No One's Watching by Sandy Green

Author:Sandy Green [Green, Sandy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Astraea Press, LLC
Published: 2014-04-12T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirty-Two

My empty stomach twisted and shriveled. I shuffled my feet under the desk, the steps to the dance of regret. Something I just choreographed.

Carey pointed to the first red button. “The experiment requires you to continue.”

I laid my hand over the knob of pain. Which was worse — being the one inflicting the pain, even if you didn’t mean to hurt anyone, or having to endure it?

My skin tightened, as if it had shrunk in all the humidity. I pressed the button, and Hilary yelped.

I cringed and licked my lips. “Try again.” I knew she’d get it right this time. Giving a little more stress to C’s right answer.

Hilary hesitated. “A?”

My feet quieted, and I shook my head.

Carey reached over my shoulder. Her white coat brushed my arm as she indicated the next button. “It’s absolutely essential you continue.”

Why? How could I hurt someone deliberately? I balanced my hands on the edge of the table. I’d always been a rule follower, but I’d been breaking them all over the place since I got to camp. Here was another broken rule for the record. I pushed myself back, knocking the chair into Carey. I didn’t care if they called security. For all they knew, I was simply a student with a bad attitude. Like that was new.

The door banged as I flung it open and charged down the hall, escaping to the exit sign. I hoped it was the bridge and not the stairs.

As I pushed through the exit door, Carey yelled, “You won’t get credit if you quit.”

I wasn’t quitting. I was moving on to something else. Changing my mind. Change wasn’t bad. Dr. Kennedy popped out of the other room and roared.

As I crossed the glass-enclosed bridge, nine floors above the street, my sandals snapped at my heels like sharks. Cars sped below me. I picked up speed and burst through the doors on the other side of the bridge to my building. I stopped and glanced left to right, searching for the stairs.

Of all places to wind up, the ninth floor bridge connected to the dance camp faculty rooms in my building. I had no luck. Irish or otherwise. It proved to me again I didn’t belong in the Irish dance class. Mom knew best, and she’d never want me in an Irish dance class. What about me? Not so sure, but I went along with what I thought Mom would want.

How did I know this was where all the teachers and administrators stayed? Mrs. Ricardo walked out of the ninth floor laundry room down the hall carrying a load of wash in a basket on her hip.

I edged toward the bridge’s doors. As I pushed through the door, my hand slipped on the hip bar, and my face smashed against the door.

“Hold on there.” Mrs. Ricardo raised her arm like a traffic policeman.

I faced her and bit my lip.

“What are you doing on this floor?”

“I got lost.” I waved my arms helplessly up and down the hall.

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