When the word “FREAK” appeared scratched in the persimmon colored paint on her locker, she knew that in some fragile young woman’s mind a war had escalated from imaginary to physical. Her softly intertwined fingers became rigid. Once in the room, the door locked, the sense of loneliness had dropped away from her as the mists used to drop away from the mountain in the morning. Mr. ’ ‘What young lady?’ demanded a voice from the back of the hall. You may have something to conceal, you may not. Lucy cringed, her eyes widening. "He must have gone this way," muttered Blueskin.
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