“They never ride the bus,” she finally managed, her hands tight on the steering wheel.
The movements of all the people around outside the car were suddenly jerky, their voices too loud. Her brother had ended up under investigation. Was this what happened to her and her girls when she’d failed to heed warnings to stop digging for the truth?
“Well, let’s see what we can find out from the office,” Mrs. B. said.
Though the woman’s voice remained calm, her wide eyes gave her away. She took a few steps back, lifted the walkie-talkie to her ear and mumbled something into it.
With a smile pasted on her face, Mrs. B. held up a finger, asking for Rachel to wait. She couldn’t wait, but she couldn’t move, either, as her heartbeat pounded in her ears.
“They’re checking,” she assured Rachel through the open window.
Behind the van, other parents took turns driving up, waiting for their children to be buckled in and pulling around her and out of the parking lot. They were oblivious to the tragedy unfolding in front of them.
The para didn’t help with any of the other children or parents. As the other educators hurried from student to student and occasionally sent curious looks her way, Mrs. B. stared down at her walkie-talkie, cradled between her gloved hands, as though willing a voice to speak through it. But nothing happened. It was as though the whole school staff had gone radio silent.
Unable to control herself any longer, Rachel shouted through the window. “What aren’t you telling me? Are my girls…missing?”
Mrs. B. held up her index finger again and looked nervously over her shoulder.
Rachel grabbed her phone and typed in 911. But just as she started to tap the button that would initiate the call, she caught movement out of her side vision. The phone slid from her hand as the middle-age pixie of a principal, Mrs. Sumpter, rushed toward her minivan, her coat flapping behind her. The situation was so bad that they’d sent out the principal herself?
“Miss Hoffman,” she said when she stopped by the window. “I’m so sorry—”
“Where are my girls?”
The woman raised both hands to ask her to stop, a motion she probably used for school convocations, but it wouldn’t work on her.
“What have you done with them? Who did you release them to?” She pretended not to notice the adults sneaking peeks at her or the few remaining children watching her with scared eyes and gaping mouths.
“Miss Hoffman,” Mrs. Sumpter said again, her hands gripping the edge of the van’s open window like claws.
Rachel shook off her fog, and people, cars and even trees began to return to focus. She must have suddenly appeared reachable, as the administrator’s stern expression softened.
“There, now,” she said with a nod. “Your girls are safe. They’re in my office, coloring pictures and eating sugar-free lollipops. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Lollipops? Mind? What are Carly and Carissa even doing in there?”
“That’s what we’re trying to figure out. So why don’t you pull off into one of the visitor spots up there and come into the building.” She gestured the same instructions with a wide curve of her arm. “Just hit the buzzer and show your photo ID to the camera, like always, and Mrs. Zielinski will let you inside.”
Somehow Rachel was able to pull into a spot and park without causing a fender bender with one of the other cars. She grabbed her purse, tucked her phone in her pocket and hurried to the door. The principal’s assistant hit the buzzer before she could even put her driver’s license in front of the camera.
Already standing at the entrance to the main office, Mrs. Sumpter guided her into the room with a nameplate on the door. There, like the woman had told her, the twins were set up at a small table in the corner, a stack of coloring sheets and a tub of crayons centered between them. They weren’t wearing their coats as though they’d been there a while. Those were piled in a visitor’s chair across from the principal’s desk.
“Hi, Mommy,” Carissa called out when she looked up from her colorful sheet.
Carly pulled a red lollipop from her lips and held it out to show Rachel. “Hi, Mom. Mrs. Sumpter gave us suckers. We told her it would be okay with you.”
“It’s fine.” Then she couldn’t help herself. She rushed at them and leaned down so she could wrap her arms around both at once over the top of the table.
The girls grunted and tried to wiggle free. Rachel had to force her arms to relax so she could release them.
“Mom,” Carly said, stretching the word out until it became two syllables.
Her sister, usually more up for public displays of affection, frowned at her and crossed her arms. She’d embarrassed her girls? Well, too bad.
Rachel was still staring down at them and willing her racing pulse to slow when Mrs. Sumpter cleared her throat. She took an automatic step back from her daughters’ artist station. Now that Rachel had stopped yelling at her, the principal offered her a compassionate smile. She probably thought she’d handled situations like this one before, but she was wrong
“Now, why don’t we let the girls finish their masterpieces in here while we step into the copy room next door for a chat. Mrs. Z. will keep an eye on them for a few minutes.” She lifted a file folder off her desk and moved to her office’s side door.
