Drenched in Light by Lisa Wingate

chewing his lip as he surveyed the ceiling, where a line of ladybugs was marching in a lazy circle around the art deco light fixture. “You’d be surprised, even in a place like this, where the kids come from higher socioeconomic families, how many children go days at a time without anybody really talking to them. The thing about a smart kid with some resources is, he can keep up appearances for a long time. Combine that with parents, or schools, or teachers with reputations to uphold, and sometimes the reputation is more important than the truth, or the kid.” Turning back, he held my gaze for a moment, and I felt my focus narrow until it was just him and me in the corridor. I got it. He wasn’t talking in generalities. He was talking about Harrington.
    Breaking the connection, Sergeant Reuper glanced at the principal and said, “No offense intended, of course, but in this business it’s essential to be proactive.”
    “Oh, of course, of course. No offense taken. Children are always our first priority here,” Mr. Stafford answered, but he was starting to bristle. His short, round body had stretched to its full height, and his arms were stiff at his sides. He was ready to have the Say No to Drugs crew proceed to the high school building. They’d stepped on his toes, and worse yet, now they’d noticed the ladybugs. All four police officers were gaping at the ceiling in amazement.
    “Well, we thank you all for coming.” Clapping his hands together, Mr. Stafford wrung his fingers roughly like he was trying to compact a ball of rubbish before pitching it into the wastebasket.
    He reminded me of Dell, folding her essay into a paper wad and stuffing it into her pocket.
    “Guess we’d better get going,” the sergeant said. “We can find our way. No need to walk us around. It’s cold out this morning. Norther blowing in.” He pulled a couple of business cards from his pocket and handed them to Mr. Stafford and me. “Call us if you need anything.”
    “Absolutely,” Mr. Stafford replied as the front doors opened and the high school principal entered with his guidance counselor at his side. “Well, there are your escorts now. Dr. Lee, Mr. Fortier, this is Sergeant Reuper and his staff. They’ve just given our students a real eye-opener, and I’m sure they’ll do the same for yours.”
    Dr. Lee and Mr. Fortier made quick introductions, seeming only slightly more sincere than Mr. Stafford. I felt sorry for the police officers. They could probably tell that their hard work was falling largely on deaf ears. They undoubtedly got this reception at a lot of places. No school, no family, no adult, no kid wanted to admit to an ongoing problem with addiction.
    As he turned to leave, Sergeant Reuper caught my gaze again and squinted thoughtfully, as if he could see the wheels turning in my mind. Then we said our farewells, all shook hands again, and he headed out the door with his crew, as Dr. Lee and Mr. Fortier made pleasant conversation about the wintry turn in the weather.
    Clapping his hands together again, Mr. Stafford rocked back on his heels, as in, Mission accomplished; now let’s get back to the bond elections and the federal grant applications for the new performance hall. He checked his watch, as if time were critical. “Well, that takes care of our Drug Education Prevention hours for the semester.” His shoulders sagged as he headed toward his office. “I don’t know when we’re supposed to educate these kids, between the DEP hours to keep them off drugs, and the character ed programs to make them good citizens, and the phys ed classes because they’re too fat, and the sex ed classes so they won’t get AIDS, and that idiotic mandatory achievement test. You’d think they don’t have any parents at home.”
    These days a lot of them don’t, I thought, but I didn’t say it. Mr. Stafford wasn’t in the mood. He wouldn’t have understood, anyway. But I knew how easy it was for a kid in a perfectly