Page 51 of If You Could See the Sun
Maybe he has a physical copy lying around somewhere.
Aroundhere.
With a sudden, dizzying surge of hope, I remember the thick folder Mr. Murphy always carries with him, how he likes to print things out, says he finds it hard to read things on a screen.
I rush to his desk. It’s a complete mess, highlighters and half-marked papers scattered everywhere, one last bite of jianbinggoing cold on a dirty plate. But right there, buried beneath it, is the see-through folder I last saw Mr. Murphy with.
Slowly, inch by inch, I pull the folder free as if it’s a Jenga block, careful not to move anything else on the teacher’s desk. The folder’s been crammed full with worksheets, copies of the syllabus, past test rubrics, excerpts from the textbook readings...
There doesn’t seem to be any kind of organization system, not even a single colored tab. All I can do is flip page after page as the folder grows unbearably heavy in my clammy hands, my heart racing, terribly conscious of the ticking clock and how many minutes have passed since Mr. Murphy and Henry left.
My senses seem to have sharpened, too, like a rabbit’s when it fears it’s being hunted; every rustle of movement in the corridors outside startles me, every creak of the door or tap of the branches against the windows makes me freeze. I can smell the leftover food from the staff’s office upstairs—seafood, and something sour—and feel the sweat forming on my skin in cool, perfect beads.
And still I force myself to keep rifling through the giant folder, keep searching, scanning the blur of text for the wordsYear 12 MidtermorHistory Examuntil—
Finally.
Finally. There it is.
Adrenaline floods my veins as I take out the exam and answer booklet with shaking fingers, holding them up under the fluorescent classroom lights. For a second I’m so stunned by what I’m about to do I almost drop them, but I steady myself. Grab my phone and snap a photo of the first page, then the second, the third.
I’m close to finishing when I hear it—
Voices.
“...difficult to believe the emperor really was so ignorant. If you read between the lines of that letter, it seemed more like one last, desperate attempt to avoid trouble,” Henry’s saying, his slow footsteps falling behind Mr. Murphy’s quick, noisy ones. He’s speaking louder than usual—no doubt to warn me they’re about to come in.
No. Not yet.
I’m on the very last page now, but my shadow keeps blocking the words—
Then realization hits me like a boulder, almost knocking the breath out of me:my shadow. If I have a shadow, then I must’ve turned visible again, and if I’m visible when Mr. Murphy walks in here... If Mr. Murphy sees me...
Shit.
Panic invades every cell in my body. I twist the paper around in the light and snap a photo, then stuff it back into the folder and shove everything under the dirty plate again in one rapid, frenzied movement. I don’t know if it’s in the exact same position as before, but there’s no time to check.
The doorknob creaks. Turns.
Mr. Murphy opens the door just as I throw myself onto the ground, squeezing into the gap under his desk. The space is tiny; I have to tuck my knees under my chin like a fetus, wrap my arms tight around myself like a vise.
My heart is pounding so hard I think I might die.
“Thanks again for everything, Mr. Murphy,” Henry says. He sounds less than ten feet away. “I know how busy you must be...”
“You’re too polite,” comes Mr. Murphy’s response from nearby. He’s walking, drawing closer and closer, and—
Oh god.
His worn, leather shoes suddenly appear in my line of vision, only a few inches from my leg.
I retract further, press up against the hard surface of the desk, fold into myself until I can barely breathe, but still he’s too close. He only needs to look down to know I’m here. He only needs to listen carefullyto hear my furious heartbeats, my uneven gasps for air.
I’m trapped.
The thought sends a new jolt of hysteria through me. I’m trapped and I can’t see any way of getting out. Not undetected. Not without consequences. The inevitable begins to play in my mind like a horror film: Mr. Murphy accidentally dropping a pencil or paper and seeing me crouched here, hiding at his very feet; the shock flashing through his eyes, even more pronounced than when I broke down over my test in class, and the realization that’ll follow shortly afterward, that I must be here for a reason. Then he’ll look at his desk, notice how the folder is maybe two inches to the right from where he’d left it, how the corner of the exam booklet is bent, and put two and two together, and then—
“Is there something else you need, Henry?” Mr. Murphy asks. He lowers himself into his seat, and I watch in silent horror as the chair rolls forward...
