CHAPTER EIGHT
As soon as I reached school, I headed straight for the teacher’s lounge, toward the back of the school. I was determined to talk to Mrs. Guillone and face her once and for all. I spotted her long grey hair, which she never combed, near the entrance of the room. She was talking our Spanish teacher, Mrs. Herrera. She had her back toward me, and Mrs. Herrera wouldn’t have spotted me because Mrs. Guillone was blocking her view. I slowly inched toward them, but froze a few feet away from them to quietly listen to their conversation.
“I can’t believe he’s here. Did you see that kid? He looks just like him.” Mrs. Guillone placed her hands on her hips. “That bastard!”
Mrs. Herrera gasped. “But when will his son start school?”
“Today.”
It was then that Mrs. Herrera saw me behind
