Old School Bones Read Free

box. Their mother. Alice. Black Squirrel scatters. A small cloud drifting away over the rocky beach, the breaking waves. Vanishing. With no word, no sign of hope or pardon for her babies.

2
    “ALL that coffee is killing me.” Gracie groans.
    “No kidding. I have to pee so bad. And someone is in the freaking bathroom!” Tory stares at the closed and locked wooden door to the bathroom on the top floor of Hibernia House.
    The two girls are just back from pounding double latte espressos at the school’s Tuck Shop after their three o’clock swim-team practice. Cranked to the max. And dressed for the blizzard raging outside. Gracie is doing her alternative thing in full Red Army surplus gear: olive drab great coat, watch cap pulled down over her ears. As she pulls off her woolen mittens, she is mumbling about the new year celebrations in Hong Kong today. The bobs and weaves of dragon clans through the crowd. The relentless snapping of firecrackers that lifts you right out of your body. The heavenly scent of spiced pork sizzling in a wok. The warm, moist air.
    “You gotta love a school that thinks four healthy, teenage girls can make do with a one-stall bathroom and a tub/shower.” Tory pulls off her Yankees ball cap, starts shaking tiny ice pellets out of her long, blond hair.
    “Idiots!” Gracie drops the rucksack she uses to carry her books. It hits the floor with a thud. She raps on the door with her knuckles. Stomps the floor with her Doc Martens. Clumps of wet snow scatter over the ancient hardwood floor. “Hey, who the hell ever is in there! Shove it along, will you? We’re dying out here. Hey Liberty…”
    “Hey, Justine?!”
    “Did you call me?” A voice from the stairwell. Footsteps plodding up the stairs. Slow, labored. Justine Agoropolis crests the staircase and stumbles into the common room, a tall, slender girl staggering under a backpack loaded with textbooks. A black Northface anorak sheds melting ice and snow in streams. Her face little more than a shadow beneath the hood.
    “Yeah, we thought you were hogging the bathroom.”
    “Well, I’m not … but I’m thinking about it.”
    “After us, girl scout.”
    Justine, still just a specter with eyes beneath the black hood, pivots on her left foot, looks around the room, takes in the situation. Three of the four residents of Hibernia House are lined up outside the bathroom door.
    “Is Liberty camping out in the potty again? Yo, Lib, there’s a waiting line, give us a break will you?”
    “Damn it Liberty, we have to pee!”
    Gracie grabs the nob to the bathroom door. She rattles it, feels that the door has been locked.
Like who the hell ever locks this door anyway?
    “Liberty, unlock the goddamn door and get your black ass out of there!” It is clear from the tone of Tory’s voice she thinks that playing the race card should get action.
    But the only sound coming from the bathroom is the faint beat of dripping water.
    “I don’t think she’s in there … Liberty?!”
    “I really have to pee.”
    “Maybe she locked the door by accident before she left.” Justine is sticking up for her roomie. “She’s supposed to have a singing lesson now.”
    “Well, someone sure the fuck locked the door.”
    “I’m going to wet my panties if we don’t get that door open soon.”
    “Relax, Gracie.” Justine throws down her book bag. “Stand back.”
    Gracie and Tory barely have time to step out of the way.
    Their tall friend in the anorak makes a three-step, running leap for the bathroom door, a foot connecting with a marshal arts kick at latch height.
    The brass doorknob flies free, hits the floor as the door snaps open.
    “Oh, shit,” says Gracie, the instant she sees the blood. “Oh, Jesus, no!”
    By the time the ambulance arrives, its flashing lights cutting through the darkness and the blizzard, the Hibernia House common room reeks of stress, urine, puked latte. Two campus security officers stand guard in front of the bathroom door. Two