Drowning Instinct Read Free Page B

bookstore. Mom wouldn‘t be back for another twelve hours when we would wash, rinse, repeat every single school day for some unspecified time in my bright, sunny future. That is, until she—or more likely, Dad—decided I was normal enough to get my license. Given everything that had happened, I thought that would be a long time coming.

    Where was everyone? My watch said I still had almost ninety minutes before that first bell. The office staff probably wouldn‘t show for at least a half hour. I could sit tight except my backpack weighed a ton and I had a cup of sickly sweet cappuccino I didn‘t want, but Mom had insisted on buying—like coffee was some kind of rite of passage, a ticket into my new life. Maybe I could put away some of my notebooks at least? I remembered from orientation that my locker was upstairs and to the left. The stairs I needed were all the way down this next hall, I thought, past the cafeteria and—

    ―Hey!‖

    I whirled, a scream-bubble at the back of my throat. The guy was squat and burly, with a bottle-brush mustache and a grimy red rag threaded through an empty belt loop.

    ―I . . . uh . . .‖ I swallowed my heart back into my chest. ―I came early. . . I have. . . I have permission. . . uh. . .‖

    ―Doors don‘t officially open for almost another hour.‖

    ―They were open. My dad was supposed to arrange it. Me waiting in the library, I mean, so I thought I could come in.‖ This was crazy. Did this creepy guy want me to go back outside and wait on the curb while he locked the front doors?

    ―Librarian isn‘t here.‖ His eyes kept drifting from my face to my chest.

    Maybe he was a little slow. ―I know.‖

    ―Didn‘t anyone tell me.‖

    ―I‘m sorry. The doors were open.‖

    ―You said that,‖ he said, speaking to my breasts. ―That‘s not supposed to happen either.‖

    ―Well, there are two cars in the lot.‖

    ―The pickup‘s mine.‖

    Which left a Prius with an empty bike rack on its roof. ―So maybe one of the teachers came in early and left the door open?‖

    ―Maybe.‖ His face folded in a scowl. ―You got ID?‖

    All I had was my learner‘s permit, which I fumbled from my wallet. He stepped close, squinting at the picture, his eyes clicking from it to me and back again. He stank of cigarettes and sweat and ammonia. Finally he said, ―Okay. Library‘s down the end of the hall.‖

    ―I know. It‘s locked.‖ When he opened his mouth again, I said, ―Yes, the librarian doesn‘t come in for another hour, I know. Do you have the key?‖ He nodded. ―Can you unlock the door?‖

    He shook his head. ―The librarian has to be there.‖

    ―Well, can I go to my locker, please? Maybe by the time I put my stuff away, the librarian will be in.‖ I could tell he didn‘t like the idea, but I was already moving away, heading for the stairs, not waiting for permission.

    He let me get maybe ten feet then called, ―Hey!‖

    Now what? I looked back. ―Yes?‖

    He held up that damn coffee, the one I‘d set down when I tried the library doors.
    ―This yours?‖

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    By the time I made it to the second floor, my stomach was churning. Great. I couldn‘t even handle a perv janitor. No way I was going back downstairs, not while that guy was around. Maybe hide in the bathroom? Bathrooms were safe, even in the dark.
    Especially in the dark. Lock myself in a stall, plug into my iPod, tune out, and let the blackness fold around like a blanket.

    The upstairs hall was quiet. Lockers lined white cinder-block walls, which were broken at intervals by closed classroom doors.

    All except one, on the right. A spray of fluorescent light splashed onto the floor, and there was music, something lush and bittersweet.

    Well, okay, so a teacher was getting a jump on the first day of classes, so what? I was going to my locker, no big deal. I‘d just slide by, pray my locker door didn‘t make a racket, then dump my stuff and duck into the bathroom at the other end