The Dissident: A Novel by Nell Freudenberger

Author:Nell Freudenberger [Freudenberger, Nell]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 0060758724
Amazon: B002WTCARS
Publisher: Harper Perennial
Published: 2006-01-02T08:00:00+00:00

216

N E L L F R E U D E N B E R G E R

“Thank you,” I told the security guard. “I’m sorry to trouble you. I seem to have left my keys at home.”

“No trouble,” Willie said. Then he switched on his walkie-talkie and barked something unintelligible into the microphone.

“Excuse me,” I said. “Who is that?”

“Office,” Willie said casually. “Just letting ’em know.” As I followed the security guard up the south stairs (my students following me), I wished passionately for an earthquake, a fire, or the Second Coming of Jesus Christ. I wished for an ability I had seen exercised by a teenage alien on television, who could stop time simply by pressing her index fingers together in front of her nose.

I had been cherishing a hope that my students were exaggerating: that June Wang had simply left a sandwich in my room after school, which was rotting in the overheated classroom. The moment we got into the gallery, however, I had to abandon that idea. Although it was usually a popular place for students to study, that morning the gallery was empty—or almost empty: standing in front of my classroom was Vice Principal Diller, wearing a midnight blue suit, a red and blue scarf, and a large pair of clip-on earrings, two spiky gold anemones adrift in the stiff waves of her hair.

They seemed especially appropriate in light of the current situation, since there was now no mistaking the smell.

“Fish!” my students cried. “It smells like dead fish!” They covered their mouths and noses and made sounds of disgust. I couldn’t help noticing that these gestures were overdone a bit, and aimed in the direction of the vice principal. But Laurel Diller ignored them: she was one of those disciplinarians you find in schools all over the world, who seem to relish their own unpopularity.

“Do you have any idea what’s going on, Professor Yuan?” she asked.

Both she and Principal McCoy insisted on that honorific, although I had assured them on several occasions that it had not been earned.

“I’m sorry,” I stammered. “I seem to have left my key at home.” She nodded, as if this was to be expected. “Line up,” she barked at the girls. “You should have been in line for Professor Yuan at 8:14— as you know. ”

The girls took their hands away from their faces and lined up.

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