Free Five Minutes More by Darlene Ryan

rest of the week in detention for cutting your last class yesterday,” Mom says. “They called. The school notices things like that.”
    â€œIt wasn’t a class. It was study hall,” I say. That much is true. “I felt crappy. I just came home.” Eventually.
    She looks at me as though she’s trying to decide if I’m telling the truth. “D’Arcy, is everything all right?”
    â€œYeah, I’ve got cramps, that’s all.” I slide the note for Mr. Keating off the table and slip it into my pocket. Mom turns back to her magazine.

    â€œD’Arcy, I’d like to see you for a minute, please,” Mr. Keating calls as the bell rings.
    Marissa rolls her eyes at me. “Wait for me,” I mouth. She nods. I go up to the front while everyone else files out. What does he want? I already gave him the note this morning. My heart is pounding. He can’t hear it, can he? No.
    I take a couple of deep breaths. Act normal, I tell myself. He doesn’t know anything.
    Mr. Keating waits until only the two of us are left in the room. Then he leans forward with his elbows on the desk. His tie is pulled to one side, and he has chalk dust on his hands.
    â€œD’Arcy, I just wanted to ask how you’re doing,” he says.
    â€œAll right,” I say. What does he want?
    â€œYou’re caught up on what you missed?”
    â€œI am.” Where is this going?
    â€œGood.” He tents his dusty fingers together. His long face makes me think of a horse in wire-rimmed glasses. A bald horse.
    â€œI just wanted you to know that if you have any troubling thoughts, if you need to talk to someone, I’m here.” He clears his throat. “I know how difficult it must have been to lose your father.”
    I have a silly urge to say, “But he’s not lost. We know exactly where he is.” What I do is say, “Thank you, sir. I will.”
    I won’t.
    He studies my face as though he’s trying to figure out if I’m being straight with him. I give him my half-serious, half-sad, holding-up-nobly face. Then he says, “You can go now.”
    Out in the hallway, Marissa and Andie are waiting for me.
    â€œWell?” Marissa asks.
    â€œHe just wanted to make sure that I was all caught up.”
    â€œThat’s it?”
    â€œThat’s it.” I can fake them out too.
    Andie leans against the locker beside mine while I sort my books. She’s more Marissa’s friend than mine, but she’s okay.
    â€œI was at the mall last Friday night. I saw Mr. Keating,” she says, fake casual, inspecting the toe of one black lace-up boot.
    â€œBig thrill.” Marissa crosses her arms.
    â€œWith his girlfriend.”
    â€œGirlfriend?” Marissa pounces on the word. “Keating has a girlfriend? No way.” She shakes her head so hard her hair bounces.
    â€œHow do you know it was his girlfriend?” I ask.
    â€œHe had his arm around her, and he wasn’t acting like she was his sister.”
    â€œSo, what’s she like?” Marissa asks.
    â€œWell, she had a lot of hair and she was wearing this T-shirt with Mickey Mouse on the front.” She holds out her hands, cupped, in front of her. “Mickey’s ears were big. Really big.”
    Marissa gives a snort of laughter.
    â€œAnd that’s not all he has.” Andie’s lips are twitching at the corners.
    â€œWhat?” I ask.
    â€œHe has a toupee.”
    â€œYou lie!” Marissa exclaims.
    â€œSwear.” Andie puts her hand over her heart. “Looked just like a little curly sheep butt sitting on his head.”
    At that exact moment, Mr. Keating comes out of the classroom and starts down the hall toward us. Marissa jams her hand in her mouth and keeps her back turned. Andie’s face is instantly serious, as though a switch had flipped inside her head.
    Mr. Keating nods at us as he passes. He disappears up the stairs and