“I think Sunshine is startin’ to look like Josh!” Jericho said as he peered at one of the photos.
November pulled the photo book back gently and touched the picture lovingly.
“I feel sorry for the kid, then,” Kofi said with a laugh. He ambled back to his seat, smacking hands with Luis Morales, Roscoe Robinson, and Cleveland Wilson, all survivors of the Warriors of Distinction tragedy.
Arielle turned to a clean page of her notebook, sighed, and began to copy the homework assignment off the whiteboard at the front of the class. It seemed so long ago: Jericho—cool, laid-back, and completely hers; Josh—his lighthearted cousin, always at his side; and the Warriors of Distinction—best club in the school, best parties on the weekend, and best chance to be somebody around here. But all that had vanished in an instant. Josh died. The Warriors disbanded. She’d lost Jericho for good. And everybody seemed to hate her now.
Miss Pringle cleared her throat. “Miss Nelson, do you think it would interrupt your social calendar if you let us have class today?” she asked. “Or should we just look at baby pictures?”
Arielle had to stifle a giggle. She was sure November wanted to reply with a smart remark, but it probably wouldn’t be a good idea, considering it was her first day back. November wisely replied, “I’m sorry. Let’s do some chemistry!”
Miss Pringle gave a faint smile. “Good choice.”
While the teacher began the class in her rat-a-tat voice, Arielle glanced over to the windows, wishing she could open one to get the smell of chlorine out of her nose. One whole wall was filled with windows, which was why she liked this room better than those interior ones. But the windows, Arielle remembered, did not open at all. Sealed by paint or an ancient school board decision to prevent lawsuits in case some kid fell out—she wasn’t sure which—none of the third-floor classrooms allowed for any fresh air to get in. Last spring, when the building’s air-conditioning system broke down, it was brutal.
An odd, fading assortment of blinds and shades—some with holes from dry rot, some just torn and tired—covered most of the windows, keeping out the hot afternoon sun on summer days, but opened wide to celebrate the first snowfall of the winter.
“We will be using the computers today,” Miss Pringle was saying, “for recording your lab reports.”
Roscoe Robinson, a football player with a history of stunning touchdowns and a smart mouth, raised his hand. “You talkin’ about those prehistoric green-screen antiques on the side table?”
The far wall of the classroom contained a long row of tables on which sat twelve ancient IBM computers. Arielle knew that the science teachers constantly begged for new equipment, but in the four years she’d been at the school, nothing had been upgraded.
“You know how hard it is for schools to come up with money for new technology, Roscoe,” the teacher replied.
Roscoe cracked up. “If you tried to connect one of those computers to the Internet, it would explode!”
“We do the best we can,” Miss Pringle said with a sigh. “Kofi, can you take a look at a couple of them after school this week? You’re the computer genius around here.”
“Yeah, sure, Miss P,” replied Kofi.
Arielle noticed that neither Miss Pringle nor Kofi seemed to give a thought to Osrick, who could probably handle all that electronic tech repair stuff with ease and skill.
“Mrs. Witherspoon’s got lots of electronics and computer toys in her room,” Luis commented. “But all we got here is that beat-up TV on the wall.”
“She won some kind of teacher award, and she used all the money for her classroom, I hear,” Miss Pringle replied.
“If you won a prize like that, would you do that, or spend it on yourself?” Cleveland asked, leaning forward on his desk.
Miss Pringle responded by saying, “I’ll get the lab equipment out now.” She removed her keys from around her neck.
“Can I help?” Roscoe asked.
“You know my procedures, Roscoe. Are you just trying to get on my nerves?”
“Yep!”
“It’s working,” replied the teacher, but with a smile.
“Maybe we should use the stuff in the cabinet behind you,” Roscoe suggested. “At least that would match the computers they stick us with!”
“I think that stuff came from the ancient history museum!” Jericho agreed. “Cavemen used it to measure mammoth stew!”
A cabinet made of wood and glass stood behind the teacher’s desk. Many of the glass panes had been cracked or broken over the years, and the equipment hadn’t been used in ages. Full of dust-covered, old-fashioned test tubes and beakers and dozens of pieces of ancient glass paraphernalia, the cupboard was truly a remnant of classrooms of long ago.
“No, we’ll use the good stuff—at least the best we have. That’s why I keep it locked up,” the teacher explained as she began what had become a daily pattern of locking and unlocking that back door a dozen times in five minutes. Get out test tubes. Lock. Unlock. Bring out nitric acid. Lock. Unlock. Carry out five beakers. Lock. Unlock. All the while yap, yap, yapping about measurement and chemicals and formulas. It was hard to keep up with her as she walked and talked at the same time.
As Arielle watched the teacher yo-yo back and forth, she again noticed Osrick sitting by the storeroom. Arielle tried to make eye contact with him, but he had a habit of pulling his hood over his head so his face could not be seen.
As she turned back around she saw Jack Krasinski on the other side of the room and instantly grinned. Kids called him Crazy Jack, and he loved it, even encouraged it. Tall and skinny and generally liked by everybody, Jack always wore bright, showy colors—like green neon shirts and red plaid pants.
When Osrick dressed in wacky clothes, students laughed and made fun of him, but if Jack decided to wear pajamas to school, Arielle noticed, everybody thought it was really cool. She wondered why Jack could get away with it, but Osrick couldn’t.
Jack played in the school band—cymbals and drums, instruments that made maximum noise. The louder the better. Jack had once told her the racket made the voices in his head get quiet. She had no idea what he’d been talking about.
As Miss Pringle was bringing out the last of the test tubes, Jack raised his hand.
“Miss P, I forgot to take my meds this morning. Can I go do that and pee? I’ll be right back!”
“Jack, you know you’re supposed to take care of those things before class,” she said, but she grudgingly handed him the hall pass. Lots of kids took meds at school for one condition or another, but everything had to be distributed by the school nurse. Anyone caught medicating themselves could get suspended from school.
Jack, his long legs protruding from the purple gym shorts he’d worn that day even though the temperature was in the thirties, jumped up and left the room.
Miss Pringle continued with the lesson, trying to explain the chemical equations necessary to work the lab problems. She really wasn’t a bad teacher, Arielle thought—just a little strange. She shifted in her seat and tried to get comfortable. It would be a long fifty minutes.
Just as Miss Pringle was telling them how to measure the liquids in the test tubes, the fire alarm rang out shrilly. Clang-clong! Clang-clong! Clang-clong!
“Grab your personal effects, students, and line up quickly!” Miss Pringle ordered. She looked really annoyed with the interruption.
“Should we take our books or leave them to burn up in the fire?” asked Roscoe.
“Leave your books and papers; you know this is just a drill, Mr. Robinson,” Miss Pringle replied as she gathered up her materials. “Now, no more talking. Let’s go, class. Down the steps and out the side door. You know the procedures.”
Students started pulling on coats, grabbing purses, and heading to the door. The alarm kept ringing, piercing the air.
As Arielle reached for her purse, she heard November tell Jericho, “Good chance to check with the babysitter. This is the first time I’ve left the baby all day, a
nd I’m a little worried.”
“Aw, man, it’s freezin’ out there!” Cleveland complained. “Who’d be dumb enough to plan a fire drill in February?” Six feet tall and weighing well over two hundred fifty pounds, the linebacker was unlikely to freeze, Arielle thought, but he was known to complain good-naturedly over just about everything.
“I got my coat,” Luis said as he zipped his down jacket over his slim frame. “A man’s gotta be prepared!” Luis, who ran track, had been offered both academic and athletic scholarships to several schools. His entire family always showed up for his meets. Arielle wondered wistfully what that must be like. Her family sure wasn’t like that.
“So you gonna let your main squeeze freeze?” Rosa asked Luis, her voice sounding pitiful. “I left my coat in my locker.” She rubbed the arm of his jacket.
“Girl, it’s a good thing you look so good!” Luis said with a laugh. “Here, my sweet señorita Gonzales, take the coat—my gloves, too. I’ll let you warm me up—later.”
Rosa took the coat, and they hurried out the door with the others.
Osrick darted out ahead of most of the students. He was no fool. Fire drills were a great chance for teachers to be looking elsewhere while a kid like Osrick got punched or kicked down the stairs. Jack got back from the bathroom just in time to leave again.
Clang-clong! Clang-clong! Clang-clong! Clang-clong!
“Why do they have to make that alarm so loud and so ugly?” Roscoe asked.
“To make sure people in gym and music and choir classes all can hear it,” Miss Pringle told him.
“People in China can hear that thing!” Jericho said, shaking his head, tugging Olivia by the hand out the door.
Arielle was one of the last ones to leave the room. It was just another false alarm, so what was the hurry?
When nearly everyone had moved into the hallway, Kofi tapped the teacher on the shoulder. He was at least six inches taller than she was. She turned, jerking away from his touch. “What is your problem, Mr. Freeman?” she asked, annoyance in her voice. “They time us on how quickly we clear the building, you know.”
“You forgot Eric, Miss Pringle,” Kofi reminded her.
The teacher gasped. “Oh my Lord! How could I?” She rushed back into the room, where Eric Bell, sitting quietly, his hands on the controls of his electric wheelchair, sat waiting. He looked embarrassed.
“Fire drill procedure 101,” Eric said with a sad smile. “Elevators are shut down. Crippled kid has to be carried.”
“I was informed of the procedures,” Miss Pringle tried to explain, “but I’d never really thought about exactly how we’d accomplish it. Aren’t there supposed to be two male teachers assigned to do this?” She looked around helplessly.
Who’s she waiting for—Superman to come flying around the corner? Arielle thought.
“I guess they forgot. I hate this, you know,” Eric said through clenched teeth.
Kofi ran out into the hall and returned with Jericho and Cleveland, both football players. “We got this, Miss P.”
“You can leave me up here, you know. No one will ever find out. Like you said, it’s just a drill,” Eric said.
“Oh, no, I couldn’t do that!” replied Miss Pringle. “I’d lose my job. The law says everybody must leave. Plus, I’d never forgive myself if it were a real fire and you got hurt. On top of that, you’re the only kid in my class who hasn’t yet mastered the periodic chart dance, so we’ve got work to do!”
“I got an A on the chart test, you know,” Eric replied, laughing.
“Without my dance? Unheard of!”
Looking at Eric grinning at the teacher, it dawned on Arielle that he probably preferred being teased like a real person rather than treated like a special case. She’d never thought about that before.
Jericho and Cleveland made a chair of their arms while Kofi pivoted Eric up from his wheelchair, his legs swinging limply.
“Okay, let’s get this dude to a dance hall! Honeys are waiting below!” Jericho shouted, trying to lighten the mood. Together he and Cleveland carried Eric out the door and down the steps. Arielle walked behind them, while Miss Pringle locked the classroom door.
KOFI
CHAPTER 3
THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 3
WHEN THEY REACHED THE GROUND FLOOR, Kofi darted into a classroom and grabbed a straight-back chair. Once outside, the three of them gently set Eric onto the chair and stood close to him so he wouldn’t tilt and fall. Eric had broken his back the summer before seventh grade playing Daredevil by jumping from a tree to a swimming pool. He’d missed the pool and landed on concrete. Kofi winced just thinking about it.
“Thanks, dudes,” said Eric. “And props on the chair, Kofi. This is a whole lot better than coolin’ my butt in the snow.”
“Like Weird Osrick over there?” Kofi asked. “The kid is sitting in a snowbank!”
“Did somebody toss him over there?” Cleveland asked, frowning.
“No, I think he did it on purpose to beat them to it!” “Definitely weird,” said Cleveland, turning back to Eric. “You know, if we had tried to move your electric car, we’d still be up there!”
“Yeah, that thing weighs, like, a million pounds,” Jericho added. “What do they do in your other classes when Crazy Jack pulls the alarm?”
“You think it was Jack?”
“Well, he did have to go to the bathroom just as the alarm went off.”
“He got shorts on, man,” Cleveland said. “Even Jack ain’t that crazy.”
Jack, his legs bright red in the cold air, was doing a series of jumping jacks to keep himself warm. A few other kids had joined him, laughing as they jumped on the snowy sidewalk. Kofi noticed Susan Richards, the girl who had won a free ride to Juilliard for dance, quietly doing stretches instead of leaps.
“We ought to change your name to Jumping Jack!” a senior named Rudy called out breathlessly.
Eric shivered in the cold morning air. “Well, most of my classes are on the first floor, so getting me out of the building is not usually a problem. I just roll out down the ramp. It’s just math and chemistry that are upstairs.”
“Man, it is cold!” Cleveland moaned, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “A fire drill in February is just plain stupid!”
Other kids from the chemistry class huddled close to them, shielding Eric and using one another for warmth. Jericho had his arm around Olivia. November was on her cell phone, as were many other kids.
“For a school that doesn’t allow cell phones, this place looks like a TV ad for a cell phone company!” said Kofi.
He was standing close enough to November to overhear her side of the phone call.
“So she’s asleep?…How much formula did she take?…She likes that yellow blanket, you know. Just put it close to her…. Rub her tummy if she gets fussy…. And don’t forget the music. She loves classical!…I’ll see you at three. Thanks, Laura.”
She clicked her phone closed, and her shoulders slumped.
“It’s hard being a mom, right?” Kofi asked her gently.
“Yeah. I never thought how hard it would be to leave her.”
“Who watches the baby?” asked Rosa.
“A woman who lives two blocks away has a home day care. She’s like a mama-grandmama rolled into one. A cute little old lady. She’s really sweet with the kids and experienced—but most important, I can afford her! I filled out some paperwork and got some help from the state, but I gotta find a job when school gets out,” November explained.
“And all I got to worry about is what color to do my nails this week!” Rosa said. “Better you than me!”
Kofi told November, “You know, it is what it is until you make it better.”
“That’s deep. Where’d you get that? I’m gonna put it on my wall at home.”
“Kofi’s Book of Quotations. Chapter Three: Deep Thoughts.”
“You’re silly,” November replied.
Olivia joined them then, clapping her han
ds together to keep them warm. “What’s up, little mama?” she asked. “How’s my favorite baby girl doing at the babysitter?”
“I just talked to Laura, who said Sunshine is eating and burping and not crying for me! Ungrateful kid. The least she could do is scream and holler and miss her mother,” November joked.
“I’m sure she misses you, November. You’ve been there for her twenty-four/seven ever since she was born. It’s gotta be hard for both of you.”
November sighed. “Yeah, it is. I know by the sound of her breathing what she needs or wants. Every cry she has is different—every noise she makes I understand. I can’t wait to get home this afternoon.”
Olivia touched November’s shoulder. “She’ll give you the biggest smile when she sees you!”
November grinned. “She might punch me in the nose instead!”
“Or poop all over you,” added Kofi. “Kids do that sometimes, you know.” Both girls laughed.
Olivia paused for a moment, her brown eyes growing serious. “So, what’s the latest from her doctors?”
November shivered, perhaps from the cold and perhaps from the thoughts of her daughter, born three months early, whose future might include some disabilities. Kofi wasn’t in on all that girl stuff, but he knew from Dana that the baby might have mental or physical developmental delays.
“She’s five months old now, and well, I guess she’s still behind on those baby charts they use to measure growth, but she’s catching up slowly. It’s like that old story of the tortoise and the hare. She’s my little turtle—slow and steady. She may not be the first kid to the finish line, but she’ll get there.”
“Doesn’t the tortoise win the race in that tale?” Olivia asked, scratching her head.
November brightened. “You know, you’re right!”
Cleveland yelled loudly then, “Hey! Somebody! Anybody! I’m freezin’ my buns off here! Somebody let us back in the building!”
Other kids started to grumble then as well. “Do you see any fire?”