Break The Ice (3 page)

Taking the lunch box from me, he nods. Without saying a word, he turns around.

“Oh, and kid?” I say. I wait for him to look at me over his shoulder. “No matter what these idiots say, the Avengers are awesome.”

A brief smile breaks through before he runs down the hall.

“Playing the hero card today, Adams?”

“Not sure what’s gotten into me, Mr. McFadden. Won’t happen again.”

“Let’s hope that’s not true,” he says. “Unfortunately, I’m going to have to escort you to the principal’s office.”

Of course you are. “Lucky for us, that’s where I’m headed.”

“Funny,” he says, winking. “Me, too.”

The sense of urgency dies down, letting my stomach settle. Everybody tells mixed reviews about McFadden. I guess his human decency outweighs his team spirit. Lucky for me.

“You ever think about joining the team?” he says.

I choke back a laugh. “I’m not a big fan of football.”

“You’ve got a fire burning inside you. Could use–hey Dana–some of that out on the field. Any letters?”

Dana, Gunsler’s personal secretary, leafs through a pile of mail. “Nothing today, Roy.”

He slaps his leg. “Darn. It’ll get here one day. Alright, Adams. Stay out of trouble. And think about our talk. See you in PE.” McFadden taps his knuckles on the desk before turning to leave.

Dana’s stare lingers on the football coach a few seconds longer than mine, and significantly lower, before she averts her eyes back to mine. She blushes. “Oh,” she says. “Need help?”

“Here to see the big man,” I say, trying to stay positive. I’m not looking forward to whatever lecture Gunsler has prepared about how we need to be strong in times of desperation and how others are counting on me.

“
Mr. Gunsler
is in his office,” she says, her eyes digging into me.

The door to the principal’s office hangs wide open. A plaque on the wall reads
Patrick Gunsler
. An array of certificates, awards, and degrees hang on the wall opposite the door. Overqualified doesn’t do him justice.

“Hey there, little man,” he says when I appear in the doorway.

I swallow hard. He heard me, no doubt about it, and yet his smile doesn’t waver. As far as I can tell, the man looks genuinely interested to have me in his office.

“You called?” I say.

“Have a seat,” he says.

“I’d rather–”

“Sit.”

The commanding tone of his voice has my legs moving towards the chair before my brain tells them to do it. The seat is more comfortable than I expect. Plush, soft again my bare forearm. Borderline luxurious. I didn’t think our school could afford furniture like this after how long it took them to replace some of the desks last year.

“Go ahead,” I say.

“I’m sorry?”

“Aren’t you going to tell me how I need to push through the grief and come out a better man?” I trace circles on the chair’s brown fabric with my finger. It leaves a small ring darker than the rest of the material.

“Is that what you think you should do?” he says.

On Gunsler’s wall of repute, I find the first degree in the crowd of awards.
Psychology.
No big shock there. A bell rings somewhere out in the hallway.

“What I should do is get to history,” I say.

He nods and shifts his weight. “You’d rather numb yourself in academics than face the reality of your situation?”

“My situation?” I say, spitting the words out. “My mom is–” Stop, Sam. Breath. Relax. Exhale.

“I believe we should set up a session with Dr. Ornol.”

“A therapist? Really?”

“Do you think it would help?”

Another bell rings. “I don’t have time for this.” Shoving the chair backwards, I stand and storm out of the office. If he thinks I’m going to sit down with Ornol, he’s delusional.

“Saaaam.”

I freeze in place. Before I can turn around, the temperature drops. Vapor rises from my racing breathe. Not again. I spin around. Nothing below the waist budges and my back pops. The pain lasts less than a second. Once I see Gunsler’s face, I don’t feel anything.

His eyes are glazed over, milky white and empty, but they stare right at me. His expression fades into nothing. “Help us.” The accent is unmistakable.

“Who are you?” I say.

Gunsler’s mouth opens, wider and wider until his jaw threatens to unhinge. Smoke pours out of his throat, dispersing a few inches into the room. No, not smoke. It’s a steady stream of water vapor. His lips turn blue and his entire body shakes.

I take a step in his direction. The cold radiating off of him washes over me.

Two icy blue fingers reach out from behind his teeth. The nails are frozen solid, small chunks of ice wedged onto the fingertips. They reach out, prying his mouth open even wider. Bones crack as the fingers push their way free.

“Sam, are you okay?”

My eyes don’t leave Gunsler. I blink. Once, twice, five times, too fast that I lose count.

A hand grabs my shoulder. Warmth spreads into my body. I rub my eyes before checking behind me. Dana has a note in her hand and worry in her eyes.

“Are you okay?” she says again.

I glance back at Gunsler. He’s sitting at his desk, head down, filling out some paperwork, ignoring me.

“I’m…I’m fine,” I say. “Thanks.”

Not fine, not fine, not fine.

I’m going crazy.

“Take the derivative of that and you get…anyone?”

I bite my tongue. Nobody knows the answer. I do, but I’m still too shaken up to even dream about answering. Fourth period. Calc. Usually by this time in the day, I’m alright. The day is halfway over, and I’m closer to getting home. If only I could shake the feeling that–

“Sam? Any ideas?”

“Uhh…” Focus Sam. You know this. “You start with the natural log of–”

Each of the eight florescent lights above me goes dark. I join the other students, looking around the room in a confused, panicked, excited state. No electricity, no school.

“Come on, guys. It’s a little power spike.”

I had Parkins for pre-calc, too. He can’t keep control of a room to save his life.

Lights in the hallway flicker to life.

“See? Let’s continue.”

All of the kids keep talking in their loud whispers. That’s the backup generator powering on. The hope is still alive.

Static crackles from the speaker above the door. “
Is it working? I can’t tell. Go check.
” Gunsler. I guess he’s still alive, I couldn’t tell when I left his office. “
Okay. Students and teachers, it appears we’ve lost electricity. Our power company informed us that they will be working on the fix, but it might take several hours. So, please remain in your current classrooms until we direct you outside. Thank you, and sorry for the inconvenience.
”

“Inconvenience,” a kid behind me says, laughing. “We accept your apology.” Others join him in laughter.

Even I get a few laughs in until I remember what waits for me outside these walls. Not a day off to find out how Infinity Spectrum plays. The only thing for me is a small couch inside a hospital. Another dose of guilt strikes me.

While all of the other kids talk to each other, I pull my iPhone out and set it on my lap. If I pretend I’m resting my head, I can scroll through a few websites before Parkins spots me. Three new Facebook messages wait.

Kaitlyn
: hey, how things going?

Kaitlyn
: i totally got off school today. power malfunctions. when do you get home?!

Kaitlyn
: message me back soon

“Even if the power is off, Sam, no phones out during class.”

Parkins stands over me. “Sorry. Won’t happen again,” I say.

He smiles. Not because he’s happy, or he believes me, there’s something hidden behind his eyes. Oh God, does everybody know?

I stuff the phone back into my pocket. I’ll message her back once I’m safely out of this Hell.

“We’re up,” Parkins says after Dana sneaks in and slips him a sheet of paper. “Everybody single file, don’t push each other over, and I’ll see you all tomorrow.”

I wait in the back until everybody else squeezes through the small door. No use blocking the hallway, especially since I have to find a way to the hospital. I ride the crowd of students out into the bus loading zone. Number seventy-three sits twenty feet down the walkway. It could take me home. To Kaitlyn.

No.

Forcing myself to look away, my stare lingers on the student parking lot. A few empty spaces scattered throughout the lot. I haven’t been able to convince mom that I need a car. Days like today are the perfect, morbid example.

Sally catches me staring at her before I register that I’m doing it. She says bye to her friend and waves me over.

“Hey, want a ride?” she says.

“I’m going to the hospital,” I say. Then it clicks. That’s what she meant. Why would she want to give me a ride home?

She grins. “Me, too. My dad is taking me out to lunch.”

“That sounds fun,” I say. I want to punch myself. This conversation needs to end.

“You could come with if–”

A car horn cuts her off. A blue dodge pulls up next to me. “Hop in, kid. Apparently, I’m your new chauffer.

Melanie. My hero.

“Thanks for the offer, Sally, but I have to go,” I say. Without another word, I fold myself into the car, pulling my knees almost to my chest to avoid crushing the cans of diet Pepsi littering the passenger side floor. I don’t remember them being there this morning. I glance in the back seat. She must have tried cleaning off the floor but everything seems to have migrated to me.

Pulling out of the parking lot, Melanie stares at me through the rear-view mirror. I’m not sure how she manages to watch the traffic behind her with it angled towards me like that.

“She’s cute,” she says.

My face heats up, burners on high. “She’s the doctor’s daughter.”

“So?”

“Can we talk about anything else in the world?” I say.

“Sure, sure. Do you have a girlfriend?”

I groan. “Sort of,” I say, only because I’m too embarrassed to tell the truth. No, I don’t have a girlfriend. No, I’m a senior in high school, and I haven’t had a girlfriend at all unless you count middle school, but you can’t because nobody does and it’s idiotic to think otherwise.

Melanie wiggles in her seat. For being older than me, she acts like a kid. I find her in the mirror. She doesn’t look very old. Twenty-one, twenty-two tops. She catches me staring. “Well?” she says.

“
Well
what?”

“Tell me about her before I have to go put catheters into old men.”

For the first time in two days, I laugh.

“Give me something,” she says. “Okay, start off easy. Hair color?”

“Blonde.” I’ve always liked blondes, so why wouldn’t my imaginary girlfriend have blonde hair?

“Smart choice.” She twirls her brown hair. “This hasn’t always been dark. Eyes?”

“Green,” I say. “Green-green, like a traffic light.”

My face flushes a little. She believes my lie, even if it’s barely important enough to be considered one. The truth is, I don’t even care about having a girlfriend in high school. I’d much rather go to class and then go home to get on the computer. It’s easier, more peaceful, and I don’t have to worry about my looks behind a monitor.

“Speaking of,” she says, leaning into her dash. “What’s going on here?”

Two blocks from the hospital, we run into a traffic jam. All four lights hanging above the road are dead so everybody tried to use the intersection at the same time.

“Were the others like this?” I say.

“First one between the school and here,” she says. “I don’t remember them being off when I left.”

Farther into town, away from the blank traffic light, an ominous sky awaits. Dark gray clouds hover above the buildings. I’ve never seen clouds so dark, almost on the verge of black. Dismal. I check behind us. Gray, but nothing by comparison.

“Maybe the incoming storm knocked them out,” I say.

“The weatherman said sunshine all day.”

“Looks like he was wrong. Hopefully they take the heat with them. Thanks for having a car with ac, by the way.”

“You think I’d leave my apartment if I didn’t? I get drenched walking from the car to the hospital. It only takes me twenty seconds.”

As Melanie merges into the flooded intersection, a sense of urgency rises through my body. “The hospital didn’t lose electric, did it? If it loses electric and mom has to–”

“Relax. Even if the building loses power, we have so many generators on backup that we can run for at least a week.”

I settle back into the seat, a new layer of sweat soaking into the back of my shirt. “Okay,” I say.