Staying Alive. Debra Webb
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their destination near the flagpole in the front quad beyond the drop-off entrance.
“Peter,” Pat said more to herself than to Claire.
Fear expanded in Claire’s chest. She rushed over to Vance Richardson. “Vance, where is Peter?” The two boys were almost inseparable.
Vance looked a little nervous. Rain dripped down his cheeks like tears. Claire experienced a quake of dread at his hesitation.
“Where is he, Vance?”
She had to find that child now.
“He didn’t want to paint today, Miss Grant.” Vance scrubbed at the water slipping down his face. “He said he was too tired. He was going to hide in the restroom and maybe take a nap.”
Christ. Claire turned to Pat who had come up behind her. “I’m going back in for him.”
“No.” Pat shook her head vigorously. “I’ll go back for him. You stay with the kids.”
“He’s my student,” Claire reminded. “You stay.”
Not waiting for any more of Pat’s resistance, she raced across the drop-off lanes and the inner courtyard. Her blouse and slacks were beginning to plaster to her skin. Her ponytail was drenched as well but she didn’t care. If there was any chance whatsoever that this drill was real—even if it wasn’t real—she had to find that child.
She couldn’t imagine why he hadn’t come out of hiding when he heard the alarm. The students were instructed over and over again on the proper response to the sound of that alarm.
And then she knew.
He was too tired to paint and wanted to take a nap.
Peter was diabetic. His blood sugar had probably dropped too low. He could be unconscious in that bathroom. If the alarm hadn’t gone off, Pat would have called roll by now and she would have noted his absence and sent someone to look for him.
Not only could he be in grave danger assuming the alarm was real, if his sugar level had dropped that low, every minute counted.
The long, empty main corridor in the fifth-grade wing felt ominous…as if certain doom was about to descend. She had to find that child.
“Miss Grant!”
Claire had just turned left toward the corridor leading to the art room when her name resounded behind her. She twisted around to face Principal Allen. “Sir, I’m—”
“You should be outside with the others,” he cut her off. “What’re you doing back in here?”
The material plastered to her skin and the water puddling around her feet confirmed his assumption that she’d already been outside. “I’m missing a student.”
The words rang in the ensuing silence. Words no teacher ever wanted to utter. It was the worst-possible scenario under any circumstances. That there could possibly be a fire in some part of the school only increased the urgency.
The whiteness of fear overwhelmed the red flush that had appeared on Mr. Allen’s face during the hurried evacuation efforts. “I’ll radio for additional assistance.”
“Let’s check the boys’ bathroom first. He’s probably there.” She was already moving in that direction as she spoke. “I’m worried about his sugar level. If he were conscious I’m sure he would have come outside when he heard the alarm.”
It wasn’t impossible that he was outside amid the throng of students. A couple of minutes were required for every single student to be counted. If so, someone would notice that he was out of place and escort him to his own group.
Just when her heart was about to rupture with fear, Mr. Allen’s walkie-talkie crackled. “Mr. Allen, Claire Grant is inside the building looking for Peter Reimes. Let her know he’s with his group now. He came out with the music class.”
Relief rushed through her and her knees wobbled just a bit. “Thank God.”
Mr. Allen, acknowledging the reaction, patted her shoulder gently. “It’s all right now. You get back to your group and I’ll finish checking this wing.”
She nodded. “Yes, sir.”
Claire trudged back outside, ignoring the continuing drizzle.
However bad she’d thought her morning had been, the rest of her day had just taken a major bad turn. Even the mere thought of losing a child tore her apart…made her second-guess the most basic of her teaching skills.
Darlene offered her a hang-in-there smile across the damp quad as Claire rejoined her students.
She surveyed her group and said a silent prayer of thanks as she caught her breath. The kids were okay and that was all that counted in the end.
By two that afternoon her world was back to normal. Claire doubted her blood pressure would be back below stroke range anytime soon, but it would fall eventually. The mere idea of having one of her students left inside the building during an actual emergency situation still took her breath away. It would be days before she stopped obsessing on the horrific notion.
Thank God there hadn’t been a fire or any other threatening situation.
The alarm had reacted to an anomaly in the system, whatever that meant. All Claire knew for certain was that it hadn’t been a planned drill; it had been a mistake.
Peter had bounced back after a carton of apple juice. As she suspected, his sugar level had dropped and he’d put off taking care of the situation until he briefly lost consciousness. He didn’t like that he needed to monitor his levels. A typical man in the making, he assumed he could get through the low without asking for help.
With less than an hour to go, her students, who had all changed from their damp clothes into their gym attire, had settled back into their work. Instead of reading aloud this afternoon, she’d decided to have quiet, individual reading time. She could catch up on the lesson planning she’d missed during the unintended fire drill.
Like her, most of the teachers kept a change of clothes at school. Working with kids this age had taught her long ago to expect most anything.
Her hair, much to her dismay, had coiled into its natural abundance of unruly curls. The ponytail barely restrained the wild mass. She spent at least a half hour every morning smoothing the kind of mane others paid stylists top dollar to create.
Not Claire. She had always hated her naturally curly hair. Almost as much as she loathed her full figure. It wasn’t that she was fat, exactly. Darlene called her curvaceous.
Claire worked out. She really did. And she ate right…except for the chocolate. It was her one major downfall. There were far worse bad habits, she reminded herself on a regular basis. And, the fact of the matter was, all the women in the Grant family were healthy-sized…so to speak.
You couldn’t fight genetics.
Scuffling in the hall snapped her back to the present and jerked her head up. She was on her feet and moving toward the door before the possible sources of the sounds fully penetrated. Once in a while some of the boys came to blows, but not that often. She was shocked that anyone had been allowed in the hall long enough to get into trouble after the watery fire drill.
She turned the knob and pulled the door open far enough to ease out of the room. She’d just gotten her students settled. Whoever was making all the ruckus was going to get a glimpse of her less-than-pleasant side. “What’s going on—?”
The rest of the words evaporated in her throat as her brain analyzed what her eyes saw.
Two men wearing black ski masks had Mr. Allen trapped against the wall, a gun to his head.
Fear throttled through Claire. Before her brain even gave the order she had already pushed the door closed behind her in hopes of somehow protecting her students.
An arm came around her throat and jerked