Though the high-school kids had gone, the doors were unlocked and
a janitor, sweeping green compound down the dark-red tiles of the
corridor, told me I could probably find Mr. Leach in his office on the
ground floor of the old building. The two buildings, new and old, were
connected. Fire doors separated the frame building from the steel and
concrete one. My steps echoed in the empty corridor with a metallic
ring. A demure little girl came out of a classroom and closed the door
behind her. She had a heavy armload of books. She looked as shy and
gentle and timid as a puppy in a strange yard. She looked at me quickly
and hurried on down the corridor ahead of me, moccasin soles slapping,
meager horsetail bobbing, shoulders hunched.
I found the right door and tapped on it. A tired voice told me to come
in. Leach was a smallish man with a harsh face, jet eyebrows, a gray
brushcut. He sat at a table marking papers. His desk, behind him, was
stacked with books and more papers.
"Something I can do for you?"
"My name is Tal Howard. I want to talk to you about a student you used
to have."