Don't Look Behind You Read Free

student parking lot. Then he and I got out and walked across to the school building. The first bell was already ringing as we stepped through the doorway, and that was the start of my last day at Springside Academy.
    It was an ordinary school day, no different from any other. In world history, Mrs. Winnender delivered an hour’s oration on ancient Rome. In English class, Mr. Peyton assigned us the whole last act of Hamlet , and we all groaned appropriately. There was a sub for algebra who gave us permission to do whatever we wanted just as long as we stayed at our desks and talked in whispers. Business as usual, nothing to prepare me for a crisis, nothing to set the stage for End of Our World Day. Since Steve and I didn’t have lunch the same period, I ate in the school cafeteria with Sherry and some other girls. Then, after lunch, my tennis partner, Jodi Simmons, and I went out to the gym to see if Coach Malloy had posted the seeding for the state tournament. He had, and we were pleased to find we were first in women’s doubles and that I was first, and Jodi second, in women’s singles.
    Steve was waiting for me at my locker when the bell rang, and we coordinated our plans for the rest of the day. Steve had an appointment after school to get measured for his prom tux, but he said he’d be back to pick me up after tennis practice. Then, since he’d taken Shakespeare the year before, he offered to spend the evening explaining Hamlet to me.
    â€œCatch you later,” Steve told me as we split forces.
    â€œLater,” I responded with perfect happiness.
    The first of my afternoon classes was computers with Mrs. Guthrie. That day there was a timed assignment that involved long columns of numbers, and I was concentrating so hard on increasing my typing speed that I almost didn’t react when I heard my name called.
    â€œApril?” The voice broke into my consciousness. “April Corrigan, you’re wanted in the counselor’s office.”
    I glanced up then and saw the student messenger standing by Mrs. Guthrie’s desk.
    â€œDo you want me to finish the assignment first?” I asked.
    â€œNo, you’d better go now,” the teacher said. “And take your things. You might not make it back before the end of the period.”
    More curious than worried, I gathered up my books and papers and logged off the computer. Keyboards were rattling away like a barrage of machine guns as I walked down the aisle between the rows of tables. Nobody dared lose momentum by glancing up at me. Even Sherry, whose desk was three in front of mine, didn’t raise her eyes from her computer screen as I passed her. I didn’t get to say a single good-bye.
    By the time I left the room, the messenger had long since gone, so I made my trek to the counselor’s office alone. Except for a monitor stationed at the foot of the stairway and a girl who was getting a drink at the water fountain, the hall was empty. Without its usual cargo of aromatic teenagers, it smelled benignly of chewing gum and chalk dust, with a faint aroma of pot smoke near the boys’ restroom. The door to Mrs. Winnender’s room stood partly open, and as I passed, I could hear her voice, wearier than it had been that morning, still rattling away about Rome in its era of splendor. Aside from that the only sound in the hall was the hollow click of my footsteps bouncing back from the rows of lockers that lined the walls.
    I opened the door of the counselor’s office and stepped inside. On a bench opposite the doorway two boys with bloody noses sat glaring at each other, obviously longing for a chance to continue their fistfight. Farther down on the bench sat a sullen red-haired girl, chomping gum like a riveting machine. The red-haired woman seated next to her was pretending not to know her.
    None of them were waiting for me.
    The secretary was busy talking on the telephone, and there did not appear to be anyone