Page 121 of Tasting Fire
Emmy walked into the auditorium and found it dark. “Mrs. Southerland,” she called out. “It’s Emmy McKay. I’m a little early, but—”
“I’m backstage. Come up the side stairs.” Mrs. Southerland’s words projected all the way to the back of the room.
Trying to blink away the lack of light without success, Emmy groped the backs of the chairs to find the center aisle and navigate down it. By the time she made it to the stage, she could see slightly better, but when she took the stairs, she missed one and knocked her shin against a riser and almost lost her grip on her bag. Ow, dammit.
A faint light came from the right wing and she followed it. Mrs. Southerland was sitting at a battered metal desk flipping through a stapled packet of papers. As soon as she spotted Emmy, she let the pages drop and turned over the stack. “Great. You’re here. We can get started.”
“Um…Won’t other people be presenting today, too?” Something seemed off here. The receptionist’s not remembering about career day, the dark auditorium, and Mrs. Southerland’s bright cheer.
“We have to do some things before the main event, Emmy.”
She was happy to help set up if that’s what Mrs. Southerland needed, but why hadn’t she just asked? “If we can get some light on the stage, then I can move a podium and some chairs.”
“Actually, I planned some classroom stops. You know, more intimate discussions.”
Emmy had only budgeted an hour and a half for this event, but it looked as if it might stretch on all morning so she needed to contact work. “Let me just text the ER so they know not to expect me for a while.”
While Emmy worked her phone, Mrs. Southerland hunched over her packet of papers again, nodding and mumbling to herself.
“All set,” Emmy said after receiving a confirmation text that another doctor would cover for her until she could make it in to work.
Mrs. Southerland held out her hand. “I’ll need that. Phones aren’t allowed outside the office.”
Strange that the receptionist hadn’t mentioned that. Seemed more like a rule that should apply to students, not adults. “I need to keep it on me in case I get a call-out.”
“Aren’t there other tac team members on call? The students really will benefit from your undivided attention. And it’ll only be an hour or so.”
Reluctantly, Emmy handed over her phone, and Mrs. Southerland shoved it and the papers into a drawer and locked it. Then she picked up a messenger bag slung on the chair back and pulled the strap over her head. “I think the students are going to remember today for a long time. I know I’ve been excited about it since you returned to Steele Ridge.”
Possible proof that the town needed better and more varied entertainment options. Then again, it was so important for kids from small towns to understand that their career opportunities weren’t limited to just what was in front of them. Bringing the bigger world here, she might inspire kids to become doctors, engineers, and so many other things.
Mrs. Southerland opened a door leading from backstage to the hallway. “We’ll start in the band hall.”
Emmy would’ve expected social studies or science classes, but maybe the school had decided interrupting electives was a better use of students’ school day.
The band hall, like the school’s entrance, was accessed through two sets of double doors, probably to keep sound from bleeding out and disturbing other classrooms. Emmy was reaching for the interior door handle into the room where students were practicing an instrumental rendition of Pitbull’s “Timber” when Mrs. Southerland latched on to her elbow.
“Stop,” she ordered.
“Oh, you’re right,” Emmy said. “We should probably wait until they’re done playing.”
Mrs. Southerland flipped open the flap of her messenger bag and to Emmy’s stupefaction, she pulled out a large revolver.
“Wha… What are you doing?” Her breath coming in shallow puffs, Emmy sidestepped, trying to edge her way to the exit doors, but Mrs. Southerland lifted the big gun.
“Sweetheart, for once in your life, would you please get with my program instead of being an uppity little bitch?” She said it with a sweetness that should’ve been used with a question like “Sweetheart, would you like help with your college application?”
Keep your cool, Emmy. Whatever is happening here needs to stay away from the students.
“Why don’t we just step out in the hallway and—”
“You always did think you knew better than me. An eighteen-year-old girl. Ridiculous. I thought Cash was smarter than to be swayed by a moderately pretty face, but there’s no rhyme or reason for a man’s taste. They all think with their pricks, no matter that I try to teach them better.”
“You know, I’d like to know more about that.” Emmy kept her voice level.Seek to understand, show respect, and keep your delivery calm.Classic negotiation tactics.
The SWAT team negotiator would be so proud of her. But under her lab coat, she was sweating like an iced tea glass on a hundred-degree day. “Why don’t we go somewhere we can sit down and discuss—”
The band’s song cut with a long wailing note from a trumpet, and Mrs. Southerland ordered, “Get in there. If you don’t, I’ll go by myself.” She patted her messenger bag. “And I have enough bullets in here to put at least one in each person in that room.”
