Spanish." He flashes me the obscene wooden bathroom pass in his pocket--a giant phallus-shaped key that Sefiora Sullivan insists is supposed to look like a bean burrito--and then peers over his shoulder to make sure Mrs. Amsler, the cafeteria warden, hasn't noticed him. "I'll call you tonight after the hockey game." He gives me a tiny peck on the cheek before sneaking out the side exit door.
I glance back up at Drea, who's focusing on her plate as though the pasta noodles hold all the answers. I have no idea what she's more upset about--me and Chad or this whole nightmare business. I just know we need to have a serious talk.
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nine.
After school, Amber and I end up going straight to yoga class. I figure an hour of mind-centering postures might help melt a bit of the tension I feel building up inside of me. And, for the most part, I think it works. As Keegan, our RD/yoga instructor, leads us through a series of warm-ups and then vinyasas, I feel the tension begin to dissipate.
I cover myself with a wool blanket and lie flat on my back in preparation for Savasana. It's sort of ironic that
56
^
57
this is actually my favorite part of yoga--ironic because Savasana is also sometimes referred to as the corpse pose. I close my eyes and try to forget I know this bit of trivia. I'm beyond tired so it's actually not so difficult to just let my mind go numb. I concentrate on the musical chanting in the background, mixed with the hum of the aquarium filter, and slowly begin to feel myself drift into lovely space.
But then I remember. I sit up straight and look down at my watch. I forgot about Lecklider's detention. I peel myself off the sticky mat, grab my bag, and plow through the doors without even bothering to tell Amber to come along with me. Halfway down the hallway, I manage to get my sneakers on, still doing my best to move toward the classroom. But when I get there, there's an e-mail note tacked up on the door announcing that detention has been moved to the basement.
I hurry my way down two flights of steps and charge through the steel door at the bottom.
There's a wooden sign that reads DETENTION FOR STACEY BROWN hanging on the wall. It points down the long and narrow hallway that faces me.
I begin making my way in that direction, wondering why the sign only lists my name--why I'm the only one with detention down here.
The sparse, yellow overhead lights cast down over a hallway littered with custodial debris--paint cans, rollers, rags, some mixing sticks, a custodial uniform balled up on the floor. The walls and floor are a deep green color, just a layer of paint over bare cement, and there are doors on the right and left. I try the closest door to the left. Locked. I try another. Also locked. I continue down the hallway, listening at
mrK
After school, Amber and I end up going straight to yoga class. I figure an hour of mind-centering postures might help melt a bit of the tension I feel building up inside of me. And, for the most part, I think it works. As Keegan, our RD/yoga instructor, leads us through a series of warm-ups and then vinyasas, I feel the tension begin to dissipate.
I cover myself with a wool blanket and lie flat on my back in preparation for Savasana. It's sort of ironic that
57
this is actually my favorite part of yoga--ironic because Savasana is also sometimes referred to as the corpse pose. I close my eyes and try to forget I know this bit of trivia. I'm beyond tired so it's actually not so difficult to just let my mind go numb. I concentrate on the musical chanting in the background, mixed with the hum of the aquarium filter, and slowly begin to feel myself drift into lovely space.
But then I remember. I sit up straight and look down at my watch. I forgot about Lecklider's detention. I peel myself off the sticky mat, grab my bag, and plow through the doors without even bothering to tell Amber to come along with me. Halfway down the hallway, I manage to get my sneakers on, still doing