Beckoners (16 page)

The door slammed behind her. The whole corridor could hear her rip down the hall, kicking lockers, knocking over the two metal garbage cans at the top of the stairs. They clattered and banged down to the landing. Mrs. Henley gracefully opened the door, stepped out and took a deep breath before hollering with drill-sergeant clarity and volume.

“And
if
you do not make it all the way into Mr. Seaton's office, I
will
find out and there
will
be hell to pay! Is that understood?”

There was no reply.

Zoe surveyed the room. Everyone carefully stared at their worksheet, including Jazz. Lindsay was the only exception. She slouched in her seat, gripping the sides of her desk.

“Do not even
think
about leaving this room, Lindsay McAllister.” Mrs. Henley looked down her nose at her. “Furthermore, I do not want to hear a word from you. I am not in the mood.” She readjusted her reading glasses and took a deep breath through her nose, nostrils flaring. “Now, if you would all be so kind as to turn to page seventy in the text, we will continue where we left off before we were so immaturely interrupted.”

There was a compliant shuffle as pages turned, then cowed silence as Mrs. Henley continued with the lesson on dangling participles.

After trying mildly to
convince her not to, Mrs. Henley helped April transfer out of that English class. Her new schedule put her in the same science class as Simon and Zoe. At first, Zoe thought she'd have to spend the hour keeping Simon and April from going at each other, but that wasn't the case. Something had changed between April and Simon, or maybe it was just April who'd changed. Maybe all her prayers to make Simon stop being gay were making her less freaky about it. But Simon had changed too. He was more tolerant of her, even gentle sometimes, and now that the two were more comfortable with
each other, it became obvious that they had a wicked sense of humor in common.

The two of them bounced off each other like a comedy duo that was extra funny because they were so very different. They were so slick that sometimes Zoe just sat back and watched. April only ever hesitated in her comebacks when Brady, who sat way across the room by the window, caught her eye, or when Simon's humor degraded into the obscene or escalated into the outré queer, which April was still squeamish about.

One day, about two weeks after Halloween, Mr. Turner left the class with a quiz before leaving for another gin and tonic break. This meant nobody could leave right away. Brady made a call on his cell phone. Just as people were beginning to finish with the quiz, the door was kicked open and in came Beck, with Heather and Lindsay flanking her a step behind on either side. They shut the door behind them and surveyed the room, hands on hips.

Heather wiggled her fingers at Brady. He kissed the air like a soap star, winking at her, curling his lip in a way he must've thought was sexy.

“Ugh.” Simon rolled his eyes. “Straight people are so gross.” He waited for a reaction from April. She had gone white.

“You.” Beck pointed at them.

Zoe wondered if she was there for April, or if this was the un-initiation at long last. Was it going to happen in front of the whole class? Zoe looked to see if Beck had brought scissors to chop of off Zoe's hair. She hadn't. Would she use the ones on Mr. Turner's desk? Or her knife? Did she have a way to get that past security?

“Get over here, bitch.” Did she mean Zoe or April? April started to hyperventilate, a here-we-go-again slump to her shoulders, fingers gripping the edge of the table. She knew who they wanted.

“You don't have to do what she says,” Simon whispered. He patted her elbow, like a little old lady might inadequately console a hysterical lost toddler. He pulled his hand away as Beck strode
down the aisle without her bookends until she was standing right behind April.

Zoe released the breath she'd been holding and slumped with involuntary relief. They hadn't come for her. Not this time anyway.

“I'm talking to you, bitch.”

April hunched over, covering her beloved notebook with both arms.

Beck stage-whispered, “Now let's not make this any messier than it needs to be.” She stepped back and waited. After a moment, April stood, clutching her notebook to her chest.

“Simon.” Beck nodded in his direction. “Nice to see you. I thought you'd died or something. Haven't seen you around much.”

Simon took a second to square his shoulders. “I've been busy.” His voice was strong and clear. He enunciated each word sharply. “With other things.”

Beck smiled. “How
is
Teo, anyway?”

“He's absolutely perfect.”

“That's nice. And Zoe,” Beck smiled at her, “In case you're wondering, we haven't forgotten about you. We'll get to you. In the meantime, consider this part of your punishment. Dog?” She shoved April. “You can blame Zoe for this. If she wasn't such a traitor, we might've left you alone. Not now. Like I said,” she winked at Zoe, “We'll deal with you later.”

Simon sat up, tall in his chair. “I don't think you two have anything left to deal with from what I hear.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes it is.”

“How about you let me be the judge of that?” Beck grabbed April by the collar of her sweater.

“Get off me.” April tried to shrug her off.

“Not a word,” Beck hissed. “Got it?” She dragged April to the front of the room and shoved her against Mr. Turner's desk. “Good dog. Stay.”

Beck clasped her hands behind her back and paced across the front of the room.

Simon finally stood up. “What are you doing, Beck?”

Beck wagged a finger at him. “No speaking out of turn, Simon.”

“This isn't your—”

“You're only going to make it worse for her, Twinkie-boy. You want to help her out? You want to know what you can do for her? Shut up. That's what you can do.”

“Beck, you're way out of line here.”

“I don't see your hand up, Simon. You're speaking out of turn.”

“Go ahead, then.” Simon flicked his wrist at her. “Play House or Hitler, or whatever you have in mind.” He gave her the Nazi salute. “Heil, Herr Beck!”

“Cute, Simon.”

Simon sat down. His hands trembled. He leaned over and whispered, a crack in his voice, “This is barbaric.”

Zoe nodded. “But if we do anything, she'll make it worse for April.”

Beck hurled a piece of chalk at them. It burst on the table in a little cloud of dust that made Simon cough.

“Shut up!”

The rest of the class was already silent, everyone's eyes on Beck, or April, stranded there at the front of the room, holding her notebook like it was a life preserver, like it would keep her afloat somehow.

“Give it to me.” Beck held out her hand like a mother demanding a baby spit out a marble.

April shook her head. “There's nothing in it about you anymore. I swear.”

Beck kept her hand open and tilted her head in a way that said, “Don't piss me off” almost as clearly as if she'd said the words out loud.

“Beck, I swear to God there is nothing in here about you. Your name isn't even mentioned. None of the Beckoners are.”

“Give it to me.”

“Come on, Beck. After last year, do you think I'd be stupid enough to write in here about you?”

“Yes, you're that stupid.”

“I swear, I haven't written anything in here about you or any of the Beckoners. Don't do this, Beck. Please. I'll do whatever you want. Just don't take my notebook.”

“That's nice. Give it to me.”

“I can't.” She shook her head. “I won't.”

“Do you really want to be difficult about this?”

April shook her head again. “I won't give it to you.”

There was a pause while Beck stared at April, like she couldn't believe what she was hearing. Then she shrugged and said, “All right. Okay.” She pulled April away from the desk and stood behind her like she was going to send her on her way back to her seat with a shove. “Have it your way, Dog.”

April's eyes widened in surprise. “Oh, thank you! I'm so—”

Beck reached around and clamped her hand over April's mouth. April squirmed, trying to scream under Beck's grip. Her muffled cries sounded like the worst kind of movie screams, the ones that make you wonder what awful real thing the actor was recalling that made her stage scream so horribly real.

Simon gasped. “I can't watch!” He turned his face away. “Tell me when it's over.”

Beck nodded to Lindsay.

Lindsay reached forward and ripped the notebook out of April's grasp. Once she'd lost it, April gave up her struggle and went limp, slipping out of Beck's grip and to the floor. She put her face in her hands and cried. Lindsay handed the notebook to Beck, who carried it like a sacrificial lamb over to the fume hood.

She placed it inside and then pulled out the same eight ball matchbook she'd used to light Zoe's cigarette that day so long ago.

April looked up when she heard the match strike, or maybe when the pinch of sulfur hit her nose.

“Please?” she whispered. “Please don't do this?”

Beck held the burning match up for a second for all to see, and then set the notebook ablaze. She pulled down the partition. The flames danced over the cover and then caught the curled up corners and really started to burn. The flames grew into tall plumes, twisting back and forth like slow belly dancers.

“Yeah!” Lindsay nodded her head. “Burn, baby, burn!”

Heather tossed Lindsay a cutting look. Lindsay coughed back another cheer and took her bodyguard stance, folding her arms and narrowing her eyes.

Simon turned and gasped again. “Jesus! Beck, what are you doing?”

“None of your business, Simon.”

“It is so my business! You barge in here like you own the place, then demand our attention like you're some kind of royalty, just to pull this...baby prank? I've got—no, you know, we've
all
got—better things to do with our time that to watch you act like a moron. You're wasting our time, Beck. You are so lame up there, strutting around like some kind of walking wank. I swear, if you had a dick, you'd wank off in public all the time, you're so desperate for attention. You're pathetic. You know, there's counseling available for the shit you went through as a kid. You are such a cliché. There are talk shows about you on TV every day of the week. You don't have to do to other people what your dad did to you.”

The class wasn't silent anymore. Some people laughed nervously. Others held their hands over their mouths, breath held in shock. Then there was Beck, whose control was sliding away from her like a snake shedding its skin.

“Okay, let's talk about perverts. Which one of us likes boys when they're supposed to like girls? Huh? You, Simon. Which one of us wanks off in the locker room when everyone else is in the showers? You, Simon. Which one of us has a stack of fag porn a foot high under his bed? You, Simon.” There was a slight
shudder in every word, as if she might crack and start crying at any moment.

The word “fag” took on a winged shape and flew around the room in a panic, like a trapped sparrow.

“You're a
faggot
?” Brady stood, his chair tipping over.

“Oh, surprise, surprise.” Simon rolled his eyes. “Boy Wonder gets a clue.”

“Man, if I'd known, I would've kicked your face in by now.”

Simon took a deep breath and held his elbows to stop his hands from shaking. He forced a grin at Brady. “It's okay. You're not my type.”

Brady hesitated, not sure if that was an insult or a compliment.

Simon turned his eyes to Beck before Brady could react. “And your point is, you poor, abused, waste of life?”

“My point is that no pansy-ass faggot is going tell me off.”

“Stop it, Beck!” Zoe finally shouted, but it was like Simon and Beck were in their own little movie, oblivious of the audience. “Stop it!” Zoe shouted again, louder, but they ignored her. Zoe put her hand over Simon's, but he gently lifted it away, without even looking at her.

“Oh, Beck. My dear, demolished Beck. Didn't your mother ever tell you if you're always doing that...what do you call it... that really truly butt-ugly thing you do with your face that it'll freeze like that and you'll have to explain why you look like your panties are full of crabs? But then, your mother doesn't say much, does she?”

Beck put a hand to her chest and swallowed.

Lindsay whistled like a missile falling through the sky.

Heather planted her hands on her hips and spat back, “And didn't your mother ever tell you if you take it up the ass you'll get AIDS and your dick will fall off and you'll die?”

“So very educated.” Simon sighed. “That's you, little miss fountain of information.”

“Cocksucker.” It was all Beck could manage to get out.

“Looking for tips?” Simon raised an eyebrow. “Ask Heather, she's the expert.”

“Faggot.”

“I love you too, sweetheart.” Simon kissed the air, and then let his hands drop to his sides. He looked at Zoe. He had tapped into some reserve of power in himself, some un-tapped well of rage, but it was now entirely depleted. That's all he had. He was finished. Empty. He was passing some kind of invisible baton to Zoe. It was her turn.

“Beck, you're in way over your head,” Zoe said. “When will you stop?”

Beck had been momentarily stunned by Simon's attack, but she had now recovered.

“I haven't even started with you, Zoe.” Beck walked slowly back to the fume hood. “You better hope you grow eyes in the back of your head, because when I come for you, it will be harsh. I promise.”

“Leave us alone, Beck.” Zoe struggled against the sliver of fear that had entered her voice.