Cooper came up over her left shoulder, wiping his mouth with his hand. His cheeks were flushed, and his eyes looked slightly dazed. “Was that Logan kid watching us?”
Sawyer looked at Cooper, her mouth open. Bathed in the stadium lights, she didn’t know what to say. Finally, she shook her head, looked him in the eye, and said, “I’m sorry, Cooper. We really shouldn’t have done that.”
SIX
There was an electric hum in the air when Sawyer pulled her car into the student lot on Monday morning. Nothing was overtly different; the same cheerleaders were tightening the same bouncy ponytails in rearview mirrors, an impromptu football game had broken out in the back forty, but still something seemed different—alive with an energy that sent Sawyer’s hackles up, sent an uncomfortable prick of fire roaring through her.
Sawyer caught up with Lemon Valour as she beelined toward the brick gym, head bent as her fingers flew over her pink jeweled phone.
“Hey, Lemon, what’s going on?”
Lemon looked up, apparently surprised to see Sawyer standing there.
“You didn’t hear?”
Sawyer shrugged and Lemon stopped, slipping her phone into her jacket pocket. “It’s Mr. Hanson.”
Sawyer felt all the breath leave her body; her skin pinched and suddenly felt too tight, too hot.
“Wh—what about Mr. Hanson?” Immediately she felt his feverish, sour breath on her neck, felt his arms tightening around her waist, and she broke out into a full-body cold sweat. “There were police cars parked out front. Were they here for—did he get—”
Lemon nodded and used her index finger to poke at her eyeliner. “Yep. He’s dead.”
“What?” Sawyer sputtered.
“Dead.” Lemon said it so matter-of-factly. Then her cell phone chirped a jaunty, ridiculous ringtone, and she snatched it up, pressed it to her ear. She cut her eyes to Sawyer.
“Nice talking to you, S. GTG. There’s grief counselors in the main office if you want to get out of trig.”
The click-click-click of Lemon’s heels rang out hollow in Sawyer’s ears as she stayed rooted to the asphalt in the student parking lot.
Mr. Hanson was dead?
Dead.
The word throbbed in her mind.
***
Sawyer picked her way through the student commons. The final bell hadn’t rung yet, so kids still milled around, some red-nosed and breathing into tissues, most looking around, blank-faced and unaffected. She found Chloe sitting on one of the outside tables, legs swinging as she stared off into space, a hard expression on her face.
“Hey, Chloe, what’s going on?”
Chloe sniffled, her nose a deep red. “Mr. Hanson is dead.”
“Yeah, I heard that. Hey, are you okay? I didn’t even know you knew Mr. Hanson. I mean other than the occasional ogle.” She tried to chuckle, tried to force some lightness into the conversation.
Chloe remained stone faced. “He is—was—the faculty advisor for honor society last year.”
“Hey, how’s your forehead? Did your parents say anything?” Sawyer tried to touch Chloe, but the girl shrank away.
“Can you believe they’re saying the guy was murdered?”
Sawyer’s stomach wobbled and thunked to her knees. “Murdered?”
Chloe sliced her index finger across her neck.
“His throat was cut?”
“Maybe. I’ve heard that, that his lover’s husband came and shot his dick off, that his gay lover shot his dick off, that that weird kid who smelled like feet and corn chips and always wore that black hoodie from last year came back and stabbed him. Oh, and that he slipped and hit his head on a bust of Caesar Chavez.” Chloe shuddered. “Either way, our teacher is dead. That’s scary, huh?”
Sawyer swallowed thickly and nodded. Chloe didn’t know the half of it.
Principal Chappie sped through the commons at that moment, and Sawyer caught up with him.
“Hey, Principal Chappie—is it true that Mr. Hanson”—Sawyer couldn’t say the word, couldn’t believe that she had to use the word died again in her teen lifetime—“passed away?”
Principal Chappie stopped, a look of practiced sympathy on his lined face. He put a soft hand on Sawyer’s arm, his touch so light Sawyer could barely feel it through her sweater.
“Yes, Ms. Dodd, I’m afraid so.”
“Well, what happened?”
“I don’t think I should—”
“Please.” Sawyer could hear the desperation in her own voice. “Please? I think it would help everyone.” She waved an arm, indicating her fellow students. “There are all sorts of horrible rumors going around, and I think it would make the student body feel better to know the truth about what happened.”
Principal Chappie seemed to consider this, but his jaw remained fixed.
“Otherwise our parents might be concerned. They probably wouldn’t want us to be here.”