"You have to go to school!" Tall Bun insisted. "You are late already!"
"Nope," Drake said. "I'm sick." He delved deeper into his blankets. "Achoo."
"You are not sick," the Ayi stated. "All evidence says you are lying."
"School is dangerous," Drake said.
"I will not hear any more. School. Now." The Ayi tossed Drake's uniform in his direction.
Drake sighed. "If I don't come back with all my limbs in place," he muttered, "it's on you."
#
It was weird, coming late to school. In a way it was almost like you came too early – with no students bustling about in the lobby and only, ever so often, the haughty footstep of a teacher. The stairs were like dead goldfish out of the bowl, silent and trodden on one too many times, ashen with cold-sweat wetness of footsteps long gone. It was so cold you could smell the scent of school – the milky wavering note of helpless children and the blood of cafeteria meats, jumbled up into one sentient being that jumped from step to step as Drake made his way up.
These were the things you noticed when you were late to school.
There were also the things you didn't notice when you were late to school.
Like the photogenic shoes stepping in your footsteps, a flight below. The eyes, peering in through door-windows. A door opening in front of you at the fourth floor, a face peeking out.
"I got people to make sure you're okay," Wendy said.
"Making sure I'm okay?" Drake was taken aback. "I'm offended."
"In case Tommy's a jerk again," Wendy said. "You're welcome." She turned around, flouncing back down the hall.
"Um," Drake muttered. "Thanks, I guess."