The First Small Thing

The next morning the halls of Bluestone Bay High were packed with students trying to sign up for the last clubs before finals. Posters for football, band, yearbook, and the library volunteer program covered the walls. Everything looked normal, noisy, ordinary, harmless. Only Mara knew her pulse was beating too fast as she walked through the front doors, like a tape deck stuck on rewind. She and the others met in the old equipment room. Nobody said the obvious thing out loud. Nobody asked if they were losing their minds. They were all waiting for the same thing. At 9:07 a.m., the school broadcast system kicked on by itself. “Good morning, Bluestone Bay,” Mara’s voice came out of the speakers in the exact warm tone she used on Tuesdays.