Gym class wasn’t bad. We had a free day where most of the kids just played basketball. I even got in on the action in hopes that it would get my mind off things. All it did was help me to realize I did not exercise enough. I was still out of breath ten minutes after we had dressed out of our gym clothes. I noticed Vick uncharacteristically missed the whole period, but that was fine by me. That was the most peaceful gym experience I had all semester. I was glad when it was over because I could go to LeCarre’s class and tell Mr. LeCarre everything.
When the bell rang, I sprinted down the hallway to my locker to get my books and walked to his class, but when I got inside he was not at his desk. I assumed he was running behind and took my place at my seat.
Vick got up from his desk and walked behind me. The few kids that had already made it into the room did a collective “Ohhh” but Vick waved them off. They would not be getting a fight today after all.
He got right up against my ear where he was close enough for me to smell that onion stench for he was famous. He said, “She thought it was weird too.”
My eyes were focused on the opening to Mr. LeCarre’s classroom. The second bell was about to ring and he was still not in the room. I was becoming concerned.
Vick hit me on the back of the head, “Are you listening to me?”
“I am now,” I said as I rubbed the spot. “Who thought it was weird, Vick?”
His voice got really quiet, “Mrs. Wallaby.”
I said, “Who?”
“The counselor.”
I knew his feelings about it had to be strong if he went as far as going to the counselor’s office. Vick was the last person I would have expected to talk about his feelings with anyone.
I brushed him off in hopes that he would drop it, “Of course she thought it was strange. It was a dream where you probably paid attention in class. Total nightmare.”
Vick grunted and returned to his desk. I don’t know what it was that made him think that I was the best person to confer with about his dream. I looked over my shoulder at the area where he had laid unconscious the day before, wishing Vick had not heard more than he should have from the conversation I had with LeCarre and Lathon.
The bell rang and almost as if on queue a man walked in wearing a red and black sweater vest, a white long sleeved button up, and black pants. He wore a black fedora that was pulled down, which concealed his face, but I noticed he was a little heavy set. One thing was for certain: that was not LeCarre. First, Jessica and her brother and now he was missing? My situation was getting desperate with every passing moment.
I raised my hand to ask a question. The man pointed directly at me without raising his head. Silence rose over the room. He said, “You, sir. You have a question.”
I responded, “Where is Mr. LeCarre?”
The man removed his hat. It a man of robust size. One that small children when run the other way from if he was stomping around them. It was relief. I was expecting another supernatural being I would have to deal with. He said, “He is not here today. I am going to be teaching your class for the day. My name is Mr. Wimble.”
I rolled my eyes and zoned out. I pulled a notebook out of my satchel. It was the journal I had used to track the days since my father’s disappearance. I imagined if I went back to the Alan of a few weeks ago and told him all of the things I was going to experience, he probably would have told me I was crazy.
A piece of paper hit me in the back of the head. I turned to look for the culprit, but found Vick stupidly waving at me, mouthing the words, “I have to talk to you.” I shook my head no and went back to ignoring the world around me.
Mr. Wimble gave the class crossword puzzles using American history terms. I filled in a few lines, got bored, and began to scribble on it. The feeling lingered that something terrible was happening to my friends. It didn’t help that my parents were MIA.
The rest of the school day flew by. I paid attention to every lesson, which was impressive for my sake. I knew if I worried too much about my parents I would have a nervous breakdown.
At the end of it, I followed the sounds of the last bell to the bus lanes, but I was pulled aside yet again. I thought I was about to have another deep conversation with Vick when I noticed the hands that had ahold of me were much smaller than I expected.
Jessica LeCarre pointed toward a car at the other end of the parking lot. She said, “You are riding with us.”
I was not fit to argue.
The Silhouette (Alan Quinn and the Second Lifes) Page 28