SAL
When Sal told Ezra Trudy had bought the balloons, Ezra’s relief made him sick with guilt. On Monday he walked into Mr Merkel’s first-period class, hoping for a sign that his teacher had come up with a plan, but Mr Merkel looked like someone who’d stayed up all night trying to think of a plan but hadn’t been able to. His eyes were unfocused and there was a faint gloss of sweat on his face. His shirt was wrinkled, as though he’d picked yesterday’s shirt up off the floor and put it on. He looked so disheveled that even Ms Wheaton, Sal’s social studies teacher, looked alarmed when she stopped by to say good morning. Sal sat at the misfits’ table, cold with dread.
When the bell rang Mr Merkel stood up and ran one hand through his hair. He turned to the whiteboard and said, ‘Today we will
