Outside the Lines Read Online Free PDF Page A

days, we open the partitions and they eat inside as a group.”
    The guy reaches into his pocket, but Principal Richmond holds up his hand to stop him when he comes out with a thick wad of cash. “We don’t allow students to carry money on campus. When we’re done here, I’ll take you to the office and have you purchase a scan card for Nutritional Services.”
    The guy nods, then moves to the door and jiggles the knob. “The exterior doors are left unlocked?”
    â€œDuring school hours, yes,” Principal Richmond answers, moving to my desk and shuffling through the papers I pulled for Sherm.
    The guy’s full lips narrow into a tight line and he scowls at the door. He spins and starts toward the door in the back of the room, leaving no stone unturned.
    I wipe my hands down my slacks again and decide just to ask. “So, you’re Sherm’s father?”
    His feet stall on the chipped linoleum and he seems to finally notice I exist. “Brother,” he answers, and that one word seems to carry the weight of the world with it as it falls from his mouth.
    His eyes make a slow sweep of my face, and as they trail down my neck, the front of my sweater, over my hips, and down my legs, I’m frozen in place, paralyzed by the intensity of his gaze.
    Principal Richmond shoves some papers in my face, breaking the spell. “You still have fifteen minutes until the bell. Maybe you can get Sherman started on these.”
    â€œUm . . .” I grab the papers out of his hand as Big Brother blinks, some of the thickest lashes I’ve ever seen hiding those incredible eyes. “Yeah. We’ll do that . . .”
    Principal Richmond guides Big Brother to the door. “Let’s get out of their way and let them get started. I’m sure Sherman will have a positive experience here. Children his age tend to adjust quickly,” he’s saying as the door swings closed behind them.
    I look down to see Sherm has pulled a small shark jaw off the bookshelf in front of my desk. I lean down and look over Mrs. Martin’s “cabinet of curiosities,” as she calls it—things that fascinated me as a kid. “That’s the jaw of an Atlantic sharpnose shark.”
    Sherm tugs at a chain around his neck as he turns the jaw in his hands, inspecting it from every angle. A thick gold ring at the end of the short chain slides out from under his shirt. What looks like a diamond sparkles in the center of the band.
    â€œWhat’s that, Sherm?” I ask, ducking my head for a closer look.
    He lowers his gaze and fists his hand over the ring, tucking it back down his shirt. He obviously doesn’t want to talk about it.
    â€œYou know what?” I say instead of asking again. “Let’s do the tour first. Okay?”
    He looks a little mournfully at the shark jaw then at me, like he’s afraid I’ll make him put it down.
    â€œYou can bring it with us,” I say, standing, “as long as you promise it won’t bite me. I’m sort of scared of sharks.” This is not a lie. I’ve always had a phobia, which is why, despite growing up on the beach, I’ve never gone into the ocean deeper than my knees.
    He shakes his head.
    â€œOkay, then. Let’s go.”
    We move toward the door in the back of the room that leads to the short hall to the restrooms. “If you need the bathroom, just raise your hand. This is where the boys’ bathroom is,” I say, stopping in front of the door.
    He holds up the shark jaw and makes it nod.
    I can’t stop the smile. He’s a cute kid, but his eyes seem older than his nine years, making me wonder where his parents are and why his older brother is the one bringing him for his first day of school. And why said older brother seems so concerned about campus security and locked classroom doors. It also hasn’t missed my attention that Sherm hasn’t spoken a word.
    I