The Man Who Told the World: Sing Out 3 by Hanna Dare

The Man Who Told the World: Sing Out 3 by Hanna Dare

Author:Hanna Dare [Dare, Hanna]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2016-07-13T18:30:00+00:00


The words, “Derek Folsom is in jail,” seemed to hang in the air, but Megan chattered on, oblivious to the glowing, neon flash of her sentence.

“It’s been two or three weeks now, I guess? No one’s exactly sure what for, but opinions pretty even between drugs, stealing stuff, or getting into a fight.” She quirked her mouth. “I heard he killed a man in Reno.”


Megan seemed awestruck by Conor’s shocked expression. “Did I actually just make a music reference that you didn’t get? This is a historic day.”

“No, Johnny Cash, I get it. Of course.” He felt like he was in a daze. “I’m gonna… go to homeroom.”

“Didn’t you want to go to your locker first?”

Conor shook his head, already walking away. “I can’t remember the combination anyway.”

Conor sat through his classes, not bothered by the stares or the whispers, or even the semi-sarcastic tone some of his teachers took when they said, “Welcome back, Mr. Gillis.”

He did agree and smile politely when two girls in Biology—one of them had outright refused to be his lab partner at the start of the school year—asked him for pictures with them. And when someone else asked him about what Kai was really like, Conor’s reply was, “Very professional.”

He was on autopilot for most of the morning, which was fine because all the other seniors were, too. It was almost the end of the year; no one cared about school anymore, just what came next. Conor was so lost in his thoughts that at lunch his feet took him automatically not to the once-dreaded cafeteria, but to the old, abandoned music room, where he had usually hidden himself away. He put a hand on the doorknob, but it was unyielding in his hand. Locked. He was surprised enough by this that he just stood there, rattling the door, expecting it to open the way it always had.

“That door’s never open,” a small, squeaky voice said.

Conor turned. Two girls, ninth graders, by how small and unformed they looked, were staring at him.

“It used to be,” Conor said, finally releasing the doorknob. He wondered what had happened to all the instruments. Were they still in there, moldering away with the carpet? The girls offered no further comment and huddled together, seemingly on the verge of nervous giggles as they looked at him.

He changed his expression to something more blankly polite. “Thanks,” he said, about to go, but then he stopped. “Hey, do either of you know Maggie Folsom?” he asked.

They looked at him, somewhat shocked. “She’s in our grade?” one said uncertainly.

“Do you know where I could find her right now? Maybe in the cafeteria?”

They both shook their heads, teen scorn overcoming any nervousness. “Unlikely,” one said.

“Unless it’s to steal food,” added the other.

Conor smiled patiently. “So then where would she be?”

“The ditch?”

“Yeah, she’s a total ditch pig.”

Conor’s smile grew thin. “Thanks,” he said, and turned away.

“We love you Conor!” they called after him as he walked down the hall.


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