Contact by Chris Morphew Read Free Book Online

her the stack of surveys, along with a hand-scribbled page of ‘findings’ that I’d torn out of the back of my English book.
    She scanned the page for about two seconds, then pushed the whole pile aside and said, ‘Very good.’
    A flicker of a smile passed across her face. Not the usual, dopey, let’s-all-be-best-friends smile. This one was different. She was baiting me.
    See these surveys you just spent all week doing for me? I’m not even going to look at them.
    Of course, we’d known from the beginning that the whole thing was a joke, but the smug look on her face was still bloody annoying. All the more incentive to make sure our plan worked.
    I smiled sweetly back at her and said, ‘Thanks, miss. What do we get to do next?’
    â€˜Mrs Stapleton will contact you shortly with your next assignment,’ said Pryor. ‘In the meantime –’
    Through the back wall of the office, I heard somebody scream.
    Pryor hesitated, hearing it too, but pushed on. ‘In the meantime, I’d like you to begin speaking to the students in Years 7 and 8 about –’
    More screams, some panicked, some excited.
    I opened my eyes wider, shooting for surprised and curious , trying to figure out how to help get Pryor out of here. Which would seem more innocent: asking Pryor about the noise, or pretending to ignore it?
    Pryor’s eyes flashed to the door, considering.
    Come on, I thought. You know you want to. Get out there and see what’s going on.
    The shouting got louder, and now most of it was the same word.
    â€˜Fire!’
    â€˜Hey miss,’ I said, ‘did that kid just –?’
    Pryor got to her feet and stormed around her desk to the door, muttering something about the teacher on duty. I leant forward in my chair, ready to be on my feet as soon as she was gone.
    Pryor heaved the door open and stuck her head out.
    â€˜Mrs Stapleton!’ she shouted. ‘Would you please get out there and deal with that?’
    Crap. We’d forgotten about Staples.
    But then the office lady’s voice echoed back up the hall. ‘Sorry, Melinda, she’s gone to lunch.’
    Before Pryor had a chance to respond, I heard footsteps running along the hall from the other end of the building. A little pack of Year 7 girls appeared in Pryor’s doorway, led by the freckle-faced kid who’d been pestering us with suggestions.
    â€˜Ms Pryor!’ said Freckles. ‘The boys have set a bin on fire! Now they’re putting sticks in it and –’
    â€˜Who’s on duty?’ snapped Pryor.
    â€˜Mr Larson!’ said Freckles. ‘He was there a minute ago but now we can’t find him.’
    That would be because Luke had him distracted with a very important question about our English homework.
    The chaos was sounding louder than ever. There had to be a pretty big crowd by now.
    â€˜All right,’ said Pryor, exasperated. ‘Show me.’
    Finally.
    But Pryor wasn’t finished with me yet. ‘Mr Weir,’ she said, pushing the door all the way open. ‘Out.’
    â€˜Huh?’ I said. ‘Oh. Yes, miss.’ I got to my feet and trudged past her, out into the hall.
    Why hadn’t I seen this coming? Of course Pryor would want me out of there. How could I have been dumb enough to think she’d leave a student alone in her office?
    Another chorus of laughs and shouts rang out from the quad.
    â€˜Come on, miss!’ said Freckles. ‘They’re just outside!’
    â€˜Yes, yes,’ said Pryor. She stomped away down the hall, the Year 7s hovering around her like flies on a carcass.
    I trailed behind for a few steps, then looked back over my shoulder at Pryor’s door. It was still swinging shut.
    I stopped walking.
    Pryor was five metres from the end of the hall.
    The door was closing fast. Any second now, I’d hear that dull clunk , and it would all be over.
    Had to risk it. Don’t look back,