“Samuel Hill!” Sister Kathleen said. “You know there is no running in the corridor.”
“Sorry, Sister. I didn’t want to be late, Sister.”
“Well, I admire your determination to be punctual, but perhaps you can give yourself more time to get to class?”
“Yes, Sister. Sorry, Sister.” What I wanted to shout was, “Open the door, Sister—there’s a monster loose!”
“Now go to the back of the line,” she said. When my feet did not immediately comply, she said, “Samuel, did you not hear me? I said walk to the back of the line.”
I trudged to the final spot behind Mary Beth Potts and looked across the courtyard. Ernie and his well-behaved classmates had nearly completed their orderly procession inside Sister Reagan’s classroom when David Bateman raced around the corner. Red in the face, Bateman came to an abrupt stop when he met Sister Reagan’s outstretched palm.
“No tardy students are allowed in my classroom without a tardy slip,” she said.
“But—”
“No buts. Please proceed to the principal’s office and explain why you were unable to make it from the playground to class in the time allotted.”
The last thing I saw before I stepped inside the sanctity of Sister Kathleen’s classroom was Bateman’s menacing glare, and one balled fist smacking an open palm.
4
When the bell rang to signal the end of the school day, I made sure I was first in line, imploring my classmates to line up quickly and quietly. Sister Kathleen opened the door, and I raced out. On the other side of the red steps, the door to Sister Reagan’s classroom opened, and I was just as certain David Bateman would be first in his line, ready to deliver on his threat to kill me. As my feet shuffled down the steps, I spotted my salvation. My mother sat in the blue Falcon with the top down. She smiled up at the sight of me from behind large, round sunglasses, a white scarf tied beneath her chin to protect her hair. She looked like a Hollywood movie star.
I pulled open the passenger door, slid in, and buckled my seat belt without being reminded. “Hi, Mom. Ready to go.”
“How was school?”
“It was good. Can we go?”
“Did you finish your lunch?” She unsnapped my lunch box and flipped open the lid. I looked to my right but did not see David Bateman descending the stairs. “You didn’t eat your apple slices again.”
I leaned over and glanced inside. “I must have forgot.” I quickly turned to the school and saw David Bateman on the top step, searching for me.
“You must have forgotten,” my mother corrected. “You have to eat your fruit and vegetables or I won’t put in any more Hostess.”
“I will, Mom.”
She reached into her purse, giving me another opportunity to consider Bateman. This time we made eye contact. God knows now what possessed me, but safe within the Falcon, my mother seated close beside me, I lost my mind and stuck out my tongue.
“Sam, I need you to take this form up to Sister Kathleen.” My mother had pulled a slip of paper from her purse. “I forgot to put it in your lunch box this morning. It’s the permission slip for your field trip to the zoo next week. Sam?”
I stared at the permission slip, signed at the bottom in my mother’s flowing handwriting. “I can’t,” I said.
“Why not?”
“I . . . I think I’m sick.”
“Sick?”
It wasn’t an outright lie. At that moment, I very much felt as though I could vomit. “I haven’t felt good since lunch. I think I might puke.”