Heather Gudenkauf - One Breath Away

I settle onto the hard linoleum floor and rest my back against the side of Mr. Ellery’s desk. Beth sits down on one side of me, Drew on the other. Mr. Ellery first goes to the window and lowers the blinds and then goes to the phone sitting on his desk, picks it up, puts the receiver to his ear and then eventually hangs up. He pulls himself up onto the desk, his long legs not quite touching the floor. “Phone isn’t working,” he says. After a minute he reaches into his pocket for his cell phone and punches in three numbers.

After several tries he finally says, “This is Jason Ellery from the school. Something seems to be going on here.” He listens for a moment. “Yes, everyone in my class is safe and accounted for.” He listens again and then reaches for his grade book that he keeps on his desk. One by one he reads off our names in alphabetical order. My name comes last, I suppose because I joined the class midyear. “Augustine Baker,” he says, and I hear Noah snort back a laugh. “Will Thwaite’s granddaughter.” Again there is silence as he listens. “The classroom phones aren’t working, my cell is about halfway charged.” He pulls the phone from his mouth and says in a loud whisper, “Anyone have their cell phone with them?” No one says anything. We’re supposed to keep our phones in our lockers and not bring them into the classroom with us. Supposedly, some kids were using their phones to look up test answers on the internet and texting during class and the principal banned phones in the classroom. “Come on,” he says more loudly. “We don’t have time for this. Does anyone have their cell phone with them right now?” Three hands slowly go up, including Noah Plum’s. No surprise there. “Make sure they’re turned off and bring them here.”

“No way,” Noah snorts. “It’s my phone.”

“Noah, I’m not kidding around here,” Mr. Ellery says sharply. “We don’t know how long we’re going to be stuck in here. The school phones don’t work and we need to conserve the batteries on the phones we do have.”

“I want to call my mom,” Beth calls out in a soft voice. “Can I call my mom?”

“Me, too,” someone says, and there is a chorus of me, toos and I find my voice joining in. I want nothing more than to talk to my mother right now. I wouldn’t freeze her out the way I have for the past two months, answering her questions in three words or less. Okay, I guess. I don’t know. Yeah .

“I can’t stop you, but we could be here for a long time. The 9-1-1 dispatcher knows everyone is okay and will let your folks know. Someone is going to call us back when they have more info.” Mr. Ellery shrugs his shoulders and waits.

Noah immediately starts punching numbers into his phone and before I can stop myself I whisper loudly, “What an idiot.”

“Shut up, Augustine ,” he snarls, but snaps the phone shut and sets it next to where Mr. Ellery is sitting. The others with phones do the same.

“Thanks, guys,” Mr. Ellery says. “You can have them back at any time. For now we just wait.” He pulls himself up onto his desk. He holds a long slim, wooden pointer that he uses to show us capitals of countries none of us will probably ever visit and I wonder if he really thinks that a simple stick can protect us from whatever is out there. But I’m still glad he’s here. Mr. Ellery won’t let anything bad happen to us.

As I move back toward the parking lot I see Dorothy Jones, the owner of Knitting and Notions, a local craft shop, and the president of the school board, walking toward me.

“Hi, Dorothy, I don’t have any info. You’ll have to move back behind the tape.”

“Please, Meg,” she begs. “I’ll just take a few minutes of your time. It’s important.” I invite her to join me in the cruiser. She walks around to the other side of the car, opens the door and climbs in.

Dorothy is fiftyish with midnight-black hair that is cut into a severe, chin-length bob and is attractive in an eclectic, trendy way. She normally wears bright red lipstick and artfully ripped jeans and Chuck Taylor tennis shoes, but now her face is bare of any makeup and she has on sweatpants and a thin spring coat. She has resided in Broken Branch for just over two years, but has accomplished much in the short time she has lived here. A single mother of two teens who attend the school, Dorothy opened Knitting and Notions, renovated an old farmhouse south of town and managed to be elected to the local school board, ousting Clement Heitzman, who had been president for the past twelve years. Dorothy has also been instrumental in the coordination of the consolidation of several area schools, which will now lead to the closing of Broken Branch’s school, sending all the high school kids to the nearby town of Conway, the middle school students to Bohr and the elementary students to Dalsing or Broken Branch, depending on where they live. The construction of Broken Branch’s new elementary school is scheduled to be completed this July, ready to open at the end of August. Many folks around town are miffed with Dorothy for closing their beloved school, as most townspeople spent the entirety of their education within the walls of that building. As somewhat of an outsider, I can understand the reasoning for closing the school. It’s a monstrosity, impossible to heat in the winter and sweltering in the warm months. Its water heater and furnace are ancient and I’m certain the ceilings are full of asbestos. Dorothy, along with the superintendent of schools, somehow convinced the rest of the board that by consolidating four area towns’ schools, the children would be well-educated and safe.

Dorothy gathers her spring jacket more tightly around herself. “I should have never put away my winter coat. That little taste of spring we had last week fooled me.” Dorothy gives me a pained smile. I try not to appear impatient, but I certainly don’t have time to talk weather with the school board president. I smile back but do not respond to her small talk. Dorothy takes a deep breath and looks at me levelly. “I can’t be sure about this, but I wanted to make sure you knew about a few things that had been going on in the school. Things that could possibly have some relevance to what’s happening.”

“What kinds of things?” I ask.

“Technically, I’m not supposed to say anything about this. The discussions we had were in a closed session of a board meeting.”

Now I am beginning to become impatient. “Dorothy,” I say, “if you have any information that will help us resolve what’s going on in there, you need to tell me.”

“I could get in big trouble for this. There are legal issues, lawyers involved.”

“Dorothy,” I say warningly.

“I know, I know.” Dorothy bites her lip. “There was a personnel issue with a teacher last year. He was charged with assaulting a student last year.”

“Yes, Rick Wilbreicht,” I recall. “I remember that. I thought he moved to Sioux City, but we’ll definitely have someone check it out. Thank you.” I pat her on the shoulder and wait for her to exit the car. She stays put.

“Dorothy, I really need to get moving here.”

“Okay.” Dorothy exhales loudly. “I’ve become aware of a situation with one of the students here. Severe bullying. Name calling, pushing, hitting.”

“Really?” I ask in surprise. Not that I’m not naive that bullying is going on in the school, but I would have thought the school administration would have reported any physical abuse to us. But still, I don’t have time for this unless it directly relates to this case. “Dorothy, is this going somewhere?”

“The student did report it to his teachers, many times. But nothing changed.”

“So you think this student is so angry, he would have gone into the school with a gun to get revenge? Was the bullying that bad?”