11. Clock Is Ticking
Chapter 11
Clock Is Ticking
Maya
I t’s day two, and the English lesson is about different types of poetry. These kids don’t want to read the classics, and I want to keep them engaged in learning, so I’ve been looking into song lyrics. They are their own form of poetry.
I picked lines from some of the classic artists like Joni Mitchell, David Bowie, and Prince, then chose some of the more modern singer/songwriters like P!NK, Tupac, and Coldplay. Making it a game of “name that song” turned it into a friendly competition, the winners getting candy bars, but more importantly, it got them talking about what the words mean to them. I hope they’ll understand that what one person hears isn’t always interpreted the same way by someone else. This leads to a much bigger discussion on communication and the lack of it in society today.
They all participated, even Josh and Calvin. Josh is a very intelligent young man and he’s got a lot to offer. Calvin surprises me when he brings up the singer Drake and his musical connection with his lyrics. The whole class opened up, and a whole new side of this boy was exposed. They discussed and laughed, and when I gave the homework for the evening, no one balked. Instead, they asked more questions, and I gladly gave them resources to help them out.
It wasn’t until later that afternoon that an idea came to me in regard to Bull and his team racing against time to find the kidnapped boy before it’s too late. When we want to know where a kid is, we ask their friends. Most of the time, kids confide in their friends more than their parents. Granted, this child is only five, but still, there might be a chance that one of his little friends might know more than they think.
I have a break between third and fourth periods, so I call Bull.
“Babe, you good?” he answers gruffly.
“Yeah, but I had a thought. This might mean nothing, but I’d feel horrible if I didn’t try,” I start.
“You’re not making any sense, Maya,” he says curtly. Obviously, he’s under pressure, and I can see why.
“Kids talk to other kids, even at five. Maybe one of his friends knows or has seen something,” I tell him quickly.
“They’ve been questioned already.”
“Yes, but how? With kids, it’s about how you ask the questions. They don’t know what would be important. I just want to help.” I blow out a breath. “Look, I’m sorry for bothering you.”
“What kind of questions?” he asks. He’s listening!
“Where was he taken?”
“After school, while he was playing in the aftercare program and waiting for his mother.”
“Find out the name of the current caretaker, then ask the kids if they saw him that day. Were they playing a game when they found out he was gone? Who started the game? I’m just throwing stuff out. Obviously, I don’t know enough about the situation to be specific. Kids remember colors and tones. Did they see something that wasn’t familiar?” I can hear him scratching on a notepad. “This may be all for nothing, but I needed to let you know.”
“Nah, babe. This is good. I think we would all be big and intimidating and would freak these kids out,” he admits.
“I can meet you at the school. I can give it a try?” I suggest.
“Are you sure about this?”
“I need to do something.” He gives me the address and tells me he’ll meet me there right after school.
* * *
When I arrive at the elementary school, I ask the teacher to gather the kids around in a circle, and I begin to tell them a story. “You see, this is a story about how friends come together to help a friend,” I begin. “Sometimes adults think they know what’s best for a kid, but they don’t know them as well as they think they do. Now, if it’s a parent or teacher, even a doctor, then they know a lot about you, and it’s okay to listen to them if you have your parents’ permission. This story is about how a boy followed an adult and got lost because of it and how his friends were able to remember all kinds of things to help his mom and dad bring him home safe and sound.”
“How many of you want to be helpers?” their teacher, Mrs. Johnston, asks.
They all shout happily that they want to help. I settle them down and begin to prompt them. “Troy has been away for a whole day, and we think he might be lost. How can we bring him home? Does anyone have any ideas?” I tap my finger to my temple, indicating that they should think hard.
“Troy couldn’t find his backpack and went to look for it inside,” a little, brown-haired girl pipes up.
“Did he go all alone?” his teacher asks and looks to Bull. “He never came to get me.”
“No, he went inside with Mr. Allen,” the little girl adds.
“My dad came to get me, and he bumped into Mr. Allen in the parking lot, but I didn’t see Troy,” one of the boys says.
“Good job, Robbie,” the teacher says, bringing a smile to his face.
Bull comes down on his haunches and puts a hand on the boy’s back. “Do you think your dad might be able to talk to us?”
“Sure. He’s picking me up tonight,” Robbie says.
I talk to the kids for a while longer, and eventually, the parents arrive to pick up their children. Robbie is one of the last to be picked up. Bull approaches his father, and they move into the school office to talk.
When they come back out, Bull has his phone to his ear, while Robbie launches into his father’s arms. As they walk past me, Robbie’s father says, “Good luck. I really hope they find him. Troy’s a sweet kid.”
Bull gets closer and wraps an arm around me as he continues his conversation. “This Mr. Allen is a part-time janitor. Younger man, early thirties, full head of black hair and a scar on his cheek. The principal is looking for his employment registration form.” He proceeds to give Bull the make and model of the car Mr. Allen was driving.
Bull collects all the information he can from the office and walks me to my car. “I’m going to be late tonight.”
“I’ll be waiting,” I reply.
“The clock is ticking, babe. We’re running out of time. I’m not sure when I can get away,” he tells me.
“I’ll still be waiting for you.”
“You did good. This is the first solid lead we’ve had. My girl’s amazing,” he says, giving me a half grin, but I can see that his mind is consumed with finding Troy.
“Go, Bull. They need you.”
We both drive off in opposite directions. The clock is ticking, and the Storm men are racing against time.