School of the Dead by Avi Read Free Book Online Page A

computer?”
    â€œUh-huh.”
    â€œGood. The school posts daily notices. Homework. School closings.” He began to give me papers. “English assignments for the term. Honesty code. School rules. The usual. Ask Mrs. Z for a list of this term’s teams.”
    I was sure he was racing through things to get me out of there because of my questions.
    â€œPlay basketball?” he said.
    I shook my head.
    â€œToo bad. I could use your height,” he said. “Field-trip dates. List of supplies for class. School calendar, including holidays. School phone numbers to keep at home. Student directory from the opening of the term, with addresses, email, and phone numbers. Changes made online. Your info will be sent out by the end of the week.”
    I stuffed everything into my backpack.
    Batalie held out his hand. We shook. “Tony, so glad you’ve joined us. Your picture will be on the wall soon.” He smiled. “That’ll make you official.” He was telling me to leave.
    I moved toward the door only to halt. “Can I ask one more question?”
    â€œOf course.”
    â€œHow come no one wants to say what happened to that Austin kid?”
    Batalie took off his glasses, breathed on them, and cleaned them with a small black cloth. Only then did he look up, fear back in his eyes.
    What he said, however, was, “Let’s just say we’ve all agreed not to talk about it. Tony,” he went on briskly, “you’ve had a great start. Don’t worry about assignments these first few days. Give yourself some time. Have a good night.” He shifted away, ending our talk.
    I went into the hallway. It was deserted, and a deserted school is the emptiest place in the world.
What
, I asked myself,
happened to Austin? How come no one wants to talk about him?
The way Batalie had reacted to my questions about Austin and the blond kid made me think they were connected—somehow. Since I was taking Austin’s spot, it made me uneasy.
    I walked down the hall, my feet silent on the carpeted floor. At the top of the big steps, I looked down. The blond boy was at the bottom, as if waiting for me. “Hey,” I called out.
    Some man—he looked like a teacher—stepped out of the school office right in front of the kid. The teacher turned toward me. “Were you calling me?” he said.
    â€œNo, sir.”
    â€œWell, have a good night.” He smiled, waved, and walked off. The blond kid had vanished.
    I stood where I was. The teacher had acted as if he hadn’t seen the boy.
    I had.
    But it had all been so quick, I had to ask myself, “Did I?”
    When I reached the street, students had gone. Other than a few shallow puddles, no trace of the morning’s storm remained. The air was fresh. Above, the sky was clear save for some high-flying birds silhouetted against white clouds, their wings flapping slowly, like shadows waving good-bye. Cars and trucks rattled by. People passed, going about their business. No one noticed me. New kid. New city. New school.
    Suddenly exhausted, I stripped off Dad’s tie and stuffed it into my backpack. As I stood there, thinking through the day, I looked back at the school. I thought—as I had before—that there couldn’t be many school buildings like it: old and quirky, with all those roofs and towers, the outside sort of like a twisted Rubik’s Cube, the inside like a funeral home.
    My eyes went to the tallest tower, and I remembered what Ms. Foxton had said: that no one was allowed in the towers. But I
had
seen someone up there. Or thought so.
    I turned for home only to have the feeling that I was beingwatched. I spun about. Seeing no one, I shifted my gaze back to the high tower. A face appeared behind the highest tower window. I stared. He looked like that blond boy. Next moment he disappeared.
    That’s when I had a new thought: the face in the tower when my parents and I had first looked at