Fallen (14 page)

I knew that driving up on my loud, rumbling Harley Davidson motorcycle was not going to leave a good
,
first impression with anyone who saw me
.

I didn’t care.

Even the
astonish
ed looks from the
teachers who’d arrived early
,
as they
stared at me from across the parking lot
,
didn’t bother me.

What did bother me was the blue Ford Mustang parked in the
student
lot. It looked like the one that had
followed
me a few weeks ago
, the one that
possibly tried to run me down – if
I chose to believe that
Eran had been right
about
the driver’s intentions. There was no one in the
car
,
but if
the owner was around
,
I knew I would recognize him instantly.

I walked
toward
what looked like the main entrance
,
set in the center of the middle building, where a sign read Main Hall. Arrows pointed to either side reading East Hall and West Hall.

I found
Mr. Warden’s office in the far left corner of t
he West Hall and was just about to open the door when my hand paused on the
knob
.
It
started to rattle and I registered
that it was
a result of my hand
-
still holding it
-
now shaking. I felt sweat begin to
bead
up
on my forehead
just as the
hair on the back of my neck
began
to rise.

This feeling
was
,
by now
,
all too familiar to me.

I peered down both halls
, searching
for the creepy owner of the blue Ford Mustang or
for
Sharar
,
but
I
found
I was
completely
alone. Not even a teacher
was
in sight.

Get a grip, I told myself
;
I felt
foolish
. I chalked
up
the feeling of fear to the fact
that
this was my first day of school
, but
since
I’d had so many first days at new schools
,
my
rationalization
was
weak and
laughable.

I shrugged off
th
at
thought and opened the door
;
I found
a
heavy
set
secretary
sitting behind a cluttered desk. She
frowned at me
,
and I recognized her as one of the ladies in the parking lot
that gaped at me
as I rode up. She stopped typing long enough to point a thick, sagging arm
toward
a separate room.

“Thanks,” I repl
ied
,
but she ignored
me and directed
her attention back to
the
computer
that was
precariously perched on top
of
the mess
y
desk in front of her
.

My voice must have alerted Mr. Warden that I had arrived
,
because he was standing by the time I entered his office.

“Ms. Tanner
…
,
”

“
Maggie
…
actually,
” I said, extending my hand to meet his abrupt handshake.

Mr. Warden
was stoic
;
he
show
ed
no hint of a smile and offer
ed
no reply
.

Immediately,
I noticed that he
didn’t look much like a warden
at all
. I’d pictured tall, meaty, and stress wrinkles. I got the stress wrinkles right
,
but he was shorter than me,
looked very
frail,
and had
a receding hairline. Glasses
were hanging
from a chain around his neck
,
like you’d see on secretaries
in the late 1960s
,
and that made him all
the
more disarming.
Still, I’d already decided that he would be
The Warden
from
now
on.

As he closed the door behind me,
my attention was drawn to
the diplomas and
the
pictures of him
,
posed w
ith
people
who
appeared
to be prominent and wealthy
,
that crowded
the wall behind his desk
…
a
n ego
-
wall.
So
The Warden
had a prideful side, I
contemplated
,
as he ushered me to a seat facing his desk.

I
sat,
still fighting the shaking and
the
sweat
ing,
trying despe
rately to appear normal despite
the physical reactions my body was suffering
.

I guess th
at
was why I didn’t see the creepy owner of the blue Ford Mustang seated in the chair next to
mine
.

I
discovered
he was there, watching me,
when
I glanced in his direction
while
The Warden
took his seat.

I froze when I saw that
the guy had the same intense
,
angry
gaze
focused on me
that he had
last
time I
saw him.
I gripped my backpack
,
full of
books
,
as that awful, sick feeling of fear overwhelmed me.
If
The Warden
noticed any of this
,
he gave no sign.

“
Ms. Tanner
, this is Achan,” said
The Warden
;
I
made a mental note
of
how Achan
ignored me in favor of
turning
to address
The Warden
with a friendly, relaxed smile
.

I
also
made note of
Achan’s
outfit. His brown, creased,
tweed slacks,
his
white
,
collared
,
cotton shirt, and
his
shined
, leather,
dress shoes
made it easy to see
how
much older
he dress
ed
than people my age.

He didn’t
appear
to
survey
me at all. In fact, f
or the remainder of the meeting, Achan didn’t look my way once.

However, I learned that Achan had recently arrived from a
private school in
New York City
. His parents
were not planning on relocating
,
so
they had bought
Achan
a house in the famous Garden District.
Joy, I thought
after hearing
this information. Maybe his sour expression was
the
result of him being a snob.
The Warden
went on to
explain
that Achan’s
transcripts had
revealed his status as
an expert
archer
,
and that
made
The Warden
eager to see Achan on the
school’s
archery team. He
was confident that
Achan
’s skill
would make
his
new school proud.
After that announcement,
The Warden
escorted Achan out of the office but not
before
a
jovial
pat
on
his back and
the
reiteration
–
for the third time
–
that he was
so
happy to have a student of his stature join
the
academy.