5
“Did
you ever think you would fall in love with goat cheese,” said Ginny, looking with
dreamy eyes at a piece of feta, like it was Adonis.
“Gee,”
said Artie Pentler. “I wish you would
like at me that way.”
Ginny
laughed, tearing off a bite of the cheese and tossing to Artie. “Here. Taste it, and you’ll look at it that way too.”
With
all the changes that had occurred, with all the trauma I had experienced, with losing
Lisa, with my aching heart, you would think that watching Ginny and Artie flirt
would no longer bother me. Did I like
Ginny? Yes, she was beautiful and possessed
a personality I found extremely attractive. I cannot deny that. But I had long accepted that she was
attracted to Arite and not me. And it
was hard to deny their connection. Maybe that it was bothered me. Not jealousy that Ginny should be with me,
but jealousy that together they could have who I no longer could. Lisa was gone, taken from me by a brutal
killer who at least was now behind bars.
Well,
bars may be an exaggeration. Up until
this point, we had had some minor infractions that resulted in students serving
detention. Teachers on a rotating basis supervised them in a room where the violators
spent the day, except for when Coach Walterzak (our football coach, and strongest
disciplinarian) would take them out to clean around the school grounds.
That
seemed too weak of a response for a murderer. The Shop classrooms had a caged area, where
parts and supplies had been kept. Those were
removed, and the area was made over into prison cells, or as close as we could
come. A total of three cells were set
up, even though the only prisoner was Mark Granite. I guess we wanted to be prepared for future
problems. Yeah, that turned to be both prophetic and a wild underestimate.
Our
little group was changing again. Ginny
and Artie were still mainstays, of course, as was Jerry Mack. Mary Estill, Ginny’s sister, and Lindsay
Starn were with us more often than not, as was Geoffery Misner and Nathan
Harkin.
Jerry
Mack, small and frail, barely over five feet tall, had often been ill the past
year but was feeling better the last month.
He still said little, and when he did speak, it was most often
supportive and kind. He sat next to me,
offering me a piece of feta cheese, but I declined. He didn’t seem to eat much and was often
offering his food to others.
Mary
Estill was finally laughing and engaging more.
I think the loss of her boyfriend, Jim Kurrash, who died in the tunnel collapse
last July, had receded enough that, although hardly forgotten, she sometimes
could experience moments of joy and happiness.
She was giggling with Lindsay Starn, sharing some private joke. Both were blondes, Mary’s hair longer, and
Lindsay’s more closely cropped. Hair
length grew in our weird little trap, where so many natural laws seemed to be
fractured, but not as quick as it did in the outside world. Monty Keller found that out the hard way,
when last Fall, he shaved his head bald, and now, over a half year later, he
barely had more than a crewcut peach fuzz.
Mary was taller than Lindsay, as Mary was an inch or so shorter than
Ginny. Mary’s height put us at each other's eye level, whereas Lindsay had to
look up at me (not very high up, but up nonetheless).
Geoffery
Misner laughed at a joke that Mary told.
He had told me last month that he was ‘intrigued’ with Mary, and although
she was polite to his flirting, she did little to engage it. Geoffery was in my sleep room (they stuck us together
alphabetically, so I roomed with a lot of M’s – indeed, we were nicknamed the M
& M’s), and also an actor in my soap opera, The Sands of Loren, playing an
ambitious young lawyer. Geoffery was
tall and gangly, hair a light ginger color, a pleasant face often brightened
with a big smile.
The
most recent member of Artie’s gang was Nathan Harkin. He was a survivor of the tunnel collapse,
still using crutches to get around. Our
amateur medical staff had tried to repair his damaged leg, but they were not
able to fix it enough to eliminate his need for the assistance of
crutches. Sometimes you could see the
excruciating pain on his face. Our pain
relievers were limited, beyond a supply of aspirin that was found in the
tunnels.
We
had others who came in and out, that were with us some but not all the time. They
included Phil Irman, who I worked with at the TV studio, Arlette Mierkey, and
Larry Weisman.
Larry
was just coming to join us this morning.
I remember because of the news he had to tell. “Hey, Lance! Are you excited about the news?”
I
had no idea what he meant. “What news?”
I asked.
“You
don’t know?” I shook my head. “I’m stunned.
Ok, here it goes…guess who’s going to be the Principal’s son again?”
“Melissa
Brown?” joked Ginny. Melissa’s father was
Director of Elementary Education and had been a principal of Loren Elementary
School before that. She was just kidding
around, as Melissa’s father hadn’t been at the high school the day of the Trap.
I
pushed aside Ginny’s lame joke. “You’re talking about my father, I gather. They’ve
put him back in charge? What happened to
Mr. Tate?”
Oh,
he’s out,” said Larry. “There was not enough to convict him in the Granite
murders. There was nothing to show direct
or indirect complicity. He was held responsible for allowing Mark Granite such
free reign and not be observant enough to be more aware of his activities.”
“He
is responsible,” asserted Lindsey Starn. “Mr. Tate used Granite and his
popularity to pack the Student Council with students that would help impeach
and remove your father. And the price Mr. Tate paid was to let Granite’s
buddies become the controlling part of the Student Security Force. As far as I’m concerned, he should be in a
cell right next to Granite.”
I
couldn't help. “Yeah. And Robert Pelley right there with them.”
“Hey,
be careful now!” said Geoffery. “The
prison isn’t that big. Those three will
take it to full capacity!”
“Nevertheless,”
said Larry, “he’s only been stripped of administrative responsibilities, and
will just be a teacher again.”
“Teaching
what class?” asked Mary. “I sure don’t
want him to be my teacher.”
Larry
looked smug, ready to reveal the most ironic fact of all. “Teaching World Humanities. Yep, he’s taking over Mrs. Forsyth’s
schedule.”
We
all gasped—what a horrible legacy. Nathan
turned a pale green. “Crap. I’m in that class.” He closed his eyes for a second. Then he opened them, resolved. “Well.
I guess I’m dropping that class.”
“I’m
betting you won’t be the only one,” said Lindsey.
My
mind was aswirl. I could not process
this information. On the one hand, I was
glad my Dad was vindicated and restored to the position to which he excelled. On
the other hand, I feared for the future scrutiny he might have to endure. The
arrest of Mark Granite, and the demotion of Mr. Tate, did not immediately
remove all threats and challenges to him.
There were still Granite’s accomplices and defenders. There were still teachers and administrators
who might not be happy with the change. And
there was still David Izzner and his black markets.
As
those around me mused about what this might mean, the Guidance Counselor, Mrs.
Glenda Novik, came up to our group. “Lance, would you come with me, please?”
“Why?”
I asked.
“You’re
wanted in the front office.” She put her
hand on my shoulder. “Trust me. You’re
not in any kind of trouble.”
I
went with her, fearing that trouble was something that would never go away.
And
was I ever right.
