Page 7 of Ten Years Later
As he neared the front door, he caught sight of his reflection and paused. He looked handsome. Respectable. Human, even.
He opened the front door, and for several seconds he stood in the empty and quiet hall, staring down a corridor lined with lockers and classrooms. He hoped a bell rang. He willed the kids to rush out.
But nothing happened.
“Can I help you?”
A wall of glass separated the administration area. A middle-aged woman in a skirt and blouse stood in its open doorway, her head cocked.
“Yes. I read on your site that you need volunteers.” He held up his portfolio. “I’m an artist. Thought I’d pitch in.”
The woman gave a chuckle. “Well, that’s nice but it doesn’t quite work that way. You have to fill out an application on line. Then you’ll be invited in for an interview. If after that you’re accepted, you’ll need to pass a security screening. We are a school after all; we can’t just have anyone walk in. You understand.”
His shoulders fell. Of course, they screened applicants. He should’ve thought of that. “I’m not much for computers. Can I do the application here, now?”
“Sure…I guess.” She motioned him into the administrative area. “Why don’t you sit over there and I’ll print one off for you.”
“Thank you.” Keaton sat in a padded leather chair. He placed the portfolio on the floor. His leg bounced. He stared through the glass wall and out into the hall.
The bell rang.
Keaton shot up. He rushed out the administrative door. Teenagers poured from rooms and connecting hallways. Footsteps pounded down stairs. Lockers banged open. Laughter echoed. Voices lifted. He walked forward, his gaze bouncing, searching…searching…searching.
So many kids.
But there, at the end of the lockers, crouched the girl from earlier digging through her crossbody bag. On the floor next to her sat her art kit.
His pace quickened. He sidestepped kids. Only a few paces now. A firm hand latched onto his upper arm, halting Keaton.
“Sir, you are not allowed to be here.”
The dark-haired girl swung her bag over her body as she stood. Her eyes met his. His pulse quickened.Please recognize me.He opened his mouth, ready to say her name when she broke eye contact, grabbing her kit and joining a pack of kids heading out.
“Sir.”
Reluctantly, Keaton turned away. A male security guard stood behind him.
“I’m sorry,” Keaton said. “I thought she was a friend’s daughter. My mistake.”
The security guard released his grip, but he stayed behind Keaton as he walked back to the administration area.
The female administrator hovered in the door, suspiciously watching him the whole way.
He offered an embarrassed smile. “My bad. Like I told your security person, I thought I saw a friend’s daughter. I’m very sorry.”
Reluctantly, she handed him the application affixed to a clipboard.
“Actually, I’ll just take that with me. I totally forgot I have an appointment.” Quickly, he gathered his portfolio, took the application from the clip, and beelined it back out to his truck.
The busses were still loading. He didn’t know which one she rode, but he did know the location of her stop. He drove straight there.
He parked across the street at a convenient store and waited. Sometime later, the bus arrived. About ten teenagers got off, including the dark-haired girl. Most dispersed into the gated community. Not the girl though. Carrying her kit, she jogged to the crosswalk, pressed the button, and waited.
She was coming to his side of the street.
The light turned and she trotted across, cutting away from Keaton and down the sidewalk toward a small strip mall done in rich brown and crisp blue to match the surrounding buildings. Communities like these maintained a strict and consistent building and color code.
He kept one eye on the girl as he cranked the truck’s engine and cut across the convenient store, entering the strip mall. The girl picked up pace, weaving through the parking lot. Histruck crawled along, following. She entered a store with colorful bubble letters that read,Paint Away the Day!
