Stones and Spark by Sibella Giorello Read Free Book Online Page B

say.
    “Who let you in?” he demands.
    “I don’t know.”
    “You don’t know?”
    I don’t want to get Mr. Galluci in trouble. But I can’t keep eye contact. I have nothing but lies, and this is John, the janitor. Not Ellis or Parsnip, but a guy who’s been nice to Drew and me. To everyone. And to make me feel even guiltier, every time I look away from him, I catch my guilty reflection in the mirror. Somebody’s left a giant lipstick kiss, and it sits right above my head, like a bad joke about kissing my decency goodbye.
    “I was looking for something,” I manage to say.
    “In the bathroom?"
    His voice has some kind of northern accent, New York or New Jersey or someplace where they say exactly what's on their mind in a tone of voice that says you’re an idiot. He’s still holding the door open, expecting me to leave. But then something dawns on him.
    “Oh. Okay. I got it. Come out when you’re done.”
    He starts to leave.
    “Wait!” I call out.
    He turns around. He’s bald and the skin on his scalp is all wrinkled up with baffled questions.
    “I mean, hang on a second. You know Drew, right?” I make a motion with my hand, indicating her wild brown hair. “Drew Levinson?”
    “If you two burned up something, I’m—"
    I shake my head. Last spring Drew and I simulated the volcanic explosion of Mt. St. Helen’s. We made sure to wait until school was out for Friday, but our model left some nasty scorch marks outside the gym. John saw us. He chewed us out pretty good, but he also let us go.
    “No, nothing like that. I just can’t find her. And her bike is outside."
    “You girls.” He rolls his eyes. “Working here is being in a soap opera. I can’t keep up with it.”
    Behind him, in the hall, paper rustles off the floor. I dart back into the stall, pull my feet up on the seat.
    “John.”
    “How ya doing, Miz Parsons.”
    “Have you perchance seen a student wandering the halls?”
    “Here?”
    “Of course here.”
    “Tonight?”
    “Of course tonight!”
    “Seems kinda late, is all.”
    “I know perfectly well what time it is. A student—Raleigh Harmon—ran into the building without permission and we haven’t seen her come out. All the doors are locked, I presume?”
    “Locked up tight.”
    “And you've seen no one?”
    “Mr. Sandberg. If you hurry he might still be in his classroom.”
    “And what is that supposed to mean?”
    “Nothing, I guess.”
    “Mr. Sandberg has every right to be in his classroom at whatever hour he chooses.”
    “Course he does.”
    “He’s an educator.”
    “Yes’m.”
    There's a moment of tense silence. I count to twenty-five. Then fifty. Then I hear the spritz-spritz of a spray bottle. When I poke my head out, John is squirting down the mirror, soaking that stupid lipstick kiss.
    “Thank you,” I whisper.
    “Yeah, yeah.” He scrubs at the greasy lips, smearing them on the glass. “Now get outta here, would ya? Before I lose my job.”

CHAPTER NINE
    When I step into the still-dark gym, Mr. Galluci is waiting.
    "Harmon," he says, pointing a finger stained bright orange with Doritos powder. "Just for taking off like that, you're running double miles on Monday. Hear me?"
    Like that's a punishment. Running, even with aching toes, is my favorite thing.
    "Yes, sir." I proceed to apologize, sincerely, because Mr. Galluci, like our janitor, is one of the few people around here who won't rat on us. Sandbag, not so much. He probably told Parsnip he saw me.
    But I'm midway through my apology when the band downshifts to a sultry pulse.
    Mr. Galluci's head snaps toward the dance floor.
    "This is the last song," the singer murmurs into the mic, "so grab your honey and get real close."
    "Oh, great," Galluci mutters.
    He joins the chaperones, nosing their way to the dance floor while the couples, like minnows avoiding sharks, gather under the disco ball that's twisting spheres of prismatic silver light around the gym.
    I navigate to the far wall, stepping