Free Ms. Miller and the Midas Man by Mary Kay McComas Page A

eventually—he’d never voluntarily let go. Someone would have to pry them apart. He sighed deeply and crossed one leg over the other.
    “Awwww,” he screamed, sliding toward the edge of the roof like a log in a chute, his legs flailing in his attempts to prop his feet flat beneath him to stop himself. He heard leaves swooshing, limbs cracking, and incoherent gibbering as his life flashed before his eyes and death—if not a lifetime of excruciating pain in full body cast—rushed to meet him.
    Panting and whimpering, he slowly came to the realization that everything had come to a stop. Time. Movement. His heart. It quivered in his chest uncomfortably, thumped out a beat, then another. When he had enough blood in his head to think straight, he gradually raised it to look down at his feet. The heels of his soft-soled shoes were wedged against the rim of the rain gutter...his backyard sprawled portentously miles below.
    His head fell back against the roof. He sucked in long, deep breaths, and, when he could, he looked again to see how far away the ladder was.
    Too far, he saw almost immediately. Squinting, he could see the ladder had fallen away from the house to rest in the branches of the old oak tree. In his fearless youth it had been part of his escape route from his bedroom window—now it seemed to have mature limbs no bigger around than number 2 lead pencils.
    Again, his head fell to the roof with a thudding noise, and angry frustration churned in his belly. Was the principal of Tylerville High School allowed to cry? Then more constructively, he wondered if breaking through the roof into the attic was feasible. Did he dare lift his heels from the gutter? Or should he try to roll over onto his stomach?
    That’s when he heard the car pulling into the drive between the two houses. He sighed heavily and closed his eyes. It would be too much to hope that it would be one of his sisters. The car door opened and closed. He had to make a quick decision.
    Gus was exhausted. She’d forgotten how tiring being “on” for other people could get for someone with a solitary nature. Raised in a strict, regimented environment, she was more of a social caterpillar—slow, prickly, eager to cocoon herself—than a friendly butterfly like Lydia.
    She was hot too. The August heat was humid and cloying, she could feel the air passing in and out of her lungs as she breathed. A cool shower and some uninterrupted, air-conditioned “down” time would put her day in perspective.
    She got out of her car and slammed the door. That idiot neighbor of hers had ruined her whole day. She glared at his house as she walked up the drive. If he was sincere about this business with the senior class play, all right. But did he have to confuse the issue with winks and innuendo? Did he have to make her skin tingle with the idea that he had ulterior motives in involving her?
    “Ms. Miller?” came a croaky whisper. Scotty cleared his throat. “Ms. Miller?”
    No response.
    “Ms. Miller? Is that you?” Nothing. “If you’re not Ms. Miller, but you can hear me, please answer. I need help,” he said as calmly and with as much dignity as he could muster. He listened but heard nothing but the birds in the old oak tree. “Hello? Is anyone there?”
    She stood still and slowly scanned the area. She frowned, narrowed her eyes, and scanned it again.
    Finally, he heard footsteps on the concrete drive.
    “Hello? Mary? Beth? Elaine? Chrissy?” he called, listing his sisters first, and then, as a last resort, adding, “Ms. Miller?”
    “What are you up to now?” she asked, the irritation in her voice causing him to cringe. “If this is another one of your stupid tricks to get my attention...”
    “No. No.”
    “...I’ll tell you right now it’s not going to work.”
    “No. Wait. Please.”
    “I cannot bee-lieve the people of this town hired someone like you to set a good example for their children. You’re more of a child than all of them put