Defiant Heart (23 page)

Doug looked at him, surprised, but he did as Jon instructed. When he was done, Jon tested the gloves, punching his fists together. They felt good. He looked at Mr. Spitzman, who was in the process of having a pair of gloves tied by Cyrus Clayton.

“All right,” the teacher said, smacking his gloves together, “pay attention.” He pointed a glove at Jon. “Meyer, stand like this,” and he adopted a boxing stance. Jon did as he was told.

“Now,” he continued, “there are four basic punches. The first is the jab, which, if you’re right handed, you make with your left hand,” and he waved his left hand. “Let me show you.”

He crouched in a boxer’s stance. Without warning, he snapped his left hand and caught Jon square on the nose with a hard punch. Jon staggered backwards and almost fell. He was just barely able to keep his feet under him and retain his balance. He straightened and shook his head to clear it. When he rubbed his forearm under his nose, it came away smeared with blood.

Jon could hear murmuring among the other boys.

“You have something to say, Larson?” Spitzman asked.

“No sir,” Doug said, immediately.

“How about you, Morris. It looked like you might have something to say.”

“No. No, sir.”

“Good.” The man returned his attention to Jon. “Assume your position.”

Jon took a boxer’s stance, again. This time, however, he was fully alert, his eyes on the teacher’s chest.

“The next punch,” Spitzman announced, “is the left hook,” and, with the word “hook,” he threw a vicious left aimed at the side of Jon’s head that, had it connected, would certainly have sent Jon to the floor and might have knocked him out. However, Jon was ready for it. Without dropping his guard, he leaned his head back. Spitzman’s fist sailed harmlessly by and he staggered after it.

There were audible snorts from the other boys. The man regained his balance and looked hard at the group for several seconds. Apparently unable to single anyone out, he rolled his shoulders and turned back to Jon. There was undisguised anger on his face now.

“The next punch,” he began, but he was already throwing a straight right directly at Jon’s chin. Jon moved his head slightly to the left and easily slipped it. Again, Spitzman staggered.

Now there were open guffaws from the boys. Straightening, Spitzman moved his head as though stretching his neck muscles. He ignored the other boys and looked at Jon with a baleful expression.

“All right. You want to go? Let’s go.”

He crouched in an alert stance, his head moving side to side. The other boys had fallen quiet.

Spitzman stepped forward with a jab that Jon easily deflected. The man danced to his right. Jon shifted his feet, but held his ground. Spitzman tried a quick left-right combination, but Jon parried it and, shuffling quickly, re-established his position. He had yet to throw a punch, biding his time as Ben had taught him.

Spitzman looked frustrated. He feigned a move to his right, then bounced back, looking for an opening. Jon wouldn’t give him one.

They circled each another, the look of frustration on the man’s face deepening by the moment. Just to establish the range, Jon threw a couple of jabs. Spitzman blocked them both, but, in the course of doing so, he left his guard down. If he had wanted to, Jon could have attacked, but he held back.

Finally, Spitzman stepped in with a ferocious volley. Nothing connected squarely, but it was clear he wasn’t pulling any punches. Jon pivoted away, moving lightly on the balls of his feet. He knew now this was for real. He watched for an opening.

Spitzman gave him one right away. The teacher snapped a couple of jabs, but Jon could see he’d cocked his right arm and was ready to throw a hard right. Jon waited patiently for it. Spitzman drew his right hand back slightly, then lunged forward. Instead of slipping the punch by moving to the left, Jon pivoted on his left foot and brought his right foot around a hundred and eighty degrees. Spitzman went sailing by like a bull passing a matador, and, as he did, Jon clipped him on the jaw with a left hook.

The punch staggered the man, and it was a testament to his athleticism that he didn’t go down. Spitzman turned, enraged, and threw a another hard right. This one Jon blocked with his right glove and, while Spitzman’s elbow was down, Jon came over the top with another left hook to the chin. Then, for good measure, Jon pivoted his body and, throwing his entire weight behind it, gave the man a hard shot to the stomach.

Instinct told Jon to jump back, and he did so just in time to avoid being splattered with the vomit that came spewing out of Spitzman’s mouth, soaking the man’s legs and feet. As he watched, the teacher’s shoulders heaved a second time, and he deposited another bilious load down his front.

Jon slowly lifted one of his gloves, grabbed the end of the lace between his teeth, and released the knot. He slid the glove off, undid the other lace, and removed the second glove. He tossed both gloves in the general direction of the equipment bag lying a few feet away. Then he turned and began walking toward the locker room.

Between Jon and the door stood Caleb Pratt and Billy Hamilton. Jon walked straight up to the two boys, stopped and arched his eyebrows. Silently, they each took a step to the side, clearing a path. Calmly, Jon stepped between them and continued to the door leading to the locker room. With his hand on the knob, he turned and looked back. Spitzman was still bent over, hands on his knees, his head drooping and a long, viscous line of drool hanging from his mouth. The other boys were all looking at Jon. Without a word, Jon opened the door and passed through.

10

The school parking lot took longer than usual to empty out on the Friday before spring break. There was a general sense of festivity in the air, the prospect of time off lightening the mood. Students lingered, sharing plans or making arrangements to get together during the upcoming week.

Vernon King sat in the cab of his father’s pickup truck. Billy Hamilton was next to him in the passenger seat. They were waiting for Jeff Fletcher, who had been sent to the principal’s office for talking during study hall.

“You doing anything special this week?” Billy asked.

“Not really,” Vernon said, with a shrug. “I might give Darlene a shot. She’s been hanging around a lot.” He turned and gave Billy a salacious wink. “I think she’s ready for me.”

“Really? Darlene?”

“Why not? A man’s got to do what he’s got to do.”

Billy chuckled.

“How about you?” Vernon asked. “You and Gwenda, right?” He waggled his eyebrows in a suggestive way.

“What?” Billy said, then he immediately shook his head. “No, Gwenda’s not like that.”

“Not at all?”

Billy’s cheeks reddened slightly.

“That’s what I thought,” Vernon said, with a coarse laugh. He returned his attention to the front of the school building. The door opened, but, instead of Jeff, Mary Dahlgren emerged and began walking down the steps. She was carrying a couple of books that she held against her chest. She smiled and waved to someone in the parking lot.

“Now there’s a skirt I wouldn’t mind getting under,” Vernon said, tipping his head in Mary’s direction. “Problem is, I think she’s one of those girls who’s not interested in guys at all, if you know what I mean.”

Billy looked at Mary and shook his head, chuckling slightly. “Nope.”

Vernon looked sharply at Billy. “What?”

Billy winced. “Forget it.”

Vernon snorted. “Forget it?” He squinted his eyes and gave Billy a hard look. “What do you know?”

Billy looked away. Vernon waited.

After a long moment, Billy turned back. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I promised Gwenda I wouldn’t. Let’s leave it at that.”

“Let’s not and pretend that we did. Come on, Billy. Out with it.”

Billy took a deep breath and puffed his cheeks as he blew it out. “Gwenda swore me to secrecy. If I tell you, you have to swear to me you won’t tell a soul.”

“You know you can count on me to keep a secret.”

Billy hesitated. Then he said, “All right. But not a word to anyone else.”

Vernon held up a hand, as if he were swearing an oath.

Billy nodded toward Mary, who was getting into a blue Packard. “Mary’s been going out with Jon Meyer.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“No,” Billy said, shaking his head. “They’ve been seeing each other for months.”

Vernon sat back in the seat. He watched the Packard as it pulled away. It circled around the parking lot and turned onto the highway.

He’d been trying to get Mary to go out with him since, when? Since the summer. So many opportunities he’d given her. She’d rejected him every time. He’d never been able to understand why. He knew it couldn’t be that she had no interest in him, and he’d finally consoled himself with the thought that Mary had no interest in guys at all. That, now, was apparently not the case. He felt the first stirrings of anger.

But that wasn’t even the half of it. She hadn’t just rejected him. No. She’d turned him down for that nobody, and, in the process, made a fool of him. The anger started to burn.

Then, he had a thought. As he rolled it around in his head, it began to take shape. He massaged it, filling in the details. Finally, he turned to Billy.

“Did I tell you about the party on Monday night?”

Billy’s eyes brightened. “No. What party?”

“Out at the Lodge.”

“The Lodge? On a Monday? I thought the Lodge was always closed on Mondays.”

Vernon nodded. “Usually. It’s a special event. For the new members.” He added, casually, “You want to come?”

“Sure.”

“Ok. But you’ve got to do me a favor.”

Billy shrugged. “What do you need?”

“I need you to get Gwenda to invite Mary.”

Billy frowned. “Why?”

“I need a chance to talk to her. It’ll be the perfect opportunity.”

“I don’t know,” Billy said, uncertainly.

“Look,” Vernon said, making an effort to sound as sincere as he possibly could. “I’m not sure what Mary sees in Meyer. I just need a chance to convince her to go out with me. The club will be the perfect setting. I need you to do me this favor, ok?”

Billy thought about it for a moment. “Ok, I’ll ask Gwenda.”

“You mean you’ll tell Gwenda,” Vernon said. “To ask Mary,” he added.

“Right.”

Vernon lowered his chin and gave Billy a sober look. “It’s very important that Mary comes to the Lodge on Monday night. She’ll do it for Gwenda. Gwenda will do it for you. And you’ll do it for me. Right?”

“Right,” Billy said again.

#

On Monday evening, Jon wheeled his bike around the house and mounted it. His grandmother had been a little under the weather, and he was on his way to pick up some cough medicine. He wanted to get to the pharmacy before it closed.

He and Mary couldn’t be together this evening. Mary had explained to him that she’d be attending a party at the Lodge. She didn’t really want to go, but Gwenda had begged her to come, and the thought of refusing had made Mary feel bad. It was just as well, Jon reflected. He’d stay home and care for his grandmother. He and Mary would have the rest of the week to spend together. They were planning another trip to Ridley, and he was looking forward to it.

As Jon turned his bike onto Main Street, he noticed a couple walking in his direction on the other side. In the light spilling out from the large front windows of the diner, the couple was illuminated for a moment, and he was surprised to see that it was Gwenda and Billy. He was even more surprised when they turned at the door to the diner and walked in. They took a seat at one of the front tables.

That struck Jon as odd. Mary had said the party would start at seven o’clock. It was now just a few minutes before seven. Maybe, he thought, they were meeting Mary, and they all planned to go together. That had to be it. Mary would almost certainly be along shortly.

He had a few minutes to spare before the pharmacy closed. Anxious, as always, to catch a glimpse of Mary, he decided he would wait until she arrived. He pedaled his bike to a spot just across the street from the diner, braked, and put a foot down to steady himself.

Through the front window, Jon could see Gwenda and Billy clearly. Betty Langdon stopped in front of their table, took out her order pad and started writing. Why, Jon asked himself, would they be ordering if they’re going to a party in just a few minutes? As soon as he’d asked the question, however, the answer came to him. They’re just ordering Cokes to sip while they wait. That made perfect sense.

A few minutes went by, and there was no sign of Mary. Jon realized he would have to get going or he’d miss the chance to pick up his grandmother’s medicine. Disappointed, he put a foot on one of the pedals, prepared to leave. Then he froze. Betty had appeared with two plates of food in her hands, and she set them down on the table in front of Gwenda and Billy. She returned a moment later with a pair of drinks and set those down as well. Billy picked up a hamburger and took a bite.

That made no sense. Jon watched them eat for a moment, a nagging disquiet beginning to gnaw at him. He ran through different scenarios in his mind, but nothing clicked. Finally, putting off all thoughts of the pharmacy, he stepped down on the pedal and rode the short distance to the Dahlgren house.

The house was dark, no light appearing in any of the windows. He debated with himself for a moment. He didn’t want to do it, but his apprehension overrode concerns about what Mr. Dahlgren’s reaction might be if he suddenly appeared on the man’s front step. He walked to the door and knocked.

An anxious minute passed, and there was no response. He knocked again, this time a little louder. Still, no answer. Finally, he pounded on the door and called out, “Mary!”

The house sat quiet as a tomb. Something, Jon realized, was very wrong.

#

“Tell me again why the party was cancelled?” asked Gwenda.

Billy finished chewing the bite he’d taken and swallowed. “All I know is what Vernon told me. He said someone got sick, and they had to cancel.”

“Some
one
?” she repeated. “One person gets sick, and a whole party gets cancelled? That doesn’t make any sense.”