Deadly Little Voices Read Free Page B

longer talking. The students in class, Kimmie included, have already added their groggy bits to their hunks of clay, and begun to wedge them out.

    I do the same, noticing right away how much easier it is to work with the grittier texture.

    “Big difference, wouldn’t you say?” Ms. Mazur asks, returning to her desk at the front of the room.

    I close my eyes and a series of images pops into my head, including the skating sculpture I’ve been working on—the one from my dream last night.

    I start to replicate the skater’s silhouette when all of a sudden I feel hot, like my skin is burning up. I touch my forehead. It’s soaked with sweat.

    “Camelia?” Kimmie says. “Um, no offense, but why does it look like you just got jiggy with Mr. Floppy here?” She hands me the paisley scarf from around her neck and then confiscates her clay wand.

    I let out a breath, feeling more overheated by the moment. My shirt sticks against the sweat on my chest.

    “Camelia?” Ms. Mazur asks. She stands up from her desk and places her hands on her hips. A pencil falls from behind her ear.

    I want to answer her—to tell her that my insides are absolutely on fire—but instead I make a beeline for the door. I hurry down the hallway, en route to the bathroom. When I reach it, I find that the door is locked.

    I move across the hall to the girls’ locker room, noticing a pair of ice skates in front of the door. I step right over them as I fling the door open, expecting to find girls changing for class.
    Instead it’s empty and dark.

    I feel around the wall, knowing there’s a light switch somewhere. Finally I find it and switch it on, but only the lights in the back—by the sinks and stalls—come on.

    A good ten yards away.

    I start off in that direction, noticing a trickling noise, like running water. It sounds as if it might be coming from one of the sinks. The fluorescent light strip makes a harsh buzzing sound and flickers with each step I take—as if it might be on the verge of going out.

    Still sweating, I pick up my pace. The smell of mildew and something sweet, like rotted fruit, is thick in the air, causing my stomach to churn.

    A moment later, I hear something else—a whispering sound. I peer over my shoulder to look.

    It seems even darker now. I can barely make out my hand in front of my face, never mind the door through which I entered.

    I’m just about to turn away when the whispering sound comes again. “Who’s there?” I ask, trying to be brave.

    My pulse racing, I resume in the direction of the lighted area, but then a voice whispers,
    “Do you know what you are?”

    I back away against a locker, hoping the darkness will hide me.

    “You’re such a joke,” the voice says. It’s a female voice, with an angry tone, reminding me of the voice from last night. It’s only inches from my face.

    I thrust my hands forward, prepared to knock aside anyone in my path. To my surprise, no one’s there.

    I hurry toward the lit area, still able to hear the trickling water, but now those lights have gone out, too.

    “You’re trapped,” the voice says, followed by an evil giggle.

    I move into the area near the stalls and feel around for the windows on the far wall. Both windows are closed, so I can’t call out. I struggle to find one of the levers that open them, wondering why no light’s coming in. Meanwhile, footsteps continue at a slow pace behind me. I can hear heels scuffing against the cement floor, just a short distance away.

    Finally, I find a lever and try to crank it open. But the window is locked. I move to the side, somehow managing to find another lever. That one’s locked, too, and remains locked, even when I pull, twist, and pound it with all my might.

    “No,” I hear myself cry out. I smack my fists against the glass, eager to break right through it.

    “There’s no way out now,” the voice says. “You should’ve quit when you were told.”

    “No!” I repeat. My heart