Fire Drill
They were standing in the yard, shivering in lines that weren't really lines.
Someone had pulled the fire alarm during third period. No one said who. Probably Dennis. Hard to say.
The cold cut through uniforms like paper. Blazers did nothing. Ties flapped in the wind like they wanted to escape. One of the teachers had lost their clipboard and was pacing like the fire drill had become a personal attack.
Plug clapped his freezing cold thin hands together once, like he was checking that he still had feeling in them.
Sidney stood off to the side, green eyes half-lidded, like he was trying to nap standing up. His breath fogged the air in slow, even drags. His faux hawk was wet from the drizzle, clinging to his forehead, adding to the sharpness in his features.
Cuthbert was still trying to revise his textbook, and not dare miss another minute of precious study time, even though the wet dripped on the pages blurring the text.
Wilfred pulled his green jumper up over his cold ears, trying to block the wind on his bare, shaved head.
Spotty frowned at his freckled hands. "My fingers are going blue."
Danny shrugged, his own hands buried deep in the pockets of his blazer. His black hair wind-tossed and unruly. "Better than being inside."
Toots stood beside him, her black hair slightly in the damp, fringe falling into her green eyes. Her cheeks were pink from the cold, lips flushed. She had her arms crossed tightly over her school blazer trying to trap whatever warmth she could.
She shifted a little closer to Danny, to share a bit of warmth. Danny didn't pull away. He leaned in slightly, a small, unconscious movement—then stayed there, huddled a little closer to her.
Smiffy, three people down, was explaining to Wilfred that if there were an actual fire, they'd all be "very probably doomed."
They were standing in the yard, shivering in lines that weren't really lines.
Someone had pulled the fire alarm during third period. No one said who. Probably Dennis. Hard to say.
The cold cut through uniforms like paper. Blazers did nothing. Ties flapped in the wind like they wanted to escape. One of the teachers had lost their clipboard and was pacing like the fire drill had become a personal attack.
Plug clapped his freezing cold thin hands together once, like he was checking that he still had feeling in them.
Sidney stood off to the side, green eyes half-lidded, like he was trying to nap standing up. His breath fogged the air in slow, even drags. His faux hawk was wet from the drizzle, clinging to his forehead, adding to the sharpness in his features.
Cuthbert was still trying to revise his textbook, and not dare miss another minute of precious study time, even though the wet dripped on the pages blurring the text.
Wilfred pulled his green jumper up over his cold ears, trying to block the wind on his bare, shaved head.
Spotty frowned at his freckled hands. "My fingers are going blue."
Danny shrugged, his own hands buried deep in the pockets of his blazer. His black hair wind-tossed and unruly. "Better than being inside."
Toots stood beside him, her black hair slightly in the damp, fringe falling into her green eyes. Her cheeks were pink from the cold, lips flushed. She had her arms crossed tightly over her school blazer trying to trap whatever warmth she could.
She shifted a little closer to Danny, just enough to share a bit of warmth. He didn't pull away. Instead, he leaned in—just slightly, a small, unconscious movement—then stayed there, huddled a little closer to her, his heart beating a little faster.
Smiffy, three people down, was explaining to Wilfred that if there were an actual fire, they'd all be "very probably doomed."
Danny exhaled slowly, steam curling from his mouth before fading into the grey as Toots warm body leaned against him, the cold forgotten for a moment.
The high, whiny scream of the alarm still echoed, shrill and endless.
Eventually, someone came out with a clipboard. Not the right teacher, but close enough. The doors were opened. They didn't move straight away. The cold had settled into their bones.