Hello Monday

Part 2; 2:14 pm

"Dr. Sanders!" I cry out to the more than empty room. Oh dear, where is she?

I run to the supply closet, the cleanroom, the preparation room; the sound of doors banging on the wall being the only sound resonating through the rooms, and yet still no signs of my biology teacher. Forgetting the reason why I came to the lab in the first place, I run out with empty hands.

For the fifth time today, I climb up the stairs, vaguely aware of the burning sensation in my legs. I am overwhelmed with worry, sweat rolling down my skin in thick, salty beads. I scurry as fast as I could to the seventh-floor teachers' lounge, my shuffling loud in the empty hallway. Too worried to stop and catch my breath, I slam the door open.

Seven pairs of eyes stare back at me.

I grimace. "I'm sorry... for barging... in... like... that," I stop to catch my breath, then I continue, "Have you seen Dr. Sanders?"

They shake their heads simultaneously. I grimace again, turning to quietly exit the lounge. But I don't know why the universe doesn't want me to just have that.

"Aren't you supposed to be in class, Ms. Martel?" my blue-eyed chemistry teacher asks with a raise of his eyebrow.

I look back at him. "I am looking for Dr. Sanders, Sir," I reply nervously.

"You can look for her after class. Nothing could be more important than your education, am I right?" he annoyingly pointed out.

Right now, her safety is more important than my education. Unless I see her, I cannot just sit and not be worried. "Yes, Sir," I say, gritting my teeth. I exit the lounge, wanting more than anything to slam the door close but opt to close it gently instead, not wanting to be on the receiving end of Mr. Smith's wrath.

There is no use in trying to convince Mr. Smith. He values education more than he values his life. It's sad, really. Besides, I can't make a fuss without knowing whether Dr. Sanders is really missing or not. Keeping this to myself lets me hold on to the hope that Dr. Sanders is, for all I know, safely sitting down in the cafeteria eating her lunch. I tell myself that her lab was messy because she was looking for a paper and had no time to clean it up because of that darn fire alarm. Ah, the fire alarm. Yes, that must definitely be why.

I let out a breath. Okay, maybe this whole time, I was worrying over nothing. I grab my bag that was discarded on the floor and made my way to the classroom at the end of the hallway. Stopping in front of the classroom door, I sigh and hold my fist up to the door. Knocking three steady times, I let myself in, keeping my eyes to the floor.

"I'm sorry for being late."

"Are you talking to the floor, girl?" a familiar voice calls out. I lift my head quickly (too quickly that I swear I heard a crack), eyes wide, mouth open. Relief floods me as the teacher who I was just looking for a few seconds ago stands in my line of sight, holding up a yellow pouch that definitely has my initials stitched on the top right corner.

Not caring about the fourteen students and the teacher who are staring at me like I grew another head, I run up to her and grin, "Dr. Sanders!" I wrap my arms around her and hug her with all my might.

"You make it seem like we have not seen each other in ages. Were you not in my class twenty minutes ago?" she laughs. I am in no mood for laughter, though, so I pull away from her.

Wasting no time, I report to her, all in one breath,"I was just at the lab and it was a mess!"

Probably not expecting the news I bombarded her with, her hands that are on my shoulders go limp. "What? What was messy?"

"Papers, all over the place."

"And everything else?"

"All the equipment untouched."

She let out a breath. "Phew, you worried me for a second there. It was probably just someone who was looking for something." Looking at the worry that is probably displayed on my entire face, she gives my head a pat. "Linette, how many times should I remind you not to create stories in your head and fill your heart with worry?"

That's Dr. Irene Sanders for you.

When I first came to this school and couldn't trust anyone, not even myself, she was with me every step of the way, supporting me. She taught me things my own mother never cared to teach me. She is wise and kind, the epitome of goodness. Try your hardest, I can bet you won't be able to find a single bad bone in her body. She is the perfect example of the kind of person I want to be when I grow older.

Not only is she my teacher, but she is also the mother I never had. She understands my struggles, especially the struggles I face in this school. Sure, I have a GPA of 3.91, but that places me in the tenth percentile. There were countless times when I nearly shared the fate of Sharon Gerber, but Dr. Sanders didn't allow that. She was always there helping me when my mother was 400 miles away, still on the phone, bragging about a daughter who was barely surviving in a prestigious school. I was told countless times 'No one will ever love you as much as your mother,' but that's a lie. If it wasn't a lie, does that make Dr. Sanders my mother?

"What is going on inside this head of yours?" Dr. Sanders asks, poking my head.

I rub my eyes, "I don't think I'm getting enough sleep."

Before I could hear Dr. Sanders' reply, a shrill noise blasts from the speakers, making us jump in surprise. The deafening sound bounces off the walls and into our already damaged ears. It's so loud I can't even hear myself think.

Please. Not another alarm. Burn me. Just light me on fire now.

"DIDN'T WE HAVE OUR FIRE DRILL JUST TEN MINUTES AGO? WHY IS THERE ANOTHER ONE? SHOULD WE HEAD OUTSIDE AGAIN?" a student screams at the top of her lungs, trying to ask a question to no one in particular over all the noise. I feel bad; she received no reply because everyone is too busy trying to stop their ears from bleeding.

All of a sudden, Mr. Emmett, the other teacher present in the room, walks to the window and pulls down the blinds. Probably feeling the curious stares of fifteen pairs of eyes, he explains himself in a booming voice,

"THIS IS NOT A FIRE ALARM. IT'S A LOCKDOWN ALARM."