Free Lullaby for the Rain Girl by Christopher Conlon

catering service. Pizza was returned to as the main item, but there were holdouts for salad. It went on for nearly half an hour, and in the end, nothing was decided, which meant there would be no party at all. This kind of thing happened all the time.
    By the time we got to the chalk it was nearly four o’clock. Geiger berated the entire staff while Barb and I maintained caught-in-the-cookie-jar poker faces. An argument ensued concerning how the principal could be so sure it had been a teacher. How could he know that it wasn’t a student, or a member of the administration, or not simply a clerical error? It went on for another twenty minutes with no resolution before, everyone exhausted and demoralized, the meeting broke up.
    “You caused that last bit,” I said to Barb reprovingly, smiling as we stood.
    “Oh, come on,” she said, gathering her things. “If it hadn’t been that it would have been something else. It’s a miracle we’re getting out of here at four-thirty. That’s pretty good for old Geiger-counter.”
    “True.”
    “Need a ride?”
    “Um…” I hesitated because I wondered if my young friend was outside, but I knew I was being silly. “Um—sure, Barb. That would be great.”
    As we left the building I looked around, but no one was in sight. Barb and I packed into her predictably stuffed-with-garbage VW Bug and pulled away from the school.
    On the way to my apartment it crossed my mind that I’d never called Vincent. Well, I knew there would be a message or two waiting on my message machine. But it was a quarter to five; perhaps I could successfully duck him for another day. I’d not even glanced at the settlement papers he’d handed me on Friday—they were still sitting on my dining room table. Even thinking about them depressed me. The rain spattering the windshield of the VW didn’t help.
    “Want to come in?” I said as she pulled up in front of my building.
    She brushed the hair out of her eyes. “Nah. Gotta get home. Thanks, though.”
    “Well, thank you for the ride.”
    “No problem, Ben. You’d better get home and make your Y2K preparations.”
    I smiled. “Would you lay off about that?”
    “I’ll lay off when the world becomes a primitive wasteland filled with wandering bands of savages out of The Road Warrior sometime in the overnight hours of January the first, 2000. By the way, did you know that the end of 1999 isn’t even really the end of the millennium?”
    “Yeah, I heard that.”
    “There was no year zero. A millennium starts with year one, not year zero. So technically—”
    “I’ve heard that, Barb.”
    “Well, you think about it, buster!” She grinned as I stepped out of the car. “Ta-ta!”
    She pulled away, the VW burping and gasping. I loved her teasing; it made me feel lighter somehow, connected to the world. But I knew what was waiting for me in the apartment. Vincent, which meant Kate. Maybe Alice, which meant Dad. Piles of grading. I stepped under the awning of the building to get out of the rain but then just stood there, trying to think of a reason not to go in.
    “Was that Ms. Seymour?” said a voice behind me.
    I knew whose it was without looking.
    “Yes, it was.”
    She stepped in front of me. She had on the same light coat as before. Her hair hung straight down onto her shoulders. Her eyes were wide, guileless.
    “Do you like her?”
    “Like her? Of course I like her. She’s my friend.”
    “I mean like her like her.”
    I thought for a moment. “No. Not like that.”
    “Why not?”
    I shrugged. “I don’t know why not. Some people just don’t connect that way, that’s all.”
    “Oh.” She looked out at the rainy street. “I sent you an e-mail.”
    “Did you? I haven’t looked since yesterday.”
    “Well, I sent you one.”
    “Thanks.”
    “Will you answer it?”
    “I don’t see why I wouldn’t.”
    “Good.”
    “I didn’t see you in school today.”
    “No? I saw you, though.”
    “How are you always seeing me