home.”
“It’s awful. This is against our rights,” the maybe-McKenzie seethed and glared down at Lucy. “We still have rights.”
Lucy didn’t want to disagree with them, but she didn’t know if she agreed. She didn’t entirely disagree though. Confusion overwhelmed her. But she nodded anyway, mumbling something about just wanting her parents, which sent the trio into a blubbering mess. The middle girl, short, with a sleek dark bob and peacock inspired eye shadow, buried her head into Lucy’s arm, staining her shirt with a thin streak of snot and tears.
“I’ll be right back,” Lucy said, pulling herself away.
She noticed Mrs. Johnston in the back, her arms crossed over her shirt. She was shaking her head at the television and wiping away tears. Briefly, she conversed with an older male teacher, and he leaned a protective arm around her and she collapsed against him. Then, as if she knew she was being watched, the English teacher turned and spotted Lucy.
Lucy took three giant steps toward her teacher, and for the first time since setting foot in the school she began to feel untethered. She watched Mrs. Johnson’s shoulders shake with the heaviness of silent sobs, her legs trembling under her. This adult was falling apart. Her whole face was swollen and puffy from crying; her eyes, normally outlined in the perfect balance of liner and mascara, were now bare, giving her face a thinner, paler look. Lucy almost looked away, as if she had caught Mrs. Johnston naked.
Mrs. Johnston stared at Lucy with a lost expression. She didn’t smile warmly or beckon her closer. Instead, she just lifted her hands from her chest and dropped them to her side, letting her arms dangle next to the pockets of her jeans.
And only then did Lucy notice that Mrs. Johnston’s entire shirt was soaked with dark, dried, streaks of someone else’s blood.
CHAPTER FIVE
“Oh my goodness,” Lucy said and she walked forward toward her English teacher. But before she could maneuver herself closer, a burly Health teacher, still wearing a whistle around his stump-like neck, swooped forward with his hands out.
“No students in this area. Back to your row please,” the man said, swollen with self-importance.
With no energy to protest, Lucy turned on her heels and turned her back to Mrs. Johnston, who probably had no memory that Lucy wasn’t even supposed to be at school at all. Pulling her phone from her pocket, Lucy had no new messages. The time broadcast itself in large block numbers at the top of her screen. Their initial domestic flight to the East Coast would be in the air within the hour. Lucy entertained the notion in the back of her mind that sunny island weather and fruity drinks in coconut cups were in her future. She clung to those images as a last thread of hope that anything familiar could be salvaged. Halfway down the aisle, Lucy found a clearing of seats and wedged her way to the middle of the row, plopping herself down.
Lucy watched as their principal Spencer took the stage. He sauntered forward, leading with his forehead, one hand shoved into the pocket of his pants, the other one holding a wireless microphone. A pimply theater tech student assumed command of the follow spotlight and flooded the stage with a bright white light. The principal blinked into the orb and then blew into the mouthpiece of the microphone, a whoosh of sound shrieked across the seats. Like sheep, those standing, chatting, and crying filed into empty rows, all eager to hear the news, to hear the plan.
There wasn’t an ounce of compassion on their leader’s face as he stared down at them with flat eyes, gnawing on the inside of his right cheek.
“Sit down,” he commanded, his mouth close to the microphone. “Find a seat and sit down.” He pointed to the group of sobbing and cuddling kids near the front rows, so engaged in their own dialoguing that they had ignored his initial call to disband. “Get up and sit in a seat. You have
“It’s awful. This is against our rights,” the maybe-McKenzie seethed and glared down at Lucy. “We still have rights.”
Lucy didn’t want to disagree with them, but she didn’t know if she agreed. She didn’t entirely disagree though. Confusion overwhelmed her. But she nodded anyway, mumbling something about just wanting her parents, which sent the trio into a blubbering mess. The middle girl, short, with a sleek dark bob and peacock inspired eye shadow, buried her head into Lucy’s arm, staining her shirt with a thin streak of snot and tears.
“I’ll be right back,” Lucy said, pulling herself away.
She noticed Mrs. Johnston in the back, her arms crossed over her shirt. She was shaking her head at the television and wiping away tears. Briefly, she conversed with an older male teacher, and he leaned a protective arm around her and she collapsed against him. Then, as if she knew she was being watched, the English teacher turned and spotted Lucy.
Lucy took three giant steps toward her teacher, and for the first time since setting foot in the school she began to feel untethered. She watched Mrs. Johnson’s shoulders shake with the heaviness of silent sobs, her legs trembling under her. This adult was falling apart. Her whole face was swollen and puffy from crying; her eyes, normally outlined in the perfect balance of liner and mascara, were now bare, giving her face a thinner, paler look. Lucy almost looked away, as if she had caught Mrs. Johnston naked.
Mrs. Johnston stared at Lucy with a lost expression. She didn’t smile warmly or beckon her closer. Instead, she just lifted her hands from her chest and dropped them to her side, letting her arms dangle next to the pockets of her jeans.
And only then did Lucy notice that Mrs. Johnston’s entire shirt was soaked with dark, dried, streaks of someone else’s blood.
CHAPTER FIVE
“Oh my goodness,” Lucy said and she walked forward toward her English teacher. But before she could maneuver herself closer, a burly Health teacher, still wearing a whistle around his stump-like neck, swooped forward with his hands out.
“No students in this area. Back to your row please,” the man said, swollen with self-importance.
With no energy to protest, Lucy turned on her heels and turned her back to Mrs. Johnston, who probably had no memory that Lucy wasn’t even supposed to be at school at all. Pulling her phone from her pocket, Lucy had no new messages. The time broadcast itself in large block numbers at the top of her screen. Their initial domestic flight to the East Coast would be in the air within the hour. Lucy entertained the notion in the back of her mind that sunny island weather and fruity drinks in coconut cups were in her future. She clung to those images as a last thread of hope that anything familiar could be salvaged. Halfway down the aisle, Lucy found a clearing of seats and wedged her way to the middle of the row, plopping herself down.
Lucy watched as their principal Spencer took the stage. He sauntered forward, leading with his forehead, one hand shoved into the pocket of his pants, the other one holding a wireless microphone. A pimply theater tech student assumed command of the follow spotlight and flooded the stage with a bright white light. The principal blinked into the orb and then blew into the mouthpiece of the microphone, a whoosh of sound shrieked across the seats. Like sheep, those standing, chatting, and crying filed into empty rows, all eager to hear the news, to hear the plan.
There wasn’t an ounce of compassion on their leader’s face as he stared down at them with flat eyes, gnawing on the inside of his right cheek.
“Sit down,” he commanded, his mouth close to the microphone. “Find a seat and sit down.” He pointed to the group of sobbing and cuddling kids near the front rows, so engaged in their own dialoguing that they had ignored his initial call to disband. “Get up and sit in a seat. You have
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