Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 59713 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 299(@200wpm)___ 239(@250wpm)___ 199(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59713 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 299(@200wpm)___ 239(@250wpm)___ 199(@300wpm)
Something was wrong.
I had been sitting there, browsing through humor sites while I ate, so I had the phone out already. A flick of my thumb and I answered him, holding the phone to my ear instead of using the speaker since the restaurant was open.
“Mr. Proctor?” I answered.
“Alex? Thank goodness,” Mr. Proctor said. His voice was haggard, worried. It was entirely unlike the jet-fueled Monday Mr. Proctor I was used to.
“What’s going on?”
“It’s Camilla,” he said. “She’s not feeling well. I think you should come down here.”
“She’s not feeling well? Does she need an ambulance?”
“No, no. She’s not in any immediate danger or anything. I just think she could use you coming to check on her, honestly. Let you help her decide if she needs to take the day off. She is insisting she’s fine, but…”
“I’ll be right there,” I said. “Where is she?”
“I’ve told her that she can stay in the teachers’ lounge for now. She says she’s got a little bit of a headache but that it will go away. You know that dark corner with the couch?”
“Yes.” I knew it well. Ever since I started helping Mr. Proctor out, I’d found out a little-known secret about him that made so much more sense. Every day, at one in the afternoon, Mr. Proctor would go into the teachers’ lounge, cut off the lights, and take a fifteen-minute power nap. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
I put my napkin over the food and motioned to Ally, who happened to be walking through the restaurant.
“Ally, I have to go,” I said. “Just put the lunch on my tab. Something’s going on with Camilla. I’ll call when I can. Just let Cam, Derek, and Kane know.”
“Okay, is there anything I can do?” she asked, sudden worry crossing her face.
“I don’t know. I’ll call you when I do. I think everything will be fine though, just let them know I had to leave.”
I ran out to my car and hopped in. The school was about ten minutes away in traffic, but I knew where cops usually liked to hide and that at that time of day, the way there was usually empty. Hitting the gas pedal, I made it there in record time, locked the doors of the car, and ran inside.
Mr. Proctor met me in the hallway, and I could see he was worried.
“Good Lord, that was fast,” he said. “I hadn’t even gone back to my class yet.”
“Is she still in the lounge?” I asked.
“Yes, she is.”
“So, tell me what you think is going on,” I said as we walked at a brisk pace toward the teachers’ lounge.
“She’s just been in a fog all day. Said her stomach is still bothering her and she had a headache, but…” He trailed off.
“But what?”
“She just doesn’t seem like herself,” he said. “I know I don’t know her all that well, but even when she hasn’t felt well because of her stomach, she doesn’t usually act like this.”
I nodded as we reached the door.
“Thank you, Mr. Proctor,” I said. “Is she needed the rest of the day?”
“No, she can go home if she needs, but good luck convincing her,” he said, a slight grin on his face.
I went inside the room and found her not at the chair but at a desk. The second she looked up, she burst into tears, and I ran to her.
“Hey, hey,” I said, “it’s okay. Shh. Why don’t we go outside, yeah? Out to the picnic table?” I almost called it “our” picnic table. I had begun to think of it that way. She nodded, and I helped her up and we went outside, crossing over to the table. As she sat down, I sat beside her, rather than across from her, and rubbed her back as she tried to get control of herself.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”
“Sorry for what?” I asked. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for.”
“For making you come out here because I’m upset. It’s just too much.”
“No, it isn’t,” I said. “I don’t mind at all. At all. You just take your time and tell me what’s going on when you’re ready. I’m here. I’ve got all day.”
She nodded, and slowly the tears started to slow down. She took deep breaths and began to regulate her breathing, and I handed her a pack of tissues I had swiped from the lounge before we came out. She blew her nose and then used another to wipe the tears from her eyes.
“I bet I look terrible now,” she said, and I laughed. “My makeup is ruined.”
“You look beautiful anyway,” I said. I meant it too. Even with raccoon eyes from the running mascara, she was gorgeous. She just now looked like she was auditioning for a part in a new post apocalyptic movie.