down the last moments of the school day. And not just any school day—the last day. Summer beckoned from just beyond the heavy fire doors at the end of the hall.
Parents were arriving, claiming space along the hallway like fans lined up for hot concert tickets. Sean thought he had a good spot near the lost and found until the smell of mildewed fleece wafted by him. He maneuvered down toward a drinking fountain installed at the height of his thigh and found himself outside a classroom door with a sign that said MS. LINDQUIST, GRADE 5 . Sean peeked through the narrow window in the door. There was Kevin sitting at his desk, eyes fixed on something across the room. The kids around him were poking each other or rifling through their desks. Sean shifted so he could see what Kevin was gazing at so intently.
There was a young woman with thin brown hair and glasses who appeared to be giving instructions of some kind. A student teacher, maybe? But shouldn’t old Mrs. Lindquist be the one to give that tiresome end-of-the-year speech that no child on the face of the earth had ever listened to? Sean shifted his position so that he could scan the entire classroom, but there didn’t appear to be any other adults in the room.
A bell rang, and like a flock of birds changing direction in unison, all the parents in the hallway seemed to bring out their cameras and video recorders at once. It hadn’t crossed Sean’s mind to bring a camera because he didn’t own one. He didn’t even have a cell phone. But he felt a sudden twinge of regret that he hadn’t thought to ask Deirdre if she had a camera he could use. He looked around. The parents whose faces weren’t covered by electronics all carried various expressions of intense anticipation. A few were teary. This was clearly a very big deal.
Sean wondered if his own parents had felt the same way—he remembered them both being there, his mother holding baby Deirdre, his father’s hand tight around Hugh’s, who was practically born ready to take off the second he saw an opening. Or maybe by then his mother’s mind had already started to wander, so that she really wasn’t taking in the weight of the occasion; possibly his father was too distracted by his wife’s waning lucidity to care very much that his oldest would momentarily be marking a milestone.
The principal’s voice came on over the PA system, straining to enunciate over the rising din in the hallway. He said what a wonderful year of learning it had been for their school community, requested that all parents check the lost and found, and said a few other things to which no one really listened. And then three of the classroom doors opened and a stream of children began to march down the hall. Sean was taller than most of the other adults, but he found himself straining to make sure that Kevin saw him. Suddenly that seemed important.
The line of children spilling from the classroom laughing and high-fiving people as they marched along came to an end, and Kevin still hadn’t come out. Sean peered into the doorway and saw Kevin handing the young woman with the glasses a folded-up piece of paper. His face was so red Sean thought he might burst into flames. She smiled at him with great affection, said a few words, took a deep breath and said a few
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