The Smoky Corridor

39

On the way to homeroom, Zack saw Ms. DuBois and asked her what she’d do if she thought somebody might be too sick to take gym.

“Well, Zack, I believe I would air my suspicions to Ms. Rodgers, the school nurse.”

So between homeroom and math, Zack did.

“I think there might be something wrong with his heart.”

“And what makes you say that?” asked the nurse, who seemed genuinely concerned.

“I saw him running,” said Zack, spinning a quick fib. “He got winded really, really fast. Like in two seconds and he’s not overweight or anything, either.”

“I see,” said Ms. Rodgers, reaching for the stethoscope hanging on the coatrack. “Thank you, Mr. Jennings. I’ll look into it.”

“Maybe Chuck shouldn’t go to gym class today.…”

“I’ll look into it, Mr. Jennings.”

• • •

At lunchtime, Zack’s table in the cafeteria grew a little more crowded.

Ms. DuBois was there, eating carrots and hummus. So were Azalea, Malik, Benny, and Chuck. They were joined by newcomer Alyssa, who just had to eat lunch with Zack. “Because he so totally saved my life this morning!” she said.

“Wow, Zack,” said Malik, “perhaps we are becoming the cool kids!”

Azalea scoffed at that. “Dream on.”

“Have you met any new friends, Azalea?” asked Ms. DuBois.

“Why bother? My dad’s in the army. We’ll be moving at the end of the school year. Maybe sooner. We move all the time.”

“Uh-oh,” said Chuck, slumping down in his seat, apparently trying to disappear.

Two teachers approached the table. Zack recognized Ms. Rodgers, the nurse. She was walking with a guy wearing blue gym shorts and a gray Pettimore Yankees T-shirt. There was a whistle around his neck; Ms. Rodgers had the stethoscope around hers.

Gym Shorts stuck his hands on his hips. Melon-sized muscles bulged on his arms, his legs, even his neck.

“Which one is he?” he asked.

“That’s Charles Buckingham,” said the nurse. “Hello again, Chuck.”

“Uh, hi, Ms. Rodgers,” he said shyly.

“Your mother is calling your family physician,” Ms. Rodgers said in her most soothing nurse voice. “Everything’s going to be fine but we might want to send you home a little early today.”

“Okay.”

“And no gym class. Not for a while.”

Chuck smiled nervously. “Okay.”

“Where’s the other one?” barked the man in the gym shorts. His thighs were as wide as stuffed turkeys.

The nurse pointed at Zack.

“Zack Jennings?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m Coach Mike. Phys ed.” He checked his clipboard. “Looks like I’ve got you later this afternoon.”

Zack gulped. “Yes, sir. Seventh period.”

“Good. You need to put a little meat on those bones, son.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Is everything all right, Coach Mike?” asked Ms. DuBois.

“Everything’s fine now, thanks to young Mr. Jennings. The boy has a sixth sense like those dogs that can sniff out diseases. You catch that on the news last night?”

“Sorry, no,” said Ms. DuBois. “But whatever did Zack do?”

“I’ll tell you what he did.” Coach Mike hiked up his gym shorts for emphasis. “He alerted us to his buddy’s irregular heartbeat.”

“It may just be a murmur,” added the nurse. “But it might suggest something more serious. Either way, we should play it safe until we know for sure.”

“So you see, Zack?” said Coach Mike. “You might’ve saved your pal’s life today.”

“He saved mine, too!” said Alyssa. “First thing this morning!”

The gym teacher thrust out his hand. “I just wanted to say well done, Mr. Jennings. Keep up the good work. See you in seventh period. We’re gonna make you some muscles!”

“Thanks,” said Zack. Mr. Willoughby was definitely right: It felt good to do good.

And then, over the spiky top of the gym teacher’s buzz cut, Zack saw the ghost of Bartholomew Buckingham dip into a long, gracious bow.

He had dropped by to say thanks, too.

That made Zack feel even better.