Underdead by Liz Jasper

myself to more gawking and questions from my colleagues.
    When I was sure the hall was empty, I took out my grade book and ducked across to the computer room with the virtuous intention of updating my grading program. After a few tedious minutes of entering grades, however, I gave in to my curiosity and went online to read about the missing girl.
    Becky had been right, the description of the man didn’t sound like Will. It was a very generic description of a dark-haired man, and I agreed with her opinion that no witness—no female, anyway—could have forgotten Will. I breathed a sigh of relief. He might have been a little out there for me, but at least I hadn’t made out with a felon.
    The science department always met the first Monday of the month, holiday or no holiday. When classes were over, we duly assembled with varying displays of stoicism, grumbling or noble suffering, except for Roger who seemed particularly excited today, doubtlessly with the anticipated pleasure of cutting short my indifferent career. Carol came in last, late and out of breath. She gave me a surreptitious wink as she assumed her usual position on my left, and then studiously ignored me as Roger opened the meeting.
    “The first order of business,” Roger began after a glance at his typewritten agenda, “is, once again, the supplies budget. I remind you that all receipts must be turned in before the semester ends. That’s two weeks, people. I encourage you all to order now what supplies you will need for the third quarter.”
    Frustrated, I closed my eyes and counted to ten. It was abundantly clear Roger had filed me under New Business; he was going to make me wait until the end of the meeting. Torturing me that way was just the sort of power abuse he delighted in. If he was lucky, we’d run out of time before we could discuss me. I’d either have to suffer for another month or be the reason why everyone had to reconvene another day, conveniently ensuring enough animosity toward me that he could push forward whatever draconian plan he devised.
    My discomfort must have been apparent, for Carol put a restraining hand on my arm under the table.
    “Roger,” she said briskly, in the firm, no-nonsense voice that made her students sit up and listen, “I think we are all clear on the budget issue by now. I move we discuss the emergency issue of how to accommodate Jo’s disability.”
    Roger’s heavy eyebrows formed a deep V over his small black eyes. He raised his voice a little and replied irritably, “New Business is always discussed at the end of the meeting, Carol.”
    “Pressing issues preempt Continuing Business, and are discussed at the beginning of the meeting, Roger,” she corrected.
    “I’m with Carol,” Becky said. “I move to table the budget discussion so we can figure out a way to help Jo.”
    Grandmotherly Mary Mudget looked up from her knitting. Mary taught seventh grade science and, despite a rather crisp demeanor, was the sort of teacher so beloved her students came back to visit her years later. The emerging pale pink sweater was for one of their progeny. She fixed Roger with a stern look. “Second.”
    Bob’s handsome blond head jerked up as he pulled his attention away from the coaching diagram hidden in his notebook. “What’s wrong with Jo?”
    I was getting tired of being talked about as if I were a pesky line item in the budget. “I’ve got a sun allergy,” I said. “I can’t be exposed to any sunlight, even through a window, or I get all red and crusty.”
    “It is not appropriate to discuss one’s personal medical issues in the department meeting—”
    “No way, man, that sucks!” Bob said sympathetically, ignoring Roger. “Even if you wear sunscreen?”
    “Even if I slather myself in a thick white coating of zinc oxide.”
    “That’s awful! So you can’t even bike to work anymore or anything?”
    “Bob, Jo, can you please continue your personal discussions after the meeting?” Roger said.