Chill by Colin Frizzell Read Free Book Online Page A

artist,” he said, gesturing to Ms. Holinground. Everyone, especially the boys, applauded.
    â€œAlthough this was partially my idea, I want the proper credit to go where it’s due, so without further delay, Ms. Surette, the head of our art department.”
    â€œThank you, Mr. Gondale,” Ms. Surette said, taking the floor. “And I must say,‘head of the art department’ sounds much better than ‘our only art teacher.’” This got a small chuckle.
    â€œAt the end of last semester, Mr. Gondale and I were looking at this large blank wall that welcomes all visitors to our fine high school and commenting that it was a very boring way to greet visitors. So, together, we came up with the idea of getting the students to design and paint a mural.” This meant Ms. Surette came up with the idea but didn’t want to show up the principal.
    â€œI shared the idea with the students, to an enthusiastic response. There were many wonderful and creative entries. Unfortunately I could only pick one, and I felt that this one was the most representative of what we are trying to instill in the students here at Lakeside. But as Mr. Gondale said, I want to give proper credit where credit is due. Our artist, Mr. Chill Holinground,” she said, handing over the floor.
    Chill didn’t move to center stage. With the turning of heads and thunderous applause, center stage moved to Chill.
    Chill looked at the crowd. His eyes hesitated for a moment on Sara and then moved to me. “For all who dare to dream,” he said, pulling the rope and bringing everything crashing down.

Chapter Sixteen
    The mural had been changed. The basic elements were the same—a row of faces above with the school in the background. But the faces were no longer of famous people. They were the faces of a number of teachers, some with their backs to us, others looking up at a central figure who looked ominously down on everything. It was the face from the composite sketch, only this time he was in brilliant color,hair flaming. It was Mr. Sfinkter, the demonic clown.
    Mr. Sfinkter’s clothing looked more military than academic. He was wearing boots that were crushing Sara’s and my heads. Beneath us, in Sfinkter’s enormous shadow, were a variety of other students painted in black and white. I noticed that the school had bars on the windows and a fence surrounding it with spirals of barbwire at the top.
    Chill had changed my phrase from “The future is bright if you’re not afraid of the light” to “The future is bright if you don’t get crushed by the darkness.”
    In the mural, Ms. Surette had an expression of confusion on her face, as if she knew something was wrong but didn’t know what. In the corner by her feet was Chill’s unreadable symbol of original design.
    The group of teachers stood in silence. The assembled members of the community looked confused.
    I looked at Chill’s mom. She was staring at the painting. I was sure she was realizingwhat had happened at the station. She looked at Chill.
    The students erupted in the loudest applause yet.
    â€œCover it up! Cover it up!” Mr. Gondale was yelling while grabbing the top of the curtain and lifting it.
    It took a minute before some of the other teachers jumped in and assisted.
    Mr. Sfinkter was standing off to the side. He looked very much like he did in the mural, only it was his face that was flaming, not his hair. His eyes darted about. I realized that he was being torn apart, not knowing what to do. He wanted to put on a brave face for the teachers, but his anger wasn’t letting him.
    When the curtain was finally up and covering the mural, the principal looked around. Chill was still standing where he had been when the curtain fell, his expression unchanged.
    â€œYou!” the principal yelled. He noticed the watching crowd and toned it down. “You, to my office, now.”
    Chill nodded as if