Genesis
It was my survival strategy.
I entered the hushed offices, the air thick with the scent of Lemon Pledge and old paper, and stood patiently until the secretary at the large, dark wood desk noticed me. She was a stern-looking woman with a perpetually pursed mouth and a severe bob haircut.
“Headmaster Winthrop sent for me? Genesis Adams,” I said, keeping my voice low, a soft murmur in the quiet space. I watched as she picked up the receiver of the old-fashioned phone, the kind with the curly cord, and murmured softly into it, her words too hushed for me to make out.