Chapter 23
Hope left Britney in her office and shuffled toward the teachers’ lounge in search of much-needed coffee. Most students were already in class but a few lingered around a skinny, long-haired man leaning against a mop. From the back, Hope could see he was bone thin and appeared as if he held his frail body upright by the mop handle.
The students seemed enthralled by whatever the man was saying. He waved his arms as he talked. A couple of uniformed football players sauntered past, gave him the universal two-fingered peace sign, and he returned the gesture. Hope smiled. We have a hippie janitor.
She craned her neck but couldn’t see the man’s face. She was happy to see him engaging the students since Hilltop’s former, all-business and no-talk janitor had never interacted with the kids. Instead, he acted as though he hated his job and finished at warp speed each day. Hope observed his animated motions from behind as more students gathered around. This custodian appeared to be a refreshing change. She watched as the new art teacher, Willow, approached him and touched his arm in a familiar manner. Interesting.
Hope hurried toward the teachers’ lounge, which was unoccupied for once. Spotting the half-empty coffee pot, she poured a cup of much-needed java. She took a sip and wrinkled her nose. Hilltop High School was known for award-winning sports teams but their coffee was no Starbucks, not even close. She glanced at the standard white, round school clock against the old brick wall. It was 8:15 a.m.
As she forced the robust coffee down, Hope heard a few straggler students clang locker doors and scamper down the hall in an obvious effort to beat the first bell. She shook her head. These kids will never learn that school always starts at the same time. She peeked in the refrigerator to see if her peach yogurt was still there. As she sifted through sandwiches, bags of veggies, juice packs, and other food on the shelves, Willow walked inside.
“Morning.” Willow’s armful of silver bracelets jangled as she opened a cabinet and reached for a HHS coffee mug. The usual waft of patchouli followed her like a hippie cloud.
Hope raised her cup and returned the greeting. She was happy to have a new colleague and thrilled she broke the typical teacher mold. Her unique, vintage clothes screamed fun second-hand store.
Today, Willow’s thick, prematurely gray hair was woven into an unruly bun with a pencil seemingly holding the mass together. The art teacher made a point of adorning herself with mismatched jewelry and a lot of it, though she didn’t wear a stitch of makeup except for the occasional blue or purple toenail polish. Hope studied Willow who appeared as if she didn’t have a care in the world. While Hope was a Type B, and Alex was a Type A++, Willow would easily be awarded the Type C trophy if there were such a thing.
Hope pointed toward her colleague’s coffee mug. “You might want to hold your nose while you drink that stuff.”
Willow laughed. “It’s not that bad. At least Hilltop offers free coffee. Who can complain about free?”
“You’ve got a point.”
Willow took a couple of sips. “I love it here. By the way, have you met our new janitor?”
Hope shook her head. “No, but one of my students told me about him. I spotted him down the hall earlier.”
“I like him.” Willow paused. “A lot.”
Hope raised her eyebrows. “Oh, really? What’s he like?”
Willow sat down at the elongated, wooden table. “We’re kindred spirits. And . . . he’s kinda cute. Definitely non-traditional, which I like.”
Hope sat across from her. “He sounds like your type.”
Willow put a finger to her lips. “Don’t tell anyone but we’re secretly dating. I don’t know if it’s allowed and don’t want anyone to know since we’re both new. Neither of us wants to risk our job.”
Hope’s eyes widened. “That is news. It might be frowned upon but maybe not. I know several teachers and coaches who’ve dated over the years. But I’ll keep it a secret.”
Willow twirled one of her long dreadlocks that framed her face. “I really like him.”
“I’ve got to meet him. He must have a different lunch hour than me.” Hope teased, “Maybe I’ll spill something on the floor so he’ll have to respond.”
“He does come in handy that way.” Willow winked. “And in other ways.”
Hope held up her hand. “That might be TMI.” She suddenly felt melancholy and a little shy. “I’m really glad you’re here, Willow. You remind me of my parents. I mean, you’re not old enough to be my parent but—”
Willow took another sip of coffee. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“It is.”
“Thank you. Do they live nearby?” Willow asked.
Hope’s eyes welled with tears. “No. They were—” The school bell sounded a long, loud alert. “Oh, no.” Hope grabbed Willow’s hand. “Follow me.”
A chill ran up Hope’s spine as they exited the teachers’ lounge. She knew from the tone what the alert was about. Dammit. I love spring but hate these twisters. She closed the door to the lounge per school procedure, rushed to the cafeteria to herd students to the basement, and literally pushed them forward with her arms spread wide.
“Hurry. Move it. Get to the basement. We had this drill last fall. You know what to do.” Hope noticed a few male students rolled their eyes or snickered. In comparison, the girls huddled together as they rushed toward the stairs. All struggled with heavy backpacks.
“There you are.” A wide-eyed Britney sprinted toward Hope, still carrying the stack of college applications with her. “Is this drill for a tornado, Miss Truman?”
“Hi, Brit. Sorry. With all the excitement, I forgot you were in my office. Yes, it’s a tornado drill. I’m glad you followed procedure. Let’s go.”
“But is it real?” Britney studied her counselor, obviously waiting for a concrete answer.
Hope glanced toward the window as they hurried to shelter. “Sometimes tornadoes touch down and sometimes they don’t. We have to take Mother Nature seriously just in case.” She noticed the branches were no longer swaying. “Actually, the wind is much quieter than it was earlier this morning.” Maybe too quiet. Hope’s stomach lurched knowing it was always silent before a tornado hit. Remaining calm for the students, she cupped a hand around her mouth. “Keep moving toward the basement, everyone. Hurry. Single file.”
Soon Dr. Holmes announced the basement was full and demanded students and faculty immediately take cover in the hallways or cafeteria along the brick wall and far away from any windows.
Hope’s heart raced as she stood on a stairwell landing and directed students toward the cafeteria. Britney remained by her side, even though Hope told her to leave. Thankfully, the students ran like track stars, albeit calmly, and in a single line toward the designated safe areas.
Once inside the cafeteria, Hope scanned the massive room as Willow steered yet more students toward an interior wall. The remaining teachers who weren’t already in the basement entered the substantial, concrete room. Everyone did their job, just as they had practiced every year. Hope yelled to the crowd, “Stay away from the windows, everyone. Hunker down and remember what you’ve learned during our tornado drills.”
“I bet it isn’t even real,” one of the male jocks snickered.
Another student bounced a basketball that he must have produced from his backpack.
“Put that ball down and take cover. Now,” Hope yelled.
One female student cried. Then a second and third sobbed. Hope knew she had to reassure them. “Girls, it’ll be fine. It probably won’t touch down but we can’t take any chances. Go sit against that back wall, away from the windows, and huddle close together.”
Britney linked her arm through Hope’s as they hurried toward the back of the room. Within minutes, students were crammed in like sardines. Hope snuck a peek out the small windows near the ceiling. The threatening sky looked ominous. Dark, gray clouds had created a thick wall. Hope swallowed. Oh, my God.