on him to see if there was a drug in his system. Apparently, there wasn’t any trace of one. The only conclusion I could come to was that we were both drugged by the same person—Unknown.
Pulling into the senior parking lot, I’m surprised to see how empty it is. I know I’m a little early, but that’s only because I couldn’t stand being stuck at home amongst the awkward silence any longer.
The overcast sky and dark, ominous clouds hovering overhead seem fitting for a day like this. As I plod toward the school building, the sound of flyers flapping in the wind surrounds me, creating a twisted melody to my ears. There seems to be at least thirty flyers per lamppost now, with more being added every day. The flyers don’t end there, though. They’re on every bulletin board, on the walls in every hallway, in every classroom…it feels like all of them stare at me, judging me for a false crime. I can almost hear Hattie cursing my name as she hung every one of them.
There are a few stragglers peppered throughout the hall as I walk to Mr. Whitman’s office. Something feels off, but I can’t put my finger on it. A gut feeling nags me.
Mr. Whitman’s door is closed. When I reach for the handle to turn it, it’s locked. He’s usually here early. This doesn’t make any sense. Then it occurs to me that I didn’t see his car in the teacher’s lot when I walked in. I hope everything’s okay, especially after what happened yesterday.
Leaning up against the wall next to his office door, I slide down it to sit on the ground. I fiddle with the clasp on my messenger bag. Worry starts to set in as the minutes tick by and he still doesn’t show.
The halls are now bustling with activity and there’s still no sign of Mr. Whitman. After the tardy bell rings, I decide to head to the front office to see if he’s called in. The receptionist’s desk is just down the hall and around the corner from the office, but unfortunately there’s a line. Feeling impatient, I slyly lean over the desk to get the receptionist’s attention.
“Excuse me, do you know if Mr. Whitman has called in today?”
“I’m sorry, but there’s a line of people in front of you,” she replies.
“I know, but I have independent study with him right now and he isn’t here. So, could you please check to see if he called in? I don’t want to keep waiting there if he isn’t going to show.”
She sends me a quick glare before sifting through a few papers on the desk in front of her.
Seeming to find what she was looking for, she says, “Yes, Mr. Whitman did call in today due to illness. Is there anything else I can help you with?” she asks, with an eyebrow turned up.
“No, that’s it. Thanks.”
I don’t really know how I should feel right now. On the one hand, he called in, but on the other hand, did he actually call in? The thought of this being a part of Unknown’s sick plan creeps into my mind and fills me with unease. I wish I had Mr. Whitman’s cell number on hand so I could check up on him.
Rounding the corner to head back toward Mr. Whitman’s office, I see Parker standing in front of his door. Great, he’s like the last person I want to see right now. When he turns to me, a slight smile shows on his face. It kind of infuriates me how cool, calm, and collected guys can be sometimes, even after you’ve caught them in a lie—and a serious one at that.
“What are you doing here?”
“Hello to you too,” he replies with a laugh.
I don’t respond. I just give him a look of “Well?”
“Mr. Whitman sent me an email. He wanted me to fill in for him today.”
“Oh,” I say, feeling like I may have made more out of this situation than I really needed to.
“I’m sorry for not telling you about my—”
“Stop,” I interrupt.
“Wow, so it’s going to be like that, huh? I guess this is why you haven’t returned any of my calls or texts.”
“I’ve had a lot on my mind lately,” I state, avoiding a direct answer.
“You’re not the only one,” he replies, looking intently in my direction, but then his eyes soften.
“I’m not getting into this with you right now, okay? There’s so much going on, and the last thing