Silverlighters (revised version as I edit)

5

                                                     5

“Just drop me off here,” I said when we were a few blocks away from the school.

I needed time to get my head straight. I also needed all the practice I could get in the ridiculous heels I was wearing. I have no idea what I was thinking.

“What abou–”

“Dad – I can handle it,” I said.

“You’re sure?”

Not in the slightest would have been more accurate.

I nodded and he pulled over, still looking dubious.

“I’ll be fine.” I leaned over, giving him a quick peck on the cheek, just above his beard.

He wasn’t used to public displays of affection. His face immediately went red. But I couldn’t help myself. He just looked so forlorn, so lost.

I knew it was the boredom. My father doesn’t wear boredom very well. He needs to be busy. It had been almost three weeks since we had left the city.

He cleared his throat. “As long as you’re sure.”

“I’m sure,” I said, taking a good look at him. “You need a shave. Seriously – it makes you look way too old. And while you’re at it, a haircut wouldn’t hurt.”

He just grunted – that seemed to be his answer to everything since the explosion.

The walk did do my head good, but I doubted I would ever get used to the heels.

I walked through the gates, thinking how different this school was to my old one in the city.

The metal fence at the front of the school was low, barely reaching my hip, and on the grass behind it was a large white board announcing upcoming events.

The path led to an ugly two-story brick structure, and a short flight of stairs where the front office was.

The rest of the school was on the other side of the building, but I could hear the normal schoolyard noises drifting through the air towards me as I pushed the door open, quickly taking in my surroundings.

Dull vinyl chairs lined the wall on the right side, and there was a row of framed photographs above them.

Straight ahead was a glass door leading to the other side of the school.

On my left was a counter.

A woman with fuzzy gray hair, and narrow, pinched eyes, glanced up at me through her glasses.

I took a deep breath. I already knew what to do. My father and I had practiced. Way too many times.

“Name?” the woman snapped impatiently when I explained why I was there.

“Ellie. Ellie Fitzpatrick.” Lie one.

“You need a parent to–”

“Dad had to work.” The lie slipped easily from my mouth. It wasn’t so hard after all. In fact, it was way too easy.

I shoved the paperwork at her. “He’s already signed everything.”

“We’ll need the name of your last school so we can have your records transferred,” she huffed.

My dad was nothing if not organized. When they called through for the records they would learn there weren’t any. The school had burnt down the week before. Along with the records of a girl called Elizabeth Fitzpatrick who’d transferred out the same week.