Driftwood nodded. "What's going on, Chief? Did you hear something more about the shooting?"
The Chief gestured at Rhett, and he felt a number of eyes turn toward him again. "Rhett's got an old friend staying with him. She's starting work at Shilling today."
"As a Social Studies teacher?"
Rhett saw the frown on Driftwood's face and felt his gut clench a little. "History and Civics. Why?"
Driftwood looked at Taco and Taco nodded back. "I helped pick up her books from the pavement to make sure that the EMTs wouldn't run over them with their gurney. It wouldn't do anyone any good if they popped a wheel over one of the books either."
Squirrel got up from his seat and gave Rhett a gentle pat on his shoulder. "I heard on the news that they've upped their security over there. The school resource officer is making some waves for that. He wants the school campus clear after classes end every day. No teachers or students would be allowed on the campus once it's dark."
A number of grumbling voices were heard around him, but Rhett would be hard-pressed to want to argue with the man's suggestion.
"So they don't have sports at that school?" Driftwood scoffed at the idea.
Taco nodded in agreement. "Band? Clubs?"
Rhett swallowed. "I'm sure it wouldn't be forever. If they haven't found the people who attacked that teacher, I can't see anyone wanting to stay after hours."
"Yeah," Squirrel agreed. "I'm sure once they find out who did it, they'll be able to open the campus up for activities. I admit it sounds like good sense to keep after hours traffic on the campus to a minimum."
"Still," the Chief hesitated, "I think there has to be a balance between security concerns and access to the school grounds."
Rhett didn't know if he could get behind that, but he wasn't a parent or a student, his... his roommate was literally the person stepping into the shoes of a teacher who was shot while she was at work.
"I... I better go and put my things in my locker."
Before anyone could stop him, he walked out of the room, shifting his duffle over his shoulder to put it between him and anyone who wanted to talk.
As he moved into the locker room, people moved out of his way and some even actively avoided looking at his face.
Yes.
This was familiar.
This was easy.
No one said he was smiling.
No one could see whether he was smiling or not.
Good for them.
Good for himself.
He yanked open his locker and shoved his duffle inside before slamming it closed again.
"Whoa."
He looked up into Abe's face and saw the younger man staring at him with little more than a hint of worry in his eyes. "What?"
Abe's mouth dropped open and then closed again. "Nothing."
Abe turned around and started to walk away with his backpack still slung over his shoulder.
"Abe, wait."
Lincoln Abe, or Abe like he was called at Station Seven, came to a stop at the end of the row of lockers and turned back around with a stoic look on his face. "Yeah?"