Sara kept to the shadows around the school. The day’s humiliation warmed her cheeks. How dare he read her diary to the class? He should know better.
She could still see Mr. Marson peering over his wire rimmed glasses. He’d caught her trying to retrieve her book from the boy who’d taken it. “What is that Miss Yates?”
“Nothing.”
“Then you won’t mind reading a bit to us.”
She shook her head.
He glared. “Read."
Even now her heart pounded at what followed. Diaries weren’t meant to be read aloud. He had no right. She refused and he sent her to the office. Mr. Marson’s voice, reading a new entry, followed her. “Why do I feel like I do?”
Crickets chirped in the mist and the muted crashing of waves against the docks mixed with the memory of her classmates’ laughter. She tugged at the bathroom window, open as she’d left it that afternoon. I’ll get my book and go.
Sara climbed through and dropped to the other side. She stumbled back from the fire circle. Fire circle?
“You’re late,” a voice said.