Outcast by Adrienne Kress Read Free Book Online

when Mr. Anders was principal, and if that was the case then…”
    “Mrs. Jackson, what about Mr. Hope.”
    “What about him, dear?”
    “When did he come to the school?”
    “Ages ago,” she replied.
    “Can you be more specific?”
    Mrs. Jackson looked at me, and I could tell she was a bit confused. And hot. Her face was getting flushed, and she was fanning herself with what I assumed was my timetable.
    “Well, dear…” She returned to her side of the desk and started typing into her computer. “We don’t really have those kinds of records here, but I can pull up Mrs. Johnson’s retirement speech for him. That might help.”
    I nodded and crossed over to the long counter that hid her desk and leaned against it to wait.
    “Here we are…” She took a moment to scan through the speech. “He started the fall of 1955. Wow, I didn’t realize how long he’d taught here. He should have taken his retirement years ago. He did love his students, though…”
    “And do you have any yearbooks from that year?” I interrupted her way too eagerly. I think it frightened her.
    “In the library.”
    “Can I see?” I didn’t see much point pretending this wasn’t exciting for me. She couldn’t possibly have guessed why. Besides everyone in the town knew I was a little odd. I didn’t really think I was. I was just pretty honest about stuff like thoughts and emotions. Still, I guess most people felt that made me strange.
    “Okay…”
    Mrs. Jackson led me to the library, unlocked it for me, and escorted me over to the archived yearbooks in the back, the section that was basically used for makeout sessions and not really for any kind of research. It made sense I’d never noticed them before.
    “Here you go. Now Riley, can I just give you your timetable and go back to the office? Other students might show up.”
    “Of course, Mrs. Jackson.”
    “I’ll leave the door locked. You just make sure to close it all the way when you leave.”
    “Yup.” I was already sitting on the ground paging through the yearbook. I didn’t see or hear Mrs. Jackson leave, I just knew she had left when I glanced up and saw her gone, my timetable on the floor in her place.
    So I went back to the book and started with the freshmen. Of course the names were alphabetical by last name, which made things tough, as I didn’t know what Gabe’s was, but I could be very systematic if I had to be. Something I’d inherited from having a Daddy who was a scientist.
    I saw him, second page of juniors.
    Oh my god.
    Gabe McClure.
    McClure.
    My angel had a last name.
    He looked just like himself, in a button-down shirt, open at the top, no tie unlike most of his male classmates. Hair gelled up and back, totally retro. It was him.
    It was him.
    I got up quickly, gave myself a head rush, and pulled 1954 off the shelf so I could see him as a freshman. I laughed out loud when I looked at the picture. This time he was wearing a tie, his hair was parted on the side, his bangs brushed flat across his forehead. He looked, for want of a better word, like a total geek.
    I pulled down 1957.
    But I couldn’t find him.
    And then I remembered.
    He said he’d dropped out: “End of last year.”
    Which meant…
    Which meant he thought he was still in 1956.
    Except that it wasn’t like he had amnesia or anything, and it wasn’t like he was some guy who’d been in a coma and woken up over fifty years later and didn’t know when it was.
    Gabe looked like the Gabe in the pictures. Except his hair wasn’t all nice and neat. Aside from that he looked like he was still in high school. Gabe didn’t look like he was…I did the math…in his early seventies.
    Oh my god.
    He was old.
    Except of course he wasn’t.
    But he should be.
    Oh my god.
    So I stole the yearbook and ran home. Well, ran and walked, it was a longish way home. But I walked really fast when I wasn’t running. Anyway, that doesn’t matter. Point is I got home as quick as I could.
    Mother’s car