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Not that there was much to do; he’d planned out the first few weeks of school, and he had plenty of time to print off the reading packets forMuch Ado about Nothing. It wasn’t a play the tenth-graders normally read, but this year, the community theater was putting on a production. Many of the students—maybe even all of them—would never have seen live theater before, and so the plan was to read the play, watch the movie, and then take them to see it performed. By then, Theo thought, maybe they’d understand the overall plot.
He was toying with the idea of getting tickets to a Cardinals game. He could offer Auggie a weekend in the city as a kind of apology for last night. Not that it had been an argument. They never had arguments anymore, not really. Not that it had been anything except a tense moment, an uncomfortable few seconds, and then they had both moved on from it. Without talking about it. The way they always did.
The door opened, and Principal Wieberdink stepped into the classroom. She had one of those milky complexions that might have been good genes and that definitely involved good makeup, and she wore her dark hair in layers. Auggie said her clothes were expensive, and Theo could testify that she certainly dressed, well, more professionally than a lot of the staff. He hadn’t once, for example, seen her come to work in a sports bra like Danika Greer, the health teacher slash water polo coach.
Theo waited for the usual check-in—how was the first day, all that stuff. Instead, though, Wieberdink said, “Dr. Stratford, I need your help.”
“Sure.” Theo straightened in his seat. “Is something—”
“Do you know Shaniyah Johnson?”
“Yes.”
“Great. I need you to help us look for her.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand. Did something happen?”
“What happened is that Shaniyah’s first- and second-hour teachers apparently did not think taking attendance was an important part of their jobs.” Wieberdink’s usual glacial reserve had melted a little. “A point about which I will be happy to remind them. In the meantime, we don’t know if Shaniyah is in the building, or if she’s playing hooky, or if she even came to school at all today. Her aunt and uncle insist that she’s here, and they want her found.”
“Uh—” Wieberdink shifted her weight, and Theo locked on to the reality of the moment. “Right, I’ll start looking. Are you—”
“I’ve got to get Bobby Porter out of the Gator, which he is currently trying to drag race on the track. Find Shaniyah, Dr. Stratford, and bring her to my office.”
Then she was gone, and from the clip of her heels, she was just shy of running.
It wasn’t exactly unusual for a first day—there was always some kind of minor disaster. And students did love to steal the four-wheeler, which was kept in the athletics shed with minimal security. But it did strike Theo, like the echo of an off-key note, that it was Shaniyah who happened to be unaccounted for. And they’d been talking about Shaniyah the night before.
He locked the classroom behind him and started moving through the building. He worked his way down the hall, checking the electrical closet—the door was still locked—and then the staff bathroom—also locked. Wahredua High School was one of those buildings that had grown in stages, which meant it was, speaking politely, a maddening fuck-up of a maze, even if you’d been working there for years. And with those stages of construction had come odd nooks and crannies, unused corridors, forgotten architectural irregularities.
A giggle came from nearby, and Theo changed direction, heading for an alcove tucked off the main hallway, where the custodial staff often stored unused desks and chairs, and where every year they caught kids vaping (and before vaping, smoking). Maybe not so forgotten, Theo thought as the giggle came again, louder.
“Yeah, I work out.” That was a boy’s voice. He wasn’t speaking loudly, but he wasn’t whispering either. Someone else said something that Theo couldn’t hear, and the boy laughed—a low, even sound. “A couple of hours every day,” he answered. “Go on. Here. Yeah.”
When Theo came around the corner, the boys didn’t notice him, not at first. One of them sat on one of the spare desks, his legs spread, an arm curled to show off his biceps. The gray gym shorts didn’t leave any doubt about how much he liked the attention. He had olive-colored skin under a deep tan, hair worn long on top with a hint of curl, the sides tapering to a skin fade. Probably, Theo thought, so nobody got the wrong idea.
The other boy Theo recognized, although he didn’t know his name—black motorcycle pants, a tight black tee, a quiff of mousey hair. He was ultra skinny, which Theo thought was partially a choice, and he was running his hand over the first boy’s arm.
“What’s going on here?” Theo asked.
The skinny boy about jumped out of his motorcycle pants, whirling around to face Theo, red blotches moving into his cheeks. The boy with the biceps showed a flash of surprise, but he recovered quickly. He changed his posture on the desk and adjusted himself, but that was all—more like he was being polite than like he’d been busted.
“What’s going on?” Theo asked again.
“Nothing,” Biceps Boy said.
Theo looked at the skinny boy.
“Nothing,” he mumbled.
“Names,” Theo said.
“What were we doing wrong?” Biceps Boy asked.
“You’re not in class. How’s that for starters? What’s your name, please?”
“My teacher doesn’t care.”
“Your name.”
