No One's Watching (17 page)

I yanked on the worn brass door pulls and hurried inside. Darkness blinded me, but the cool air revived my lungs. I bumped into an elderly woman before my eyes adjusted. “Sorry.” I scooped up several letters I'd knocked from her hands and handed them back to her.

Brass engraved signs on the wall across from the doors read, “Out of Town” and “Local” above their slots. I pried the letter out of my pocket and ironed it on my leg. As I reached to drop it in the “Out of Town” box, part of the envelope flap snagged. Someone had opened the envelope. The letter was missing.

As I leaned against the wall, a dull pain blossomed in my head. The empty envelope skidded to the floor. She wouldn't have, would she? Shelly didn't take out my letter and keep it while she was in the elevator, did she? I dug my fingernails into the palms of my hands, trying to calm myself in the quiet building with its high ceilings and lacquered desks. The custodian pushed a wide broom in long curves on the speckled stone floor. A man crouched as he opened his mailbox and peered in.

I scooped up the envelope, jammed it in my front pocket and bolted to the desks, searching for a pen. Short, metal leashes attaching the pens to the desk were empty. Except one. I peered in the trashcans, hoping to find scrap paper. All empty. Forms were stored on the desks for delivery confirmation, moving notices and customs. Too much printing on each form to write a note to Mom.

Monday. I'd have to write another letter and mail it to Mom, unless it was too late. Had Shelly already mailed a letter to her mom? I bit my lip and stared at the ceiling. How many people had she shown my letter to? My face burned. I'd have to wait.

“You okay, young lady?” a man asked me.

I nodded.

He bought some stamps from a machine next to the front door. Too bad it wasn't a soda machine. My mouth dried up. It wouldn't have mattered if it sold water that could make me invisible. I had no money. He held the door for the old lady, and I glimpsed people moving across the sweltering sidewalk. The glass door softly closed. The woman grasped the banister outside and hobbled down the stairs, followed by the man.

Time to get back to the dorm before I was missed and got into more trouble. It was late afternoon and blindingly bright. It would be easier if I could sneak in another entrance to my building in the dark, but I wasn't going to stick around until night. No wonder Dira and Nicki planned to sneak out in the evening.

I took a deep breath and leaned against the door. As it opened, Mrs. Sykes, wearing a straw hat with salmon-colored flowers, stood outside at the bottom of the stairs. She adjusted a bag on her shoulder before slapping her hand on the brass railing and trudging up the steps.

My gasp dragged me away from the door. To my left, a collapsible fence closed off the cashier area. Mrs. Sykes reached the top of the stairs as I sprinted in the other direction, leaping over the custodian's broom. I skidded around the corner and hid behind a wooden table in an alcove by rows and columns of little mailboxes, all with matching brass knobs.

A woman emptied letters from her mailbox into a paper shopping bag. She gave me a half-bemused, half-suspicious smile, clutching a behemoth canvas tote to her side.

I reached for a tiny knob and twisted it, pretending the mailbox on the bottom row was mine. Now would be a good time for an
Alice in Wonderland
moment, where I could shrink and climb inside.

“What do you mean it's all out of change?” Mrs. Sykes asked someone. The janitor, I guessed.

A soft, indistinguishable reply. I crouched lower and moved under the table.

“Aargh.” She huffed and stomped around the corner toward me, her shoes banging like hammers on the floor.

“Excuse me. Do you have any coins?” she asked the lady with the two large bags. “Apparently, the machines are out of change, and the weekend has just begun. Great planning.”

“I may have some.” The woman shuffled close.

I slipped to the far side under the table. There was a thunk and a crinkle as the lady heaved her shopping bag on top of it.

Zip. “Let me check my purse.”

I was closer to Mrs. Sykes' toes than I'd ever wanted to be. They curled around the sole of her high-heeled sandals as if Mrs. Sykes hadn't wanted to admit her shoes were too small. Or her feet were too big. Painted? Why did I care? I glanced again. Yes, they matched the flowers on her hat. Carroty-colored. Like baby shrimp. My toe throbbed from cutting it on the broken sidewalk. I edged to the far side of the table.

“Dear me. I must've given all my change to my son this morning.”

“Is there anyone else around? This place is like a tomb.”

“There was a young girl here…”

I dove across the floor in the opposite direction, and the janitor jumped aside. I pushed through the door and rushed outside.

People packed the sidewalks. I darted around them in the airless fog, like when you opened an oven door and the hot blast sucked your breath away. Every face had the potential to be another camp director or teacher as I hurried toward the intersection. Despite the flashing red hand on the sign, the crowd surged forward, dragging me along. I slumped as I walked so as not to stick above it.

Along the sidewalk, green and white teddy bears crammed the window of a gift shop called The White Shamrock. I wanted to crawl in the window with them. The door opened, and Irish music escaped, hitting me like cold air from the post office. The music plucked my insides before jigging down the street. I ducked into another doorway waiting for some guys pushing a cart of boxes to get through.

“Hey.” Below me, a greasy man sprawled against the door.

“Sorry.” The word drifted from my lips, and I dashed into the mob again.

Why was it taking so long to get back? I was afraid to peek behind me in case Mrs. Sykes was following. When I got to the intersection of my building, I crossed the street and kept going straight instead of returning to the main entrance and taking a chance the front desk guy would catch me. There had to be another way into the building.

The street dipped and plunged, as the sidewalk disappeared into rubble. I picked my way around the debris. You'd never know such a terrible street bordered the building. There were no doors on this side and the windows didn't start until way up. When Mom dropped me off at dance camp, she'd parked in the underground lot, and we came up to the lobby in an elevator. Could I find the same parking lot? Where was it? With my luck, it was on the complete opposite side of the building.

Sweat trickled into my eyes. To keep my balance, I dragged my fingers across the prickly wall of the building as I hurried down the street. It was hard to believe I spent all my time in a climate-controlled nirvana where it was always seventy-two degrees, hushed and fluorescent daytime. The air rumbled, and I caught my breath. Was there a thunderstorm brewing? An old truck bumped along the street next to me.

When I came to the corner of the back of the building, I hit an invisible, muggy wall. I recoiled as a deafening noise crushed the roar of cars and buses. A huge crater pocked the entire block behind our dormitory, as if a bomb had gone off a few hours earlier. Bulldozers, dump trucks, and one-armed rolling thingies with huge arms and scraping claws growled as they moved. I hadn't seen this when Mom dropped me off a week ago. Had the world gone crazy while we were dancing away inside?

A sign lashed to the chain link fence barring access to the street behind the dorm said something about a new hotel.

I leaned my shoulder against the hot building, hiding my face. What were my options? Climb back up the steep incline and sneak in the main entrance? Not likely. Even sneaking past the front entrance to check what was around the far side of the building was too chancy. I drew my hand across my face, wiping the sweat away. Maybe I missed the entrance to the garage. Where was the sign to the underground parking?

I flattened myself against the building's hot, rough side. There it was. Not the sign I'd been searching for. This one was over the entrance to the building across the street from the dorm and read, “Chester Park University Department of Psychology.” Several stories above the door, a sky bridge spanned the street, connecting the psychology building to mine.

From the ground floor to where the bridge joined the psychology building were nine floors. I waited for a lull in the traffic and bolted across the street. I wasn't sure I wanted to go into the building, especially a psychology building. Why couldn't it have been a nice safe history or English building? What if I wasn't able to use the sky bridge?

And if I went in, I'd have to deal with a security guard. I glanced up the street to the intersection. My hand froze to the door handle as Mrs. Sykes with her glowing orangey-pink toes stomped across Main Street, her hat bobbing on her head. I threw open the door and fled inside.

Another blast, this time of cold air instead of rude car horns, greeted me. Even before my eyes adjusted to the dim light inside, I knew there wasn't a security desk because of the echo of my footsteps in the quiet, empty lobby.
Woo hoo.
I tucked the worst of the stray ends into the rest of my hair and strolled to the elevators, enjoying the calm atmosphere. Almost back to the safety of my dorm where no one is the wiser. What an ordeal. And what did I accomplish? Nothing, except a sore toe. I'll have time this weekend to write another letter. Maybe things will change by Monday. It would all work out.

As I waited for the elevator, a girl with super long blond hair and two people in white lab coats clustered near me. The light above the elevator flashed, and the doors opened. We got in.

“Nine, please,” I said to a professor-type guy with massive, black-rimmed eyeglasses.

“Me, too.” The blonde girl jerked her head at me like we were part of a team.

A tall girl with her thin black hair scraped into a low ponytail pressed a clipboard to her white chest. “Are you both here for the psychology lab?” She peered at my new friend and me and leaned in to read my nametag. “Kitri?”

“Umm.” I leaned back.

The girl with hair practically to her knees nodded.

“What's your name?” she asked her.

“Hilary from Dr. West's class.”

She marked Hilary's name on her clipboard. “Kitri, I don't see your name here.”

Help. Would they arrest me for trespassing? Fling me onto the hot street outside? A possible plan flashed through my mind.
Return to Grant, turn left at the first intersection after Main and left again so I'd approach the other side of my building by making a giant loop.
It'd work. “No problem. I can leave.”

“We can still use her. Right, Dr. Kennedy?”

“Most certainly.” He rubbed his hands together. “We'll start with these two until the rest of the students show up.”

I shook my head. “I'll come back later.” I reached for the elevator panel to press the lobby button.

The guy with glasses waved my hand away. “You'll get credit for the lab. Besides, it's a requirement for psych. It'll only take thirty minutes tops.”

Did they think I was in college? Must be my height. Grandma said it added five years to my age. Would they report me if they knew I wasn't a college student? How long had I been gone from the dorm? I pictured Mrs. Sykes marching into the psychology building to collect me so I could pack my clothes and leave.

The elevator shuddered to a stop. When the doors opened, Dr. Kennedy swept his hand over the threshold. “After you. We'll start with Kitty and Hilary.”

Kitty?
What's with old guys and my name?
I frowned.

Dr. Kennedy and the tall girl with the ponytail ushered Rapunzel and me into a small room with two sets of tables and chairs. “Carey, have our participants choose their roles.”

Carey picked up two slips of paper from a table and offered them to me. “Pick one, please.”

I hesitated. If this little experiment would keep them from calling security, I'd go along. I pulled a strip from Carey's hand and read it. “Teacher?”

She handed the other one to Hilary.

“It says learner.”

“Off you go.” Dr. Kennedy opened the door for her. “Right next door.”

“See you later, Kitri.” Hilary waved as she left with Dr. Kennedy.

Scary Carey motioned me to sit at the desk with a white box. It had several red buttons on it and a cord running through the wall.

Carey drew a long breath through her narrow nose. “Your job is to teach word pairs to Hilary. Then you'll test her.” She flicked on something like a baby monitor. “Hilary, can you hear me?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” Carey placed a paper written with four sets of two words side-by-side. Her dagger-like finger pointed at the top one. “Review these with her.”

“No problem.” I cleared my throat, wishing I'd gotten a drink at the water fountain by the elevators, and read the four word pairs. “Got that, Hilary?”

Her voice came over the speaker. “I think so.”

Carey reached over my shoulder and set another paper in front of me. “Read the word and its possible answers. Hilary will respond. If she's wrong, press the first button.” Carey pointed to button number one.

“What'll that do? Keep score?”

Carey pressed her lips together, a younger version of Mrs. Sykes. “For every wrong answer Hilary gives, press a red button. This will give her a shock.”

When I twisted in my chair, I fell off. “A shock?” I grappled to regain my balance.

“If she continues to give incorrect answers, you press the next and the next buttons.”

“Why the different buttons?”

Carey paused. “It'll increase the voltage of the shock by fifteen volts. Let's start.”

I stared at the buttons and pointed to the last button with my trembling finger. “How many volts is this one worth?”