Charlotte coughed. "Hey, Mom?" she said. Her mother's head whirled to her. "Um, weren't you supposed to call the nurse when we got home?"
"Oh my goodness!" said Mrs. Mielswetzski. "Oh my goodness!" She sprang up and out the door.
Neither Charlotte nor Zee moved for a moment. They listened to Mrs. Mielswetzski's footsteps as they went through the hallway, down the stairs, and into the kitchen. A door closed. They both exhaled. Zee's head tilted slightly, and he whispered, "Thanks!"
"Yeah," Charlotte shrugged. "Let's watch a movie."
Zee's days of bed rest meant he was not in school on Monday, Tuesday, or-just to be safe-Wednesday. As a result he was not there to notice that the school seemed to be slowly emptying out. On Monday, Ashley, Angie, Lewis, and Elizabeth were absent. On Tuesday, Chris, Brad, Gretchen, Audrey, and Larry were gone too, along with half of Charlotte's homeroom. By Wednesday nearly one third of the students in the school were out. Every class had empty seats, and the traffic in the hallways between classes was noticeably lighter. This happens in schools, of course. One day somebody sneezes, and the next day half the school is out sick. It happens every year, twice a year; nothing to worry about, really, though it is perhaps- this time-a little early? Still, it happens. The students will stay home, one by one, and then they will come back, one by one, and there will be all sorts of missed tests to proctor and late assignments to grade and make-up work to, well, make up-or so discussed the teachers in the faculty room, as they do every time.
"It's like a germ incubator in here," said Ms. Dreeper, a science teacher.
"The student body is a fraction of its former self;" said Mr. Crapf, math.
"It's as if the black plague has swept through our school," said Ms. Bristol-Lee, history.
"It's the end of the world," said Mrs. Benihana, drama.
"I suppose we'll all get sick too," someone sighed. "Yeah, I'm beginning to feel it already," another lied. "You know how it is in schools. On Monday one student sneezes, and on Tuesday half the school is out." "What is this? Cold? Sore throat? Stomach?"
"I don't know.."
Everyone in the faculty room looked at one another. They shrugged. They shook their heads. No one spoke. Nobody knew. At least, no one who was saying. Physical examinations were normal, blood tests were normal, everything was normal. Nothing was wrong with the kids, except that they were clearly sick.
By Wednesday afternoon parents had called parents, doctors had called doctors, and all of them had called Mr. Principle, the principal. Whatever it was, it was becoming an epidemic, and parents of students who were not afflicted had no desire to send their children to ground zero. Twenty students gone on Monday became fifty on Tuesday became eighty-five on Wednesday, and that was just too many for Mr. Principle's own comfort. Stranger still, a few more phone calls showed whatever was afflicting the students seemed largely restricted to the middle school-and mostly his middle school. There were ten freshmen and five sophomores out in the upper school, and five fifth graders in the lower, but in the other grades attendance was completely normal.
With the help of the board and the headmaster and the lawyers, Mr. Principle came to the conclusion that there would be no school at Hartnett Prep Middle on Thursday or Friday. It was a long weekend anyway, and that would give everyone a chance to recover, he could get the building examined and cleaned just to make everyone happy, and really, no one needed to be calling in the Centers for Disease Control, that would be really extreme at this point. There was no need to panic. You know how it is at schools. On Monday one student sneezes, and on Tuesday half the students are out sick.
The principal called the parent council leader. The parent council leader called the homeroom parents.
The homeroom parents called all the families. And, from their perches in the sitting room, Mr. and Mrs. Mielswetzski called in Charlotte.
Charlotte found her parents poised in their usual chairs, with books in their laps that they were decidedly not reading. Both Mielswetzskis had a look of some combination of concern and suspicion that made Charlotte want to back away slowly
"Um, you wanted me?" Charlotte asked, biting her lip. She didn't know what she had done wrong, but there was obviously something.
"Charlotte," Mrs. Mielswetzski said, "what's this about a flu?"
"Oh!" Charlotte relaxed a little. "Yeah. A lot of kids are sick."
"Quite a lot, I gather," Mr. Mielswetzski said.
"I guess," Charlotte shrugged.
"You didn't say anything!" said Mrs. Mielswetzski.
"I guess not," Charlotte said. She hadn't. She still hadn't mentioned Maddy to them. There was nothing to say.
"Are you feeling all right?" asked Mr. Mielswetzski.
"Totally," said Charlotte.
"Are you sure? We could call the doctor."
"Nah, I'm totally fine!" said Charlotte.
"Well… they've called school-wide sick days for tomorrow and Friday. So many kids are sick they want to investigate," said Mrs. Mielswetzski.
"Or at least cover their butts," said Mr. Mielswetzski.
"Really, Michael," said Mrs. Mielswetzski.
"Well, it's true, dear," said Mr. Mielswetzski.
"Wait," said Charlotte. "What? A sick day?"
"Yes," her mom nodded. "There's no school Thursday or Friday"
"Really?" said Charlotte.
"Really," said her father.
"Sweet!"
And before her parents could say anything else, Charlotte ran up to the den to tell Zee. He was supposed to go back to school on Thursday-really he could have gone back on Wednesday, but Charlotte's mother liked to be extra careful, and so she had exaggerated the doctor's orders a wee bit.
"Hey, Zee! Guess what?" Charlotte burst in to find Zee sitting up, flipping through their history book with a dazed expression that she thought probably had nothing to do with the concussion. Bartholomew slept peacefully on his lap.
"What?"
"You don't have to go to school tomorrow," said Charlotte. "Not all week!"
Zee closed the book. "I'm much better, really. Please, tell your mum-"
"No, no," said Charlotte. "I mean there's no school the rest of the week."
Zee's eyebrows went up. "Why?"
"Oh, bunch of kids are sick. They want to cover their butts."
"Wha-?" Zee said.
"Lots of kids are sick. So I guess -"
"Wait," Zee leaned forward. "How many?"
"I dunno," Charlotte shrugged. "Maddy's got it. She's been gone for a week."
Zee leaned toward her and grabbed her arm. Bartholomew fell off his lap. "What is it? What does she have?"
Charlotte stared at him. "I don't know! Nobody knows. She can't get out of bed, it's really awful, she's just lying there -"
Zee fell back into the couch. "Oh no." His hands flew to his face. Charlotte and Bartholomew stared. "What?"
"It's my fault," he said slowly. "It's all my fault." Charlotte could not stand it anymore. "What's your fault? Zee, what's going on?"
Zee had lost all color in his face. He seemed to be shaking. "They followed me."
Part Two
CHAPTER 7
SIX MONTHS AGO ZACHARY MILLER HAD BEEN AN ordinary boy living an ordinary life in an ordinary part of the ordinary city of London (for, despite Charlotte's feelings on the matter, London is very ordinary if you grew up there). Zee liked music, he liked football (that's British for soccer), and most of all he liked Samantha Golton, the dark-haired forward on the girls' school team. He had spent quite a long time trying to name the exact shade of brown of her hair-it was richer than "nut," yet not as red as "mahogany" or as black as "raven." He had finally settled on "chocolate," which had the added benefit of connoting something extremely delicious.