Trisha rolled her eyes with a low moan. “Oh, please. He’s completely plain. You’re so weird. Every girl in school faints at Billy Randall’s feet except you. Only you would have the hots for an old geek with a camera.”
Sidney raised her brow and glared at her friend. “He’s not a geek, and I think he’s very handsome,” she announced boldly. “Far better looking than Billy.”
Trisha burst out laughing.
Sidney frowned her disapproval. “We’d better go, or we’ll be late,” she said with a depressed sigh and slid off the wall.
Sidney grabbed her books and folders and held them against her chest. Trisha moaned and reluctantly walked beside her friend. They walked across the bridge and through the path in the woods toward town.
Trisha eyed her friend with a curious stare. “Does Harlan know how old you really are?” she asked.
“Yeah, my father happened to mention it,” Sidney said lowly with a frown.
“Too bad,” Trisha said then cast a sly look at her friend. “You could easily pass for eighteen.”
Sidney knew it to be true. She’d been mistaken for eighteen many times. Sidney was five-foot-five and had the body of a mature woman. She wore little makeup since her father was against it, but he hadn’t noticed the eyeliner she’d been wearing, nor the neutral colored lipstick. She was grateful her mother wasn’t as big of a prude as her father. Her long, dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail, which was the only time she looked her age. The September afternoons were still too warm to leave her hair down.
“Mr. Malcolm is going to yell about my report not being done,” Trisha said with a soft groan. “I still think we should skip school.”
Sidney laughed at her friend. “I’m sure you’ll think of some unique and wildly imaginative story to tell Malcolm. He’ll give you another day.”
“The stories are becoming more difficult than if I’d just do the work,” Trisha said simply.
Sidney shook her head.
Chapter Two
The sound of falling books echoed through the hallway as two boys started a fight between sixth and seventh period. Several students cheered them on while teachers ran from their classrooms and attempted to break them apart. Sidney and Trisha flattened themselves against the lockers to avoid the nearby fight. A young, attractive female teacher with her long hair in a French twist approached the fighting students.
“That’s enough,” Miss Emily Fisher shouted.
It was almost inconceivable that such a harsh voice could come from such a sweet looking, raven-haired beauty. One of the students was thrown against Miss Fisher. She hit the lockers with a loud, metallic crack. Several students gasped with surprise. Two boys in football jerseys stepped forward, pulled the fighting boys apart, and slammed each against the lockers on opposing sides of the hall.
“No one shoves Miss Fisher,” Denny, a stocky, dark-haired boy shouted above the student murmur as he held one of the boys to the locker.
Miss Fisher straightened and refused the help of Ms. Persha Palmer, the math teacher.
“I’m okay,” Miss Fisher said firmly.
The other teachers escorted the two boys to the principal’s office as Miss Fisher approached Billy Randall and Denny Phillips.
“Thank you for your assistance,” Miss Fisher said with a polite smile.
“The football team has your back, Miss Fisher,” Billy Randall announced. “Just give the word.” Billy was an impressive looking senior who stood six feet two with a muscular body and light brown, feathered back hair.
A stout man in his early forties approached Miss Fisher. He shook his head with disgust.
“You were taking a risk getting between those two,” Mr. Malcolm said lowly in an annoyed tone. “You could have been hurt.”
“But I wasn’t, was I?” she replied simply while offering a tiny, knowing smile. “If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Malcolm, I have a class to teach.”
Sidney watched Miss Fisher return to her classroom just as the bell rang. No one could deny the courage of Miss Fisher. She was the most respected teacher in the entire school--and the most beautiful. Her figure was her most noticeable feature. Most of the boys studied her large bust and toned buttocks to great lengths. Some of the female students were envious toward their overly attractive teacher, but even the girls couldn’t deny she was a great teacher with enthusiasm for journalism. Miss Fisher treated all her students with respect, kindness, and as if they were adults. Sidney and Trisha had to rush to their history class. They entered the room a few minutes late along with the other students who were caught in the hallway delay. True to form, Mr. Malcolm marked them all late for class.
“There could be an earthquake, and he’d still mark everyone late,” Sidney muttered lowly as they walked toward their seats in the back of the classroom.
“I bet none of the other students were marked late,” Trisha said softly as she sat at her desk. “Mr. Malcolm gives the teaching profession a bad name. That’s why I adore Miss Fisher. I can tell her things I can’t even tell my own mother, and she’d never pass judgment on anyone.”
“She’s a real lady, that’s for sure,” Sidney replied.
They looked at Mr. Malcolm as he wrote on the blackboard and seemed to share the same opinion.
“He’s had it out for her since she started here,” Trisha whispered.
“He’s against anyone who treats kids like adults. He has a God complex,” Sidney remarked.
Mr. Malcolm was a stern man with dull, brown hair and small, beady eyes set too close together. He had a thick mustache in need of a trimming, and he often smelled of old cigars. His patience was limited with the entire student body and extended toward most of the staff as well. He was difficult to follow while teaching and his drone voice made paying attention almost impossible.
Mr. Malcolm turned toward the class and cleared his throat loudly. “Reports are due today. Pass them to the front of the class.”
Trisha frowned and sank in her chair. Everyone else passed their reports to the front. Mr. Malcolm collected them, counted them, and then looked at Trisha.
“Your report appears to be missing, Trisha,” he said firmly while glaring at her.
Trisha straightened in her chair and attempted a smile. “It’s not missing,” she replied simply. “I was proofreading it this morning over coffee when I realized it would be so much better if I’d first tell about his childhood a little.” Trisha casually tilted her head. “And maybe even discuss his first true love.”
Mr. Malcolm sat on the edge of his desk and folded his arms across his chest. “Trisha, I don’t think we want to know that much about Attila the Hun. Just bring the report in tomorrow, or it’s a failing grade.”
Trisha lowered her head and nodded. She looked at Sidney and winked with a tiny smile.
§
The bell sounded signaling the end of the last period for the day. All the students rushed to their lockers to deposit their books and ran out of the building. Trisha and Sidney were in no particular hurry while returning to Miss Fisher’s class to use her old, electric typewriter. Trisha stopped Sidney in the hall and nodded toward the classroom. Miss Fisher was standing behind her desk talking to a man in a black, leather trench coat. He had short, spiked, dirty blonde hair with a sturdy jawline and wore a diamond stud earring in his right ear.
“Who’s that?” Sidney asked softly.
Trisha raised an arrogant brow. “That’s Miss Fisher’s boyfriend, Alex. He bartends at Sam’s Tavern.”
“He doesn’t look like her type,” Sidney remarked simply. “He looks like a rock star.”
“Bartenders are so romantic, don’t you think?” Trisha said with a dreamy smile while admiring Alex.
“I couldn’t say. I’ve never really met one.” Sidney sharply eyed her friend. “Have you?”
Trisha tilted her head then sighed with defeat. “No, I suppose I haven’t.”
They waited for the man to leave before entering the room. He gave them a
look as he passed them in the hallway. He was a fairly good-looking man, despite his unshaven face. Both girls hurried into the room. Miss Fisher appeared cheerful; though it was evident something was bothering her by the distant look in her eyes.
“I was wondering where you girls were,” Miss Fisher announced. “There’s paper in the closet.”
“Thank you, Miss Fisher,” Sidney said and uncovered the typewriter.
Miss Fisher sat on the edge of her desk and studied Trisha. “Have you been thinking about what I’d said, Trisha?”
Trisha smiled lightly and lowered her head. “Yes, I have. I’m not much of a writer though.”
“You don’t have to be. This is just for you. Writing can be a way of expressing your feelings to yourself,” Miss Fisher said warmly. “You’ll have a better understanding of who you are and what you want. If you go back and read what you’ve written a couple of years down the road, you just may learn something you didn’t know about yourself.”
“Maybe I’ll try it,” Trisha replied.
Miss Fisher stood and appeared pleased. “Good,” she announced cheerfully. “I’ll see the two of you in class tomorrow afternoon. Cover the machine when you’re finished and close the door.”
Both girls nodded and watched Miss Fisher leave the room.
Sidney stared at Trisha while giving her a strange look. “What was that all about?”
Trisha shrugged and turned toward the windows. “She suggested I keep a journal to help collect my thoughts.”
Sidney returned to the typewriter. “You spend too much time alone,” she remarked. “You should spend more time at my house when your mother works.”
“I spend more than enough time cleaning out your parents’ refrigerator,” Trisha said then sat on the window ledge and stared outside. “Things haven’t been the same since my father died.”
“As protective as my father is, I wouldn’t want to be without him,” Sidney said gently.
They were silent for several minutes before Sidney began to type. Ten minutes had passed when Trisha straightened and stared out the window with great interest.
“There he is,” Trisha gasped then sighed. “Oh, he looks so good in his uniform.”
Sidney joined Trisha at the window and watched the guys practice on the football field in the near distance. The junior high could be seen just beyond the field. “How do you know which one is Billy?”
Trisha pointed to the moving uniforms. “That’s him; number fourteen.”
Sidney stared a moment longer but could barely make out the number let alone a face under the helmet. “Can’t even tell it’s him,” she said simply.
“It’s him, trust me,” Trisha replied while grinning.
Sidney shook her head and returned to the typewriter to finish her letter. She finally removed the paper from the typewriter and stared at it. Trisha snatched it from her and read it.
“Dearest Harlan,” Trisha read. “With each passing day I wait for the day I can be with you. Oh, my heart how it aches. You are my dream, my love so true. I can only hope you love me too. Eternally yours.
Trisha lowered the paper and looked at Sidney.
Sidney frowned as if reading her friend’s thoughts. “Too much, huh?”
“It’s perfect,” Trisha said as a smile appeared on her face. “It sounds as if an adult wrote it.” She then pointed to the paper. “What’s with the ‘H’? It’s higher than all the other characters in every line.”
“It’s that ancient fossil of a typewriter. The ‘H’ is messed up,” Sidney replied and inserted an envelope into the typewriter. She typed Harlan’s name on the envelope then removed it from the machine.
Arguing voices could be heard in the hallway. Trisha turned her head toward the classroom door.
“That sounds like Miss Fisher and Mr. Malcolm,” Trisha announced.
Sidney strained to listen to their conversation.
“You’re being completely ridiculous,” Miss Fisher said curtly. “This isn’t the eighteen hundreds. You’re as prehistoric as the class you teach.”
The girls looked at each other and held back their laughs.
“I always knew she’d be the one to sock it to Mr. Malcolm,” Trisha said.
“You’re completely out of line, Emily. You’re a bad influence on the kids,” Mr. Malcolm said sternly.
“Oh, I am, am I? Look who’s talking,” Miss Fisher lashed out. “I don’t think you have the right to tell me how to treat my students nor how to run my class.”
“I wasn’t trying to tell you how to run your class. It’s your behavior I find appalling,” Mr. Malcolm shouted in anger.
“I suggest you deal with it, Paul, because I’m not going away, and I will continue to do what I do. Good day,” she snapped.
They could hear her walk down the hallway and away from the classroom.
“I think it’s safe to assume Miss Fisher won that round,” Trisha teased with a soft laugh then folded the letter and handed it to Sidney.
Sidney slipped the letter into the envelope and sealed it. “I don’t think Miss Fisher loses too many arguments,” she replied simply.
Chapter Three
Sidney and Trisha walked to McBride’s Press in the center of town. They had to pass the old, brick library where Mrs. Randall, Billy Randall’s grandmother, volunteered to assist the librarian. Mrs. Cooper spent much of her time there as well. The two local gossips rarely traveled apart. As they passed the front of the library built in the eighteen hundreds, they could see Mrs. Randall peering out the large window. The sixty-year-old woman was about five-foot-three with long, gray hair worn in a bun. She had deep, sagging wrinkles, giving her an older appearance.
Mrs. Cooper could be seen to the corner of the window, talking as usual. Mrs. Cooper was a youthful sixty-three. She had shorter, dark gray hair with silver throughout. She didn’t seem to have as many wrinkles as Mrs. Randall, and she stood two inches taller. Mrs. Cooper couldn’t remain silent for longer than ten minutes and was rarely, if ever at a loss for words.
“There they are,” Trisha moaned as they passed, making sure to look at them. “They should have cards printed up. It’s our business to know your business.”
“My father said they stop in just about every day to get the fresh gossip. He won’t tell them anything that’s not already in the day’s paper,” Sidney said.
They reached the center of town. In the small circle was a park of sorts with an old cannon next to the flagpole. There were also some park benches and shrubs. They saw Trisha’s mother in the restaurant across the street from the press and waved to Mrs. Allister while she served coffee to the town preacher and his wife.
Sidney handed Trisha the envelope. “You know what to do, right?”
Trisha nodded and stuck the envelope inside her math book. “You distract him, and I’ll plant it somewhere.”
“Not where my father might see it,” Sidney chirped. “He may suspect it was me.”
Trisha nodded.
Sidney pulled the band from her hair and gave her long hair several shakes.
Trisha giggled and shook her head. “You’re too much.”
They entered the small press with its four aisles of paper supplies, magazines, and books. Sidney’s father was behind the register counter with the candy display beneath it. Herb McBride gave old man Taylor some change and thanked him. Mr. Taylor took his crossword puzzle and nodded to both girls as he left the press. Sidney watched Mr. Taylor leave the shop. She swore he never smiled. The man had to be at least a hundred years old. Fortunately, his clothing matched today. Herb grinned and placed his hands on the counter.
“If it isn’t my two favorite girls,” he announced cheerfully. He removed two candy bars from the display behind the glass beneath him and placed them on the counter. “How’s school?”
Trisha leaped at the candy bar, but Sidney wasn’t interested. Her stomach was already tied in knots thinking about Harlan in the back of the shop by the press. She just wan
ted to get the letter to him and get it over with.
“You know, school’s school,” Sidney replied nervously and cast several looks to the back of the shop. Her heart pounded with anticipation of just catching a glimpse of Harlan. She could barely see the counter in the back through the rows of shelves.
“Is that the new Teen Magazine?” Trisha asked and leaned over the counter.
Herb nodded.
“I’m going to the back and say hello to Harlan,” Sidney announced while Trisha kept Herb occupied.
Sidney felt a nervous pang every time she walked to the back of the press to see Harlan. He’d only been in Marilina for two months, but she was infatuated with him from the first moment she’d met him. She slowed her pace when she heard his voice. He had the most seductive accent and low, mellow voice. She paused at the end of the row of paper supplies and saw Miss Fisher standing before the counter. Harlan made photocopies for her on the deluxe copy machine on the other side near the press. Harlan gathered the papers and handed them to her with a pleasant smile while they talked like old friends--old, close friends.
“I really must remember to bring my film in tomorrow. You will develop it for me, won’t you? You do better work than the place outside town,” Miss Fisher said and leaned on the counter while casting her charm upon him.
Sidney thought Miss Fisher looked like a fox on the prowl. She frowned, removed a pack of pens from the shelf, and pretended to look at them while eavesdropping on Miss Fisher’s conversation with Harlan.
“Of course I will. Anything for a fellow photographer,” Harlan announced with a charming, schoolboy grin.
Miss Fisher giggled and placed her hand on his hand propped on the counter across from her. “We really must get together for a photo session,” she announced. “There’s this romantic place in the woods where you could photograph me.”
The Deadliest Institution Collection Page 68
