Storms 01 - Family Storms

combination.”
    She reached out for me as she came around her desk and surprised me by putting her arm around my shoulders. When she opened the door, I saw that the students who had been in the outer office were gone. Mrs. Knox and her associate both turned and looked at us with a surprised smile. Dr. Steiner still had her arm around me.
    “Mrs. Knox. Mrs. Frazer, this is Sasha March, our newest student. Please make her feel at home. We’re going to her locker and then to Mr. Hoffman’s homeroom,” she told them. “Man the fort.”
    They both nodded and looked at me as if I, not Kiera March, were the rich man’s daughter. Was Dr. Steiner giving me this special treatment because of Mrs. March or because of what Mrs. March had told her about me? Whichever reason it was, I didn’t feel good about it. I hoped this would be the first and last time I’d be singled out for any privileged treatment. It wasn’t that long ago since I was last in school, and I remembered all too well how students would resent others whom their teachers favored.
    When we stepped into the lobby, it was empty and very quiet. So was the hallway we entered. Where had everyone gone so quickly? Dr. Steiner saw the confused look on my face.
    “The bell for beginning of homeroom has rung, but the bells don’t ring in my office,” she said. “I have enough outside noise as it is. Loitering in the hallways after the bell rings will get you into detention as quickly as anything else.”
    I couldn’t help but wonder if Kiera had made it to school on time. After Dr. Steiner showed me my locker and gave me the combination, we continued down the long corridor. We walked to the last room on that wing of the building. When we entered, the dozen or so students all turned to look. Mr. Hoffman, a man Mama would have called as slim as a butter knife, stopped what he was reading and looked at us.
    “Mr. Hoffman, here is your new student, Sasha March. Miss Dirk is to be her big sister today.”
    A chubby, dark-haired, light-skinned African American girl stood. She looked to Mr. Hoffman, who nodded, and then she came around the end of her row to us. She wasn’t much taller than I was, and if it were not for her full, round, bloated face, she could be very pretty, I thought. She had unique-colored eyes that were like a very dark blue. Every-one else continued to watch us as if we were about to begin some traditional ritual of greeting.
    “Hi. I’m Lisa,” she said, extending her hand. I took it and nodded. “You’re sitting right behind me,” she added loudly, and the boy who was sitting there stood up and moved to the back of the row.
    Dr. Steiner watched it all unfold and smiled with satisfaction.
    “You’re in good hands now, Sasha. Everyone be sure to make Sasha feel at home,” she said, her voice, though still with that nasal quality, sounding very authoritative. She nodded again at Mr. Hoffman, handed me my class-schedule card, and left.
    I followed Lisa to my seat.
    “Welcome, Sasha. I was just explaining that this home-room period will be extended so we can go through some of the rule changes at the school,” Mr. Hoffman told me, and then said, “Number three.”
    The only rule change that made the students around me groan was the prohibition against cell phones being on during classes. Texting during class would result in suspension.
    The redheaded boy across from me leaned over to whisper. “That’s because Jean Trombly was caught cheating. Someone was texting her the answers on the test.”
    I just widened my eyes. And then I realized that the phone Mrs. March had give me was on. I quickly dug into my book bag, took it out, and shut it off. The phone made a musical sound as it went off, and everyone looked at me, most smiling and laughing. Mr. Hoffman didn’t crack a smile. I shoved the phone back into my book bag quickly.
    “Number four,” he said sharply, and they all turned back to look at him. He went through five more rule changes before finishing.
    When the bell to end homeroom finally rang, Lisa spun around quickly.
    “Let me see your class schedule,” she said. I handed it to her. “Oh, good, you’re in instrumental music next. I was afraid you weren’t.”
    “Instrumental music?” I hadn’t looked at the card. She handed it back to show me.
    “Room fourteen,” she said. “It’s a bit of a walk. What instrument do you play?”
    “I don’t,” I said.
    She tilted her head and pressed her lips deeper into