Without Mercy - Lisa Jackson [112]
Shay swore under her breath at the thought of the stain. Giving up, she wadded the paper towel, tossed it into the trash, then stormed out, unafraid to share her pissed-off mood with the world. She didn’t look over her shoulder but figured Jules could deal with the two stupid TAs.
Maybe.
So far, Jules was proving to be a big disappointment.
CHAPTER 29
Bam!
A rubber ball smacked into the back of the last remaining student on the green team, a short, smooth-faced boy, quick on his feet but not quite fast enough. Before he could step out of the way, two more balls hit him in the midsection. The kid made a fist, hit an imaginary target, and tried not to swear as his teammates, lined against the wall and already out, groaned in unison.
On the other side of the court, their opponents, wearing yellow mesh pinnies, whooped, hollered, and gave each other high fives. Several of the guys raised their hands, jabbing a single finger in the air. Their team was “number one.”
From the Olympics to a mini dodge ball tournament at Blue Rock Academy, the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat never changed, Trent thought as he blew the whistle. At least the tourney had provided a distraction from the pall that had settled over the school. “Okay, yellow team wins this round!”
More shouting and jumping from the students in the yellow vests.
The green team fell morosely quiet, as if the tourney really mattered. Two kids grabbed stray balls and started shooting hoops.
“Hey! Balls in.” Trent blew his whistle and caught everyone’s attention again. “That’s it! We’ll call it a day. So tomorrow is the dodge ball finals, and Wednesday we start martial arts.” Neither of the two sports were Trent’s favorites. He preferred canoeing and rafting and horseback riding, even snowshoeing, over indoor activities. But because of the blizzard and security concerns, they were stuck inside.
He heard a few boys on the yellow team taunting the losing team. “Enough! Now listen up. Pick up the balls and hit the showers!” A few of the younger kids on the green team tossed the balls into the cart, which they rolled into a closet while others took off at the speed of light to avoid any extra work. Finally, the kids who’d helped him ran off the court to catch up with their classmates.
As he locked the closet and was about to snap off the lights to the gym, Trent noticed Reverend Lynch standing in the doorway near the front entrance. He’d probably been watching all along. That’s the way it was with the school’s director, always observing or dropping into class unannounced. Usually he reminded Trent of Ichabod Crane from The Legend of Sleepy Hollow, but today, bundled in a ski jacket and insulated pants, he seemed less gangly as he strode across the gym.
“Mr. Trent.” Lynch smiled, though there was little humor in the lines of his face. He crossed the glossy gym floor in his boots, tracking water and snow. Clueless. “Do you have a minute?”
“Sure,” Trent said, though he felt a tightening in the back of his neck. This was the first time since he’d been hired that Lynch had searched him out. In the past, he’d been summoned to the reverend’s private office, usually with a group of teachers. “Careful with the shoes.”
“What?” Lynch looked down and sighed, finally noticing the wet tracks. “Oh. Sorry.”
“What can I do for you?” Trent walked with Lynch into the wide hallway that was the main entrance to the building.
“I was told by Sheriff O’Donnell that you’ve been deputized.”
Trent gave a quick nod. “That’s right.”
“And you worked as a deputy for a sheriff’s department in Montana. That’s in your file.”
“Pinewood County.”
“Good. Well, then, it only makes sense. I think Blaine O’Donnell might want a few more deputies, and if he asks, I’m going to suggest Bert Flannagan and Kirk Spurrier. They’re already in charge of security.”
“No women?” Trent grabbed a folded towel from the cart near the shower room.
“Oh.” Lynch’s mouth twitched. “You