High Street If a person happened to be looking both ways, rather than just one way, as they made their way home, they would have seen someone. In other words, if they weren't too wrapped up in their own self, they would have seen a girl. Depending on who this person happened to be, they may or may not have known her name was Sam. Any person who saw her or didn’t, knew her or not, would certainly not guess that she’d been forgotten. And maybe there were other things they wouldn’t guess. They might not guess that she was an author. Of children's fiction specifically. Or that she was an obsessive reader. Or that sometimes she could be suppressingly shy. They would probably guess none of these things, not one. Sam paced back and forth anxiously. She scanned the entire premises. Parking lot of the nearby grocery store? No. Parking lot or front yard of the church across the street? Nope. Somehow magically appearing on the road leading to her house? Notta. She had certainly been forgotten. This anxious girl was a walker. She was dismissed every day from the front doors of her school to. . . wait for her dad. Some walkers quickly disappeared down Main Street. Others had a destination they had to find. And others, like Sam, had to wait for their parents to pick them up and drive them home. It was essentially the same as being a pick-up. This set-up had once seemed independent and responsible. But that was two years ago. Now, with most students walking their own way home, being picked up seemed boring and childish. Sam wanted to feel independent and responsible again. And, most of all, she wanted to feel like the heroic book characters that walked by themselves on a regular basis. Sam scanned each point once again. It had been hardly 30 seconds, but it was worth a try. She spotted a large white car coming down the street. Could it be? But no. It was an unfamiliar minivan. Sam watched all her classmates and a few of her friends vacate the school like the plague was coming. There was just one teacher, the library sub, left standing at the door. She was clearly waiting for her to be picked up or leave. Sam twisted her brown hair around her finger. Not tight enough to cut off circulation, but tight enough to hurt a little bit. She kicked her typical Nike sneakers in the dead, tannish-green grass. She shook her bag that should’ve been heavy with books and journals, but wasn’t for reasons to do with her shyness. She would be utterly humiliated if one of her notebooks was read, or even if someone found them and made fun of her. She walked over to the tall evergreen tree, looking so out of place in the flat lawn. She walked back over to the forever- unused bike rack sandwiched between bulging bushes. The teacher was still there. She felt scrutinized. Like an ant under a microscope. She could practically hear the teacher’s patience ticking away. Tick, tick, tick. It did nothing to lessen her anxiety and fear of the teacher who from past experience could be rude at times. Trying to take her mind off her unfortunate position, Sam reminded herself that this wasn’t the first time she’d been forgotten. Once, two years ago, she’d been forgotten when her dad’s meeting had run long. Another time, she’d been so frozen with terror that she’d needed some assistance from another parent. She’d quietly accepted her kindness in waiting wth her and letting her use her phone. This time was no different. Except now she should be more calm because of her experience. That’s what Sam told herself to calm down. It didn’t work. Anxiously, she glanced back up at the teacher. Was she going to go inside now? Should she follow her parents’ advice and ask if she could use the school phone? It had hardly been two minutes, if even. But the teacher could leave at any second. Sam wasn’t one to take initiative like that. This type of situation provoked her shyness at its best. It would not be easy to talk to a person she didn’t know well. But wouldn’t it be better to at least make sure someone was coming? To call? All this went through Sam’s head in a rapid fire back and forth. She couldn’t decide. It was so hard! She knew getting over her fear would be an accomplishment, but it was difficult. She didn’t want to have to do anything, and at the same time she had to do something. She had to make a decision. A hard one. What would someone brave do? Maybe a hero from a book. Or even a villain . . . “Um, my dad was supposed to pick me up, but he’s not here. Can I call him?” Sam said quickly as she hurried up the school’s steps. “Yeah, sure, come inside.” It wasn’t a terrible response at all, it would’ve been good, even, if the teacher hadn’t been crossing her arms with a tight expression on her face. Sam slouched down as she entered the building, making herself as small as possible. “Here.” the teacher said, pointing to the school’s office phone. A small note stated to dial ‘9’ first for outside numbers. Carefully and quickly, Sam dialed her dad’s number. She hoped, really, really hoped that he would pick up.