I tried to step back. Time to bolt. Beouf shifted her hand down my back and blocked my path. She pressed a finger to her lips and quietly shushed me.

“Everything seems to be in order here,” Brollish said, shutting the cabinets. “Tracy does a very good job organizing the cabinets for you.”

I stayed silent. Nothing to confirm or deny. No falling into last minute word traps. Next, Brollish went over to my student’s cubbies, looking carefully into each one, moving aside blankets as if she expected to find something.

Because she did expect to find something…

Someone had planted something for her to find and told her where to look.

She’d gone straight from the tall cabinets to my kids’ cubbies and they weren’t anywhere near each other.

Lastly, she went over to my desk. My teacher’s desk. My big thick desk that was too big for me and could have doubled as a small tree-house. She slid open the top drawer and looked inside. All I kept in there were staples and paperclips.

That’s all she found, too.

Quietly, Mrs. Brollish walked back up to us. “Everything seems to be in order. Mrs. Beouf. Ms. Grange. Mr. Gibson. Have a good weekend.”

And she was gone.

I let go of Janet’s hand and looked at my old colleague resentfully. “Mrs. Beouf?! What just happened?”

“Seriously,” Janet echoed my tone. “What the hell?”