I'll Stop the World (88)

As Michael passed by the locker Bill had staked out, still grooving to the song, he’d spun around and, in one fluid motion, pulled something from his back pocket and slipped it through the vent on the front of the locker. It happened so quickly Bill would’ve missed it if he hadn’t spent three days watching for it.

Michael looked up and spotted Bill standing in the doorway of his office. He grinned, lifting one side of his headphones so that Bill could hear the music leaking out. “Hey, Mr. Warren, how’s that baby doing?”

Bill forced a smile. “She’s great. How have you been, Michael?”

“Can’t complain, can’t complain. Just dancin’ with my friend Stevie here.” He reached down and dialed the volume up, so Bill could hear Stevie Wonder’s tinny voice scatting while backup singers repeated, “Part-time lover.” Michael spun around again, swinging his arms and singing along with Stevie, “Doot-doo-doo-doot-doot-da-da-da-da.”

Michael laughed, putting his headphones back on, and gave Bill a little wave. “You have a great night, Mr. Warren.”

“You too, Michael.”

After Michael pushed through the front doors of the school and the hall was quiet, Bill took a deep breath and reluctantly approached the locker. He dialed in the combination he’d picked—Millie’s birthday—opened the locker, and gazed sadly at the envelope lying there.

He knew what he’d find, but he still picked it up and looked inside. Sure enough, there was a folded copy of the test they’d requested. Bill unfolded it, and to his surprise, a five-dollar bill fell out, along with a small handwritten note. Sorry it was late. Gave you a discount.

Bill sighed and shook his head, tucking the money and the test back in the envelope and closing the locker, then headed back into his office to call Pat.





FRIDAY





Chapter Fifty-Two


SHAWN

Shawn didn’t mind getting up early on Fridays for his shift in the attendance office. It gave him an excuse to eat breakfast in peace, free of his dad’s scathing looks and biting criticism, and to get out of the house before Gabe Rothman emerged from his room.

The streets of Stone Lake were quiet as he drove through town to school. There were a few people out on the sidewalks, sipping from Styrofoam cups of coffee or walking dogs, but overall, the town was still mostly asleep as R.E.M.’s Murmur album spilled from his truck’s tape deck.

The truck wasn’t much to look at, an old Chevy with a rusting paint job and fraying seats, but at least it gave him freedom. He’d purchased it with the money he had earned two summers ago working at the Dairy Queen, and he’d signed up for Auto Shop class so he’d know how to keep it running. After graduation, it would carry him out of this dead-end town once and for all.

He once had hoped Lisa would come with him. But now that dream was gone. All that remained was the promise of a fresh start somewhere else. The citizenship award would let him go anywhere he wanted. Right now, the only criteria he cared about was that it was somewhere far away.

He sang along under his breath to “Perfect Circle” as he pulled into the school parking lot. There were only a few other vehicles here so far, mostly teachers’ cars filling up the spaces closest to the school. Shawn grabbed his backpack from the passenger seat and walked inside, letting himself into the front office, where the only other person was the school secretary, Mrs. Swenson. She greeted Shawn when he walked in, then returned her attention to the crossword puzzle on her desk.

Shawn picked up the stack of yesterday’s mail from the basket at the front of the office, and took it around to the teacher mailboxes, which were housed in the side hallway that connected the main office to the guidance office and conference rooms. As he sorted the mail into individual cubbies, Mr. Warren’s muffled voice drifted through his closed door. Shawn assumed he must be on the phone and didn’t pay much attention, focusing on the mail in his hands, until he heard a second man speak. Unlike Mr. Warren’s even tone, this person sounded deeply upset.

“Mr. Warren, Dr. Birch, please, my mama’s not well. I just needed a little extra money so I can help my sister take care of her. Nurses are expensive. Please, sir, I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t have done it. I just needed the money for my mama. I won’t do it again. You’re good men. I know you are. Please.”

“I’m sorry about your mother, Mr. McMillain,” said a new voice, which Shawn recognized as Principal Birch’s. “But we just can’t allow you to stay after—”

“I’m a good worker. I work hard.” McMillain started speaking rapidly. “I don’t take time off. Not even sick time. I need this job. I swear, I’ll never do it again. I promise on my life.”

“Michael,” Mr. Warren said, his voice low so that Shawn had to strain to hear, “I wish we could give you another chance. But selling tests to students . . . you know we can’t just let that go.”

Shawn’s jaw dropped. So the secret test supplier behind locker 247 was the janitor? He had always assumed it was a student. But he guessed it made sense. The janitor would have access to all the classrooms after the teachers were gone and would be able to pick up and drop off things in lockers when no one was looking.

“Mr. McMillain”—Principal Birch spoke up again, his voice noticeably cooler than Mr. Warren’s—“it has also come to our attention that you lied on your application to work here. You were previously incarcerated, yes?”