The Day the Dead Came to Show and Tell Read Free Page B

companion whose mouth had so many teeth. Mikey spread out his hands and waggled his fingers on the words “so many,” like he was trying to illustrate a mathematical concept too large to be expressed in simple numbers. Jenna’s rat had had her babies, and now Jenna had eleven rats—two grown-ups and nine pups—and she was going to keep them all, and she would never be lonely, not ever. Sharon and Emily were going to have a sleepover on the weekend, and they had spent most of the previous afternoon instant-messaging each other about it, and they were both so excited that they were finishing one another’s sentences, words tumbling over each other like kittens at play. Scott had spent the evening adding samples to his rock collection, which was almost big enough to take up a whole shelf.
    This sharing time was a normal part of Wednesday mornings, as normal as the lockdown and the coloring sheets and the way Mikey sometimes ate the red crayons—but only the red ones, making it a relatively easy problem to solve, as long as Miss Oldenburg could remember to give him greens and blues and browns instead, which she didn’t always, not in the rush to get all her students safely inside. She listened patiently to their stories, nodding when it seemed appropriate, asking questions when she could see that they were holding back details out of shyness or out of uncertainty whether their share was somehow dull or stupid or otherwise not worth finishing. One by one, all seventeen of her students spoke, setting their private worlds in front of her to be judged, and she didn’t find a single one of them wanting.
    The clock struck 9:30 just as Brian was finishing his tale of the epic battle between his father and a bookshelf from IKEA that had resisted all efforts to put it together. Miss Oldenburg clapped her hands together, beaming. “Those were some wonderful stories,” she said. “You all had the very best evening, and I wish I could have been there with you, because it sounds like I would have had a lot more fun than I did sitting here and grading your math papers.”
    A groan swept through the class, which was much more interested in the story of Brian’s bookshelf than in the thought of getting their math papers back.
    â€œNow, come on,” said Miss Oldenburg. “You don’t even know how you did yet! Maybe you all did fabulously. You’ll only find out if you look at your papers.” She twisted to pick up the folder from her desk, stuffed with slightly wrinkled sheets of paper and bristling with gold stars. “We’re going to have a math review, we’re going to discuss all of our answers, and then we’re going to have the ten o’clock recess slot. How does that sound to everyone?”
    This time she was met with cheers instead of groaning. Miss Oldenburg smiled brighter than ever.
    â€œThat’s what I thought. Who wants to help me hand back these papers?”
    *  *  *
    >> MGOWDA: WHAT MAKES YOU THINK THIS ‘ELAINE OLDENBURG’ IS OUR TARGET?
    >> AKWONG: FACIAL RECOGNITION COMES UP TO ABOUT 80%, WHICH IS PRETTY GOOD, GIVEN SIX YEARS + PROBABLE PLASTIC SURGERY. ADD HAIR DYE, DIFFERENCE IN DEMEANOR…I NEVER SAW THE WOMAN, BUT I THINK THIS IS HER. WAS HER. SHIT, BOSS, HOW DO YOU GO FROM POINT A TO POINT B?
    >> MGOWDA: YOU FOUND HER. YOU FIGURE IT OUT.
    â€”internal communication between Alaric Kwong and Mahir Gowda, After the End Times private server, March 16, 2044
    *  *  *
    Wednesday, March 19, 2036, 9:57 a.m.
    Walking seventeen squirmy first graders through a basic math review wasn’t Elaine’s favorite activity, but it was still rewarding to see them light up when they got an answer right, something that happened more and more frequently as they worked their way through the test. Everyone had passed, which helped, and they each wound up with two or even three gold stars adorning their shirts and