Assumptions by C.E. Pietrowiak Page B

the reflections of nearby
mausoleums and setting the Canada geese bobbing.
    "I told you it was lovely," said the
Caretaker.
    "Yes. Lovely."
    "So, my young friend, what will you do?"
    "Ever notice there are no angels here?"
    "Can't say as I have." The old man said no
more. The sound of the rustling branches and the honking geese
filled the void.
    Will stood. “I pray. I pray for her return, I
pray for my father to breathe again, I pray for everyone to stop
looking at me . . . and . . . sometimes, I pray for Him to take me
instead." Will looked out over the pond. "I don't know why I'm
telling you all of this."
    A shadow fell over Will's feet. He turned to
face the visitor, but found no one. He checked his watch and
adjusted his backpack. He would have to run to catch the el in time
to make it to school before first bell.
    Will barely saw the shadow pass from the
trees across the roadway into the heavy stone portico at the front
of May Chapel. He strained to see. He looked at his watch again
then headed for the small building.
    The portico was empty. He didn't expect to
find the doors unlocked, but he pulled the handle anyway, nearly
losing his balance as the door swung freely. The dim entryway gave
way to the soft glow reflected off green and gold tiles at the
front of the chapel. Will walked into the light.
    "Hello? Anyone here?" He listened
intently.
    The flutter of wings swept across the
darkness of the entryway. Will tiptoed toward the doors, eyes up. A
mourning dove swooped low over his head, sending him to his knees.
The bird landed on one of the wooden arches. Will picked himself
up. “How did you get in here? Hold on. I'll let you out." He opened
the door, propping it wide with his backpack. “Okay. Out you go.”
He took off his coat and waved it at the dove. The bird flew from
arch to arch until, ten minutes later, it flew out into the
portico. Will grabbed his backpack. The chapel door slammed and the
bird flew east into the sun, now high in the morning sky.

     
    CHAPTER ELEVEN: ATONEMENT
     
    The el arrived just as Jordyn reached the
platform, leaving her twenty minutes of slush time to kill on the
other end in the empty corridors of Eastview. She tidied her locker
and looked over her O. Chem. paper. Ten minutes to the first bell
and then five more to Geography. She walked, slow as she could, to
Professor Embry's classroom.
    "Jordyn!" Logan waved her over to join the
crowd at the window. She took her seat. “C'mon, put your stuff down
and get over here," he said.
    “No, thanks.”
    “Oh, come on," he whined.
    Alex, standing on a chair, popped her head
above the others. "Gimme those!" She yanked the binoculars out of
Mark's hands. "Yeah, looks like Logan's gonna lose his . . .”
    "Alex!" Cooper shouted.
    Logan stared at Jordyn. “What’s the problem?”
he asked.
    “Me? No problem."
    "Then come over here. Should be good today.
Wait until you see what Mark planted this time."
    "No. Thanks."
    Will ran through the door, panting.
    Logan sneered. "Lookin' good, Emerson. Maybe
you'll mind your own business from now on."
    Will opened his mouth. Jordyn's books crashed
to the floor and all eyes focused on her. Even the students at the
window abandoned their watch.
    Logan sat in his seat next to Jordyn and
leaned forward in a weak attempt at privacy. "What's the
problem?"
    "No problem,” said Jordyn. "You on the
other
    hand . . .”
    “I don’t understand,” Logan whimpered.
    “Well, that’s really the point, isn’t
it?"
    "Seriously, come on over. You’re going to
miss the show."
    "I said ‘no’, thanks."
    "I don't get it. Yesterday . . ."
    "Yesterday I was curious. But I thought about
your little game and, well, it’s not very fun. Really, it’s just
rude. Yesterday I thought you were someone else." She packed her
books, walked to the back of the room, and took the open seat
beside Will. The students at the window looked at Logan, whispered
to each other, and promptly returned to their game. Logan sat