My breath catches in my throat. My heart races. The world stops, or at least it seems to. I feel dead inside. I look back down at the sheet of paper I'm holding. White paper, smooth in my fingertips. It reads:
Are you number 4?
Both sheets fall from my hands, drift away, and float to the floor, where they lie motionless. I don't understand, I think. How can this be?
"So is it?" Mr. Harris asks.
My mouth drops open. Mr. Harris is smiling, proud, happy. But it's not him that I see. It's what's behind him, seen through the windows of his office. A blur of red coming around the corner, moving faster than what is normal, than what is safe. The squeal of tires as it zips into the lot. The pickup truck throwing gravel as it makes a second turn. Henri leaning over the wheel like some crazed maniac. He hits the brakes so forcefully that his whole body jerks and the truck comes screeching to a stop.
I close my eyes.
I place my head in my hands.
Through the window I hear the truck door open. I hear it close.
Henri will be in this office within the minute.