“What?”
“Moving the car,” she said. “Why didn’t you keep it in the bad neighborhood?”
“Natasha–”
“You know,” Kate said, “it doesn’t matter. This will speed up everything, anyway.”
“What are you talking about?” Douglas asked. “You’re turning into a basket case, Kate. Just like Flan. We’re all–incredibly
fucked
.” What happened, I wondered, to all the intricate and resonant words we always used? Now we were savages. Now we were so
savage.
“No we’re not,” Kate said. “You’re forgetting Ron Piper. He saw Adam at that bus stop. California and Styx. No matter how suspicious we look, he can verify our innocence.”
“California and Styx are parallel,” Douglas said. “No they’re not,” Jennifer Rose Milton said. “Yes they
are
,” he said. “Think about it.”
“
You
think about it.”
“It
doesn’t matter
,” Kate said. “The point is that he’ll back us up. Ron will–”
“I’m not so sure having Ron provide an alibi is going to work.” Jennifer Rose Milton swallowed, her wan face rippling. “
Maman
said she heard that Ron was the last person to see Adam–the teachers are gossiping about this as much as the kids–but that it doesn’t make him beyond suspicion. It makes him the
center
of suspicion.
Maman
asked me if I thought he had anything to do with it. I said of course not, but she went on and on. You know, Ron’s gay, and why was he at a party with teenage boys–”
“That’s absurd,” Kate said. “It wasn’t ‘a party with teenage boys.’ It was more than–”
“She said,” Jennifer Rose Milton plowed on, “that she felt Ron had been a little too close to us over the years
anyway, and now it looked like he was
really
mixed up in some- thing. She said that the school board really took a chance hiring a gay man and that now it looked really–I just think that Ron is not going to be as unimpeachable–is that the word I mean?–he’s not going to be as unapproachable–as
effective
a witness as we want. Particularly now that V ’s car–”
“
Why did you move my car
?” V cried. “That’s what
I
want to know. Flan,
why did you
–”
“It wasn’t me,” I said. “It was–”
“
Please
,” V said in ugly disgust. Kate was shaking her head at V and watching me carefully.
“How did you even get the
keys
to V ’s car?” Jennifer Rose Milton asked.
“
Please
,” V said again. “She got them the same place she got Lily’s
glasses
and Douglas’s
hat
and my
silk scarf
!”
“Shhh,” Kate said. “This isn’t helping, V .”
“Or Gabriel’s
pocketknife
,” V cried. “Or
your sweater
, Kate!” “V !”
“How did this happen?” V asked, suddenly quiet. She was biting her lip and I was so close to her I could see all the bites she’d made on her lip, like little astronaut footprints, tiny foreign dents claiming the moon forever. We’d never be the same again.
“Come on,” Kate said. “We’ll talk about this later.”
“No,” Douglas said. “V ’s right. Flan, I want
you
, right now, to tell Kate what you told me about why we should move the car.”
I just stood there. Once again I was supposed to say something. Once again the slippery creature I was riding, the neat boxcars of
what happened
, had submerged quietly under the dark water gurgling in my head, the
cancer humming like some appliance in my skull. All the props were moving over, tossing like sleepers: the clean white shirt in my drawer this morning, the missing nail file, all the secret items on my top shelf suddenly in plain view of everyone. In my gurgly dreams an incomplete croquet set was spread out on the lawn in front of me next to a short row of bloody teeth and eight shiny pearls. I had the clues but I didn’t know the mystery. “I don’t know,” I said, finally.
“Come
on
,” Kate said again, like she hadn’t expected anything to come of this interruption. “We have an all-school assembly, and I think we should be there to hear what they found.”
“We
know
what they found,” Douglas said, but Kate shook her head again.
“We can
do
this,” she said.
The auditorium was overcrowded past overcrowded, with harried teachers trying to herd everyone everywhere. I ran into Natasha, literally and
hard
. “
Watch
it,” she said to me even when she saw who I was. Kate, Douglas, V and Jennifer Rose Milton were right behind me but suddenly those incredibly fat twin boys who always wear hooded sweatshirts got between us and soon it was Natasha and me sitting together. I craned my neck to try to find the other B8ers, but almost immediately the lights dimmed ominously, turning the auditorium hysteria up just one more notch.
Mokie stepped up to the podium. His glasses were still crooked on his face and he was still an idiot, but panic was coming off him like steam rising off Lake Merced in the mornings. “Chil- dren,” he began into the mike and a short tantrum of indignation roared back at him. “
Students
,” he corrected himself hurriedly. “We have
called this all-school assembly to correct rumors that have been going around this morning that something terrible has happened. Something terrible
has
happened. As you all know–” Mokie coughed and looked offstage, then nodded. “As you all know, here is Principal Bodin with an important announcement.”
Bodin waddled on. His light blue blazer was buttoned and his hands were on his hips so the collar was haloing around him like a cobra hood. There was the scattered clatter of a few people clapping, for some reason.
“Hello,” he said. “This is Principal Bodin. Is everyone here?
Everyone?”
“No,” Natasha muttered.
“Unfortunately,” Bodin said, “we’ve had what I would call some terrible news. We
all
would call it that. It is tragic. I regret to inform you of this terrible announcement. That is why we are having an all-school assembly to come together as a com- munity”–he swallowed and held a closed fist to his rib cage–“as we did previously and have always done.”
That’s when everybody knew that what was darting around school was true–somebody was dead. And some people knew who it was. A large teenage wail rose up from the masses; instinct- ively the bossiest teachers stood up and marched up and down the aisles waving their hands horizontally to shut everybody up. They looked like umpires:
Safe! Safe!
If they only knew.
“It’s true,” Bodin said, looking down. “Here to talk to you more about it is–we’re very grateful to have–Dr. Eleanor Tert. You know her from her work on the all-school survey, and some of you have had the honor of individual interviews. Without any further–for more on this subject–” Bodin gestured emptily out toward us like he was tossing us crumbs.
The curtains parted slightly like late-night television. I swear the grumble of the auditorium sounded like a timpani roll. Everyone clapped and there she was.
Hello, children. The last time I was here I was here to talk to you about a story.
My
story.
I hope that some of you remember the story of my addic- tion and triumph. If not, you can read the book. But that isn’t important. Today I am here to talk to you about
your
story. Today in the student parking lot the body of Adam State was found inside the trunk of a stolen car. He had been missing almost a week, and the police told me he was dead most of that time. I have also been told that Adam was one of the brightest boys here at Roewer and was on the cusp of a brilliant future. Barring any addictive behaviors of his own he could have become an incredible person, and we all
mourn him.
His death is not what worries me, however. What worries me is the
way
he died. Adam State was killed in what looks distinctly like a Satanic ritual. The body was brutally mangled and wounded, and there was a talisman decorated with claws which was found protruding out of Adam’s eye. Although this artifact is normally used as an emory board, I believe–and law enforcement officials believe as well–that it is a Satanic object.
A friend to all of us was found dead this week. Whether he was killed by a Satanic cult here at Roewer or by some- body else at some other place doesn’t matter in the slightest. What is important is that Satan has entered this world of Roewer High
School as a phony solution to the pressures you face. I was in high school, so I know the pressure you are feeling, and I’m here to tell you to join me and say no to Satanism and survive! That’s what I’m here to tell you! Cults are not the solution! I am the solution! Listen to me! My name is Eleanor Tert and I am here to help you all! Thank you.
The auditorium was in full evangelistic roar. The floor rumbled with all the stomping feet, shaking loose some of the gum that had stuck there for years. The house lights burst on. The umpires were walking up and down the aisles again but nobody felt safe. With a horror-movie-shower-scene scream Sweater-Vest Shannon stood up and ran toward the stage, where Tert made little shooing motions. “
Please
!” Shannon said. “
Please
! He
died
! Everyone
dies
! Everyone
dies
!” Tert walked back through the curtains after floundering for a while to find the opening. One of the guidance counselors was trying to say something into the microphone, but with a loud
pop
! it shut down and she walked back offstage, wobbling from a broken shoe. “Everyone
dies
!” Shannon shrieked, alone in the front of the auditorium. Why wasn’t anybody helping her? “Everyone
dies
!” Some people started laughing, tinny and shrieky like it was being torn from their throats by fishhooks. “
Dies! Flies! Lies!
” I stood up; it was clearly time to leave. Some geometry teacher–the balding one Gabriel had sophomore year, I think his name is Treadmill–tried to block me from the aisle but I darted past him.
“I’ve been looking for you, Flannery Culp.” I turned around and there was Hattie Lewis, her crazy-quilt dress matching her crazy-quilt eyes. The assembly let out, and I walked toward her, upstream, as everyone else ran to class.
“I’m really sorry about the
Myriad
lately,” I said. “I know I’ve been a bad literary magazine editor.”
“That isn’t why I’m looking for you,” she said. “I’ve been worried about you. The faculty gossip says that you and the others are somehow involved in this ghastly business with Adam and Mr. Piper.”
“Adam and Mr. Piper?” I said.
“Apparently there was some
business
going on there.” Hattie shuddered. “Mr. Piper always seemed a little suspect to me, but I never thought–the school board really took a chance with him, you know?”
“Yes,” I said. Doors slammed. I was late for something or other. “Adam’s poor mother was down here this morning, and she’s contacting some of the other parents who have always had
con- cerns
about him. They’re really angry and I don’t blame them, of course. I just hope that nothing gets out of hand. Flannery, did
you ever notice Mr. Piper do anything that was at all–”
“No,” I said. “
Never
.” I remembered, suddenly, a ride home in the rain. A late rehearsal and a grateful sophomore–me. Ron would have never tried anything like that–I mean with a
boy
, of course he didn’t try anything with
me
–and now what would happen to him? And–I found myself crying–to us?
“Oh, dear,” Hattie said, like she’d dropped something. Her hand reached toward my shoulder but didn’t reach it.
“
When
?” I cried to her. “
When
will I be wise? You always said it would happen, but–”
“
Hush
,” she said, her hand still hovering. She reached into her kooky purse for a tissue. “
Blow
,” she said sternly, handing it to me, and I did. “Soon,” she said, finally answering. “Soon, dear, but right now you have a few difficult days ahead of you.”
“
Ahead
of me?” I cried.
“I’m afraid so. The police are undoubtedly going to talk to you all.
Flannery
, surely you must know it just wasn’t proper to have him at one of your parties. Goodness, you’re
trembling
, Flannery. Are you ill?”
“Scared,” I said. I felt my teeth chattering.
“What’s to be scared of, really?” she said mildly. “I know you’re upset, Flannery, but try to get ahold of yourself. It will make everything easier. Just tell the police whatever you know. Do you want to talk about it with
me
first?”
“I’m scared,” I whispered. Her hand reached toward me again and finally, finally, found my shoulder. I exhaled for the first time in months, breathed in the good air.
“Scared to talk to me?” she asked. “Flannery,
honestly
. This is an upsetting matter, a very upsetting matter, but it’s not like you’re going to get
caught
or in
trouble
or anything.”
“I won’t?” I said, biting my lip. “Promise?”
“
Flannery
,” she said, astonished and smiling. “
No
, dear.
No
. What on
earth
–? How could you even
think
such things? Didn’t you learn, as a child, that the police are our friends?”
I giggled at that, looked down at the filthy floor.
“After all,” she continued smoothly, “it’s not as if
you
had anything–” Our eyes met and with that English-teacher wisdom she saw it, right through me like a glass-bottom boat. All the creatures at the sandy bottom of myself, scuttling around. Pred- ators, afraid to be caught. Afraid to be prey. She jerked her hand back from me so hard my neck snapped. From behind a classroom door students tittered politely at some teacher’s joke.
“
Oh
,” she said, and stepped back.
“Mrs. Lewis–” I started, reaching for a laugh. “You’ve misun- der–this is a misunder–”
“
Oh, oh
,” she said, and cupped her face in her hands. “Mrs.
Lewis
!” I cried. “
Please
. Let me–”