No Incoming Calls
The school cancels every after-school activity, including detention. A cop car idles in the parking lot. A security guard patrols outside. The few students left gather in the library, where they disappear into the stacks, slouch in front of the computers, or lie on the carpet. A book sits, open and unread, on Mrs. Petrelli’s desk.
I look at my cell phone. I could call Max Duckworth, CPS, Lee Simon, even Claude. These calls would show up on the phone bill, and I’d have to explain them all to Mom. I check my wallet; the change is bulging out of its pocket. Why didn’t I take this to SF? Oh well.
Mrs. Petrelli eyes me as I walk to her desk.
“I have to make a personal call,” I say. “To my priest.”
She eyes me dubiously. “Your ‘priest.’ Can it wait?”
“If I call him at hom
