She shrugged. “Knock yourself out. Just ask a custodian to lock up behind you, please.”
“I will.” He didn’t offer another apology. Instead, he simply watched her flee from his presence, her rapid footsteps retreating into silence.
Terrifying. Not in a fun way.
That was him.
He sat in her desk chair, and it was still warm from her body.
Math. That would clear his troubled thoughts. Seven squared was forty-nine. Seven cubed was 343. Seven to the fourth power was 2,401. Seven to the fifth power was—
The overhead lights went out. In the evening, the hallway lights were dim, and they barely penetrated the sudden, choking blackness of the classroom.
“Hello?” he called. “I’m still here.”
There were footsteps in the distance, shuffling and steady. Coming closer.
“Hello!” he called again.
No one answered, but someone was approaching. Only steps away now.
Mildred got what she deserved.
Involuntarily, he shivered and leapt to his feet. He wasn’t staying any longer in a dark room, with mysterious footsteps—
The lights flickered back on, and a moment later, Mrs. Denham, one of the custodians, poked her head in the doorway. “Did you say something?”
His heart was rabbiting, and he gripped the edge of Ms. Wick’s desk with both hands. “The lights…” He pointed at them, as if the custodian couldn’t locate them for herself. “There’s a problem with them. They went out without warning.”
Mrs. Denham’s smile was kind, if a bit patronizing. “In this wing of the school, the overheads use motion sensors to reduce energy consumption. If you don’t move for a while, they’ll go out, but as soon as you wave an arm, they’ll come right back on. Don’t worry.”
“Oh.” Of course. Of course. “Thank you.”
“Next summer, they’ll install the sensors on your side of the school,” the custodian added. “Why are you here, anyway, instead of your own classroom?”
It was yet another question that didn’t have a single, clear answer.
He hated those sorts of questions. Always had, always would.
So before he could make a fool of himself yet again, before he spent another moment contemplating a problem with no solution, he said goodbye to Mrs. Denham and left.
Two
By the following Monday,Simon’s mind had settled itself, regaining its accustomed calm clarity.
Or at least it would have, had he not overheard part of a murmured conversation in the faculty lounge, as he was removing his usual healthy-but-filling lunch from the shared refrigerator. Two members of the science department were huddled up close at the round table, brows furrowed in…was that concern? Fear?
When he heard the wordMildred, he lingered in front of the refrigerator. Bending at the waist, he extended an arm, as if unable to locate the insulated bag positioned directly in front of him, in its normal spot.
“…such a shame, what happened,” one of his colleagues whispered.
The other teacher nodded emphatically. “I feel so much less safe now.”
At that moment, he happened to accidentally knock over a can of Diet Coke in the refrigerator, and the noise halted the conversation behind him. When it didn’t resume after a moment, he admitted defeat, righted the can of soda, gathered his lunch, and left to eat in his classroom.
If the incident left him rattled, that was only to be expected. Anyone would be distressed by the possibility that a longtime coworker had mysteriously vanished, or possibly even met a violent end.
And if the memory of how Ms. Wick had cringed and stepped back from him, hurt dousing the sparkle in those hazel eyes, also came to mind uncomfortably often, surely that was natural under the circumstances. For the purposes of a productive mentor-mentee relationship, open lines of communication would prove crucial. Any logical professional would feel compelled to apologize and make necessary amends as soon as possible.
