Just Like Fate
There are exactly sixteen minutes left in math class when there’s a faint double knock on the classroom door, and we all perk up. Through the window I can see the office assistant with the frizzy hair standing timidly, like she’s afraid of even herself.
We watch curiously as Mr. Pip lumbers over, wiping his perpetually sweaty forehead as he goes. He opens the door two feet at best, and I almost expect him to ask the woman in the hall for a secret password. She whispers something, then hands...