of no return.
Around. Around. Mrs. Johnston circled in the chair. Her face appearing and disappearing in even intervals. Then she threw her foot down and the chair stopped. “Are we close?” she asked and, from atop the ladder, Clayton said he only needed one more minute. He had burned around the perimeter of the whole first panel and now his hand was the only thing keeping it in the air. With impressive dexterity, he handed the blowtorch to Grant and then grabbed the piece with both hands and lowered it down.
Everyone looked up. They had a perfect view of the sky—blue, virtually cloudless.
A mesh of chicken wire covered the four-foot by three-foot hole, but in a moment, Clayton was snipping the metal into pieces, where it fell with small plinks on to the table below. He seemed to sense the question before anyone asked, and he turned to his audience. “Last year, I almost got suspended for climbing up onto the roof during metals class. We spent over an hour up here exploring,” he shrugged. “We could hear everything from this classroom on the roof and that’s when I realized it was just plastic. I kept thinking, if the wires weren’t there and I stepped wrong, I’d just fall right through. It was kind of a funny thought.” With a final snip, Clayton had created a large enough space for any of them to fit through.
If they stood on the very top of the ladder, it wouldn’t take much to grab the side of the roof and hoist themselves upward to freedom.
Clayton looked down at everyone. “Well?” he asked. “Do we just...go?”
Grant looked at Lucy. She marched over and climbed up on the table, swinging her legs off the floor. She stood and stared up at the hole, frowning.
“Someone should go and check for Salem.” Lucy pulled out her phone and punched in Salem’s number.
The All Circuits Busy message beeped at her. Frustrated, she sat atop the table and felt the cool wind rustle down through the hole.
Then as loud as an air-raid siren, the two-tone announcement bell jolted them into attention.
They all froze.
The microphone clicked and Principal Spencer’s voice filled the room.
“Nikki, Nikki. Where’d you take your room of kids?” He cleared his throat, and the noise crackled through the temperamental sound system. “Either you defied my instructions or dead bodies just learned to get up and walk away. Whether you like it or not, you are still under my leadership. You have one minute to get back to your rooms…or…”
He paused, baiting them. Lucy stood up. Clayton remained motionless at the top of the ladder. Mrs. Johnston rose from her colleague’s chair and walked over to the room’s speaker. She stood directly beneath it with her hands on her hips. She looked up at the box expectantly as the intercom hummed.
Then Principal Spencer hiccupped, his words slurred together. “Never mind. Forget it. Forget you . You don’t want my protection? You don’t want my help ? Then leave. Go ahead. Come to the front doors and I’ll let you out myself. I want everyone out of this building. DO YOU HEAR ME?” He screamed so loudly that the intercom clicked off, obscuring the end of his rant.
Mrs. Johnston shook her head. “Moron,” she muttered and rolled her eyes.
“Is he drunk?” Grant asked.
“Absolutely. He keeps a bottle of single-malt scotch in his coat closet,” Mrs. Johnston replied and then turned swiftly and climbed up on the table, where she just looked at Clayton, her big eyes wide and waiting. “Well, Clayton, you heard the man. He wants everyone out of the building now.”
“Sure would’ve saved me some work if he’d just invited us to go out the front door ten minutes ago.”
“You want to go out the front door, be my guest. I’m not holding that man to his word. I’m going up.” Mrs. Johnston started to climb the ladder, but she stopped when she traffic jammed with Clayton. “Are you going up?”
Clayton looked down at everyone and saluted. “Best of luck
Around. Around. Mrs. Johnston circled in the chair. Her face appearing and disappearing in even intervals. Then she threw her foot down and the chair stopped. “Are we close?” she asked and, from atop the ladder, Clayton said he only needed one more minute. He had burned around the perimeter of the whole first panel and now his hand was the only thing keeping it in the air. With impressive dexterity, he handed the blowtorch to Grant and then grabbed the piece with both hands and lowered it down.
Everyone looked up. They had a perfect view of the sky—blue, virtually cloudless.
A mesh of chicken wire covered the four-foot by three-foot hole, but in a moment, Clayton was snipping the metal into pieces, where it fell with small plinks on to the table below. He seemed to sense the question before anyone asked, and he turned to his audience. “Last year, I almost got suspended for climbing up onto the roof during metals class. We spent over an hour up here exploring,” he shrugged. “We could hear everything from this classroom on the roof and that’s when I realized it was just plastic. I kept thinking, if the wires weren’t there and I stepped wrong, I’d just fall right through. It was kind of a funny thought.” With a final snip, Clayton had created a large enough space for any of them to fit through.
If they stood on the very top of the ladder, it wouldn’t take much to grab the side of the roof and hoist themselves upward to freedom.
Clayton looked down at everyone. “Well?” he asked. “Do we just...go?”
Grant looked at Lucy. She marched over and climbed up on the table, swinging her legs off the floor. She stood and stared up at the hole, frowning.
“Someone should go and check for Salem.” Lucy pulled out her phone and punched in Salem’s number.
The All Circuits Busy message beeped at her. Frustrated, she sat atop the table and felt the cool wind rustle down through the hole.
Then as loud as an air-raid siren, the two-tone announcement bell jolted them into attention.
They all froze.
The microphone clicked and Principal Spencer’s voice filled the room.
“Nikki, Nikki. Where’d you take your room of kids?” He cleared his throat, and the noise crackled through the temperamental sound system. “Either you defied my instructions or dead bodies just learned to get up and walk away. Whether you like it or not, you are still under my leadership. You have one minute to get back to your rooms…or…”
He paused, baiting them. Lucy stood up. Clayton remained motionless at the top of the ladder. Mrs. Johnston rose from her colleague’s chair and walked over to the room’s speaker. She stood directly beneath it with her hands on her hips. She looked up at the box expectantly as the intercom hummed.
Then Principal Spencer hiccupped, his words slurred together. “Never mind. Forget it. Forget you . You don’t want my protection? You don’t want my help ? Then leave. Go ahead. Come to the front doors and I’ll let you out myself. I want everyone out of this building. DO YOU HEAR ME?” He screamed so loudly that the intercom clicked off, obscuring the end of his rant.
Mrs. Johnston shook her head. “Moron,” she muttered and rolled her eyes.
“Is he drunk?” Grant asked.
“Absolutely. He keeps a bottle of single-malt scotch in his coat closet,” Mrs. Johnston replied and then turned swiftly and climbed up on the table, where she just looked at Clayton, her big eyes wide and waiting. “Well, Clayton, you heard the man. He wants everyone out of the building now.”
“Sure would’ve saved me some work if he’d just invited us to go out the front door ten minutes ago.”
“You want to go out the front door, be my guest. I’m not holding that man to his word. I’m going up.” Mrs. Johnston started to climb the ladder, but she stopped when she traffic jammed with Clayton. “Are you going up?”
Clayton looked down at everyone and saluted. “Best of luck
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