ONE OF THE SURVIVORS by SUSAN SHAW

Author:SUSAN SHAW
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Margaret K. McElderry Books
Published: 2009-07-15T00:00:00+00:00

This time— snap! I woke up from that half-world and everybody was staring at me.

“What?” I asked. From the way they were looking at me, I knew something was wrong. I looked for the teacher, Mr. Pavarotti, but he was out of the room.

“Murderers,” said Becky Frome.

“Murderers,” echoed Ed Wilson.

“Murderers.”

“Murderers.”

“Murderers.”

I looked around the room for support. But I didn’t really know the kids in this class. Why did they hate us?

“Murderers.”

Maureen was sitting all huddled in her chair, white as library paste. She stood up. The girl on her right shoved her, and she almost fell. She didn’t look at the girl—Ariel, a large girl with big arms and legs. Maureen’s wide blue eyes didn’t look at her, just at me, only at me, as she came forward.

“Murderers,” said Ariel.

“Come on, Joey,” Maureen said to me, like we were the only two people in the room. She continued walking, never stopping.

“Murderers!”

It had become a chant. “Murderers, murderers, murderers!”

Why were they acting like this?

“Murderers! Murderers!”

“Stop!” I shouted. “We’re innocent.”

And they stopped—sort of. Like the quiet of a wave that crashes on the shore before it gets sucked back to sea. But that wave comes back, maybe bigger and stronger.

“MURDERERS, MURDERERS, MURDERERS!”

Maureen made it to the door, mostly avoiding the pushing and shoving hands that reached out. Mostly, but one kid got her so hard that she spun around. “Come on, Joey,” she called from the door, scared-sounding. Again she gave me that look of hers that saw only me. “Come on!” Then she left the room.

“Yeah, Joey, come on,” someone said three rows over. A boy with black hair. “Yeah, Joey!”

“Yeah, Joey, yeah, Joey!” The chant built as everyone joined in. “Yeah, Joey, yeah, Joey!

I grabbed my backpack and stood up. I started to leave, but my way was blocked by four or five guys. Strangers.

“Yeah, Joey!”

“We’re innocent.” I backed away from the soccer-like wall formation. “We did not set that fire.” Why did they hate us?

Smack! Something hard struck me on the cheekbone. A piece of chalk broke at my feet. Marcus Perry, next to the rear blackboard, smirked at me. I knew him from my gym class, but I didn’t know he didn’t like me. He’d never acted like that before. He’d even joked with me over a basketball play just the week before. Now he made a kissing noise with his mouth.

I looked around for Mr. Pavarotti. Where was he?

More chalk, pencils, pens pelted my face, my chest, and those kids blocking my path didn’t move. I kept backing away, but there was nowhere to go. Harder and harder came the chalk and pens. More kids were getting up from their seats. They were closing in on all sides.

Sock! to my right cheek. With that sock the wave formed again and surged around me.

Sock! Smack! Hit! Tear! I reeled and turned with each impact. Any second I’d be on the floor.

“Please—”

Then a stronger hit turned into a grab and I was dragged by my shoulder to the door. “I’ll take care of him,” shouted Derek Masterman.

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