No Talking Read Online Free Page B

classroom doors along the fifth-grade hall flew open, Mrs. Hiatt could hear them coming, all of them, already calling to each other as locker doors clanged open and banged shut, already talking a mile a minute, already laughing and whooping and shouting, streaming down the hallway toward the cafeteria, an unshushable wave of energy and excitement and noise . . . so much noise!
    Mrs. Hiatt took her position at the center of the cafeteria and braced herself. She was ready for today’s lunchroom battle, ready to change chaos into order, ready for anything these kids could dish out.
    But nothing could have prepared her for what happened next.

CHAPTER 8
SCIENCE FICTION
    I t was four minutes into the fifth-grade lunch period, and Mrs. Hiatt was pretty sure that any second now, her alarm clock was going to start making that awful sound— BRRAP! BRRAP! BRRAP! BRRAP!
    Because the principal was almost certain that she was still at home in her own comfy bed, dreaming away. She had to be dreaming. But no, she looked at her watch and it showed the same time as the large clock above the stage in the school cafeteria—12:04.
    On any other day Mrs. Hiatt would have already used her bullhorn at least once, because when half the fifth graders were standing in the food line, and the other half were in the milk line or rushing toward their seats, there was always a terrific burst of yelling and calling out and wild chatter—sort of like feeding time at the zoo.
    Not today.
    There was no talking at all. Not one word. Over one hundred twenty-five children milling around the lunchroom, and not a peep from any of them.
    Today the principal could hear the clattering of the worn-out motor in the milk cooler. And she could hear the kitchen workers talking softly to each other. And she could hear the children’s feet on the tile floor, shuffling along through the lines.
    The quiet almost frightened her. Mrs. Hiatt felt like she was in a scene from a creepy science fiction movie.
    She actually liked a good scary movie now and then, but she did not like the ideas in her mind at this moment. Because it seemed like aliens had possessed these fifth graders and zapped their brains. Or maybe some strange creature had nipped off all their tongues—nothing left but little stubs that couldn’t make a sound.
    The principal shivered. Then she noticed a girl staring at her. Mrs. Hiatt realized she must have had a strange look on her face.
    As the girl sat down with her lunch tray, Mrs. Hiatt forced herself to smile, and said, “Hi there, Sheila. How are you today?” Her voice almost echoed in the quiet lunchroom.
    Every boy in the milk line turned and stared at
    Sheila.The girls turned and looked too.
    Sheila gulped, gave the principal a nervous smile, and, speaking softly and slowly, she said,“Fine, thank you.”
    Mrs. Hiatt turned toward the milk line, and all the kids looked away. Silently.
    And again, the principal felt like she was in the middle of a science fiction movie.
    It suddenly seemed silly to be standing there in a silent room with her huge red plastic bullhorn. So Mrs. Hiatt walked over to the playground door, where Mrs. Escobar was standing. She tried to look as casual as possible, tried to act like it was perfectly normal for the lunchroom to be stone silent except for the clattering of plates and the squeaking of sneakers on the waxed floor.
    The principal set the bullhorn on the floor by the wall and whispered to Mrs. Escobar, “What in the world is going on here?”
    Mrs. Escobar whispered back, “I have no idea. But it’s something weird, that’s for sure.”
    Mrs. Hiatt did not like this feeling, this feeling that something strange, something new was happening. Because this new activity was happening at her school, and no one had asked for her permission. This new activity was unauthorized.
    Mrs. Hiatt didn’t simply like being in charge of her own school. She felt like she