but someone found a student unconscious on the floor in one of the bathrooms. His teacher called 911. The ambulance is here.”
Every nerve in my body shot out in an electrical current. Please, oh please, oh please, don’t let it be Dion.
The secretary’s thick fingers shook as she held out a piece of paper. “Here’s the phone number for the boy’s parents. His name is Dion Brown.”
Beads of sweat sprang up on my forehead. “Where is he? Is he okay? What are they saying? Are they still upstairs?” I turned and took a step toward the door, ready to run out.
“Hold on, you’re not going anywhere, Mrs. Waters.” The unusual harshness in Miss Huskings’s voice stopped me in my tracks. “I’m sure the boy will be okay.” She put out her cigarette and pulled herself up in the chair.
“I think they’re going to take him to the hospital,” the secretary said.
“Find out which one,” Miss Huskings said. “I’m sure his parents will want to know more about his condition, too. Who’s his teacher?”
“Mr. Bernstein. He’s with them now.”
“Good. Tell him to come see me after he’s talked to the medics.”
The secretary rushed from the room. Miss Huskings brought the piece of paper close to her face and squinted at the number. Then she picked up the receiver and dialed.
I fell back onto the chair and covered my face with my hands. I felt tears stinging my eyes. “This is my fault. I should have walked back to his class with him. I should have stayed to make sure he was okay.”
The principal covered the receiver with her hand and shot me a warning look. “Please, Mrs. Waters, your anxious self-regard is wearing a bit thin.”
“I should have told you before. I should have told you the first time.”
Miss Huskings shook her head and placed the receiver back on the hook. “Their phone’s been disconnected,” she said. “Please, Mrs. Waters. You told me. Now pull yourself together. First we’ll go and attend to the boy, then we’ll figure out how to contact his parents.”
I gripped the edge of the chair and pushed myself up. “I saw him walk to the bathroom, and he seemed fine,” I said as we walked together toward the door. “I know a way to get a message to his parents.” I knew I could call Mentayer’s grandmother. She would know how to find them.
We stopped in the hall outside the main office. Two medics were carrying Dion on a stretcher, headed toward the front entrance. Mr. Bernstein walked behind them with his head down, his hands clasped behind him.
I brushed past Miss Huskings and called out to them. “Is he all right? Is he still unconscious? What hospital are you taking him to?”
The medics glanced at each other with questioning eyes. They nodded and put the stretcher down. It was a good sign that they didn’t seem to be in a hurry. I ran toward them. I hoped I might talk to Dion before they took him to the hospital. But then I saw the looks on the medics’ faces. I followed their eyes down to the stretcher. Dion was covered with a sheet, even his face.
I cried out and took a step back. Mr. Bernstein wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his white shirt and stared up at the ceiling. Miss Huskings reached for my hand.
“This is our principal.” Mr. Bernstein said. Outside, a long low roll of thunder cut through the crack in his voice.
The veins on Miss Huskings’s hand throbbed against mine.
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” one of the medics said. “There was nothing we could do. He was already gone when we got here.”
Within minutes, the school was crawling with police. Students and teachers were sequestered in their classrooms, questioned one at a time in the halls. I waited in Miss Huskings’s office. She suggested I go home and take care of myself. But I refused to leave. Not until I’d talked to the police myself.
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