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Toward the end of the day, I noticed the teachers coming out into the hallways and talking to each other quietly. The moment any student drew close, they all stopped.
"Something's up," Alice Bucci practically shouted across the classroom when our last period teacher, Mrs. Shannon, went to the doorway, spoke to someone in the hallway, and then told us to read our math assignment while she stepped out.
For no reason I could think of, my heart started to go like a jackhammer.
Mrs. Shannon came into the room, looking very disturbed. She said nothing, went to the front of the room, glanced at us, and took a deep breath. The bell rang, and we rose quietly and started out. I immediately sensed a heavy, almost funereal atmosphere in the building. Glancing at the principal's office, I saw the door was closed, but through the window in the door, I could see people buzzing around the secretary's desk.
I stepped out into the warm, partly sunny day along with the other students who would be riding buses home, but when I looked at the parking lot, I saw my mother standing by her car and waving toward me. I could feel my heart stop and then start. She beckoned, and I started toward her quickly.
"What's going on?" I asked. "Weren't you going into work at three today?"
"I pushed it back to five. Someone's covering for me. I wanted to pick you up, Zipporah. Get into the car," she said.
"Why?"
"Just get in. I'll take you home," she said.
I got in, and almost before I closed my door, she was backing out of the parking spot. She took a deep breath and looked at me.
"You haven't heard the news" she asked.
"What news?"
"Harry Pearson is dead," she told me, and then, to be sure I understood, she added, "Karen's stepfather is dead."
I felt the blood drain from my face.
"Is that why Karen isn't in school?"
"Oh, yes," my mother said, shaking her head, "that's why Karen isn't in school."
She looked as if she was going to laugh.
"What do you mean, Mama? When did he die? How did he die?"
"It's not pleasant, Zipporah. I can barely form the words to tell you," she said.
"Tell me!" I shouted.
"Calm down," she said, even though she was the one who looked as if she needed calming down. "He was stabbed to death. It looks . . ." She started to cry and had to slow down and pull the car to the side of the road.
"Mama?"
"It looks like Karen did it, honey. It looks that way. She's run off."
I actually tried to speak but couldn't. My throat had closed up.
"Oh, Zipporah," my mother said. "I'm so sorry. I know how close you two were. Did you have any idea such a thing might happen?"
How could I answer that question? As soon as I told her yes and told her why, she would be angry that I hadn't come to her. And what would she think now if I told her about our plan?
I just stared to cry.
"Oh, honey, I'm so sorry for you. That's why I knew I had to pick you up. I really am surprised you didn't hear about it before you left the school. The news is flying through the community faster than electricity. I'll get you home. You had better rest," she said, and started driving again.
I felt my body shudder and seem to sink lower and lower in the seat. I kept my eyes closed.
"I know Karen wasn't particularly fond of her stepfather. I know she didn't want to be adopted and give up her name. There was that, but what on earth . . ."
