Faye reached Cassie's row, thrust a sheaf of papers at her. Cassie whispered "Faye!" and was rewarded by a swift flash of golden eyes before Faye moved on. Bewildered, Cassie took one handout and passed the rest to Suzan. It was three pages long and covered with small type.
Prohibited Actions - Type A. Prohibited Actions - Type B. Prohibited Actions - Type C.
It was a list of rules. But so many rules, line after line after line. Her eyes caught words here and there.
Wearing clothing inconsistent with the serious and dignified purpose of formal education . . . using a locker or being in the corridors at any time other than the passing period between classes . . . possession or use of squirt guns . . . littering . . . running in the halls . . . chewing gum . . . failing to comply with an order from any teacher or hall monitor . . .
Hall monitors? Cassie thought. We don't have hall monitors. Her eyes skimmed on.
Public displays of affection . . . failing to recycle styrofoam lunch trays . . . placing feet on seats or chair backs . . .
"They can't be serious," Suzan whispered. There was a faint whistle from Nick.
"You'll have time in class to go over these guidelines and become thoroughly familiar with them," the new principal said. In the corner of Cassie's eye she saw rows of heads lifting. The rustling of paper stilled.
"Right now I'd like to ask for volunteers to be hall monitors. This is a position of great responsibility, so please think carefully before you raise your hand."
Hands flew up all over the auditorium. The students at New Salem High had never volunteered so fast for anything. Cassie saw Portia, rigid and trembling like a hound dog pointing in the air. Sally, in the next seat, was waving madly, like a third-grader dying to get called on by the teacher. The room was like one giant Nazi salute.
Black John's eyes moved up and down, scanning them, examining each one.
Then Cassie realized that Sean's hand was going up.
"Sean!" she hissed. The auditorium was so quiet she didn't dare speak loudly. Suzan glanced at Sean, then shrank back from him. He was out of Nick's reach. "Sean!" she said.
He didn't seem to hear her. His shiny eyes were fixed on the stage. His face was eager, tense.
Desperation tingled in the palms of Cassie's hands. She reached across Suzan to grab his left arm, and with all the power she could summon up, thought: Sean!
She felt it go out of her like a blast of heat, just as she'd felt it when she was facing the pumpkin-patch dog. A burst of pure power. Sean's head snapped toward her, his expression full of astonishment.
"Put your hand down," she whispered, feeling shaky and exhausted in the aftermath. Sean looked at his hand as if he'd never seen it before and hastily snatched it down. He gripped the seat of his chair, eyes still sideways on Cassie.
Now Suzan was cringing away from her, Cassie realized. Both the strawberry-blond and Sean looked scared. Cassie looked toward the stage and saw the new principal looking directly at her, his lips curved in a faint smile.
Great. He likes it, and my own friends are afraid of me.
Black John continued to gaze at her steadily for a moment, then turned the slight smile on the rest of the auditorium.
"Very good. Those of you who've been chosen will please remain after the assembly to learn about your new duties. The rest are dismissed. Good morning."
Hairs lifted on the back of Cassie's neck. "Chosen?" she whispered, looking around. There hadn't been any selection. But some of the students who'd had hands up were moving to the stage in a quiet, orderly manner. Portia and Sally were among them.
Don't you see? You've got to see now how strange this is, Cassie thought, twisting to look at Mr. Humphries standing in the aisle. But Mr. Humphries didn't seem to find anything unusual about the proceedings. He looked calm and rather pleased as he motioned his class out. Tranquilized, Cassie thought, shivering. Hypnotized.
Black John was still standing at the lectern. She could feel his eyes on her back as she walked out of the auditorium.
Cassie fell back as her writing class walked down the hall, slowing to stay with Nick and Suzan and Sean. Suzan and Sean looked at her oddly, but Nick put his arm around her.
"That was pretty good," he said softly. Cassie felt better, until she noticed he didn't have his handout.
"I left it on the seat," he said, and Cassie's heart sank a little further.
"That's littering," she said. "And littering's a Type-A offense. Nick, we've got to be careful - he's out to get us."
"No kidding," Adam said, joining them. His blue-gray eyes flickered once over Nick's arm around Cassie's shoulders, but his expression didn't change. "Have you read over the Prohibited Actions, Type C?"
Cassie hadn't. She thumbed to the last page of the handout and looked. "Skateboarding, roller-skating, or bike riding . . . playing or wearing radios on school grounds . . . smoking or using tobacco products . . . these are supposed to be worse than Type-B offenses like using drugs or fighting?"