by John Coyne
Three
Just waiting for him made her nervous. Yet still she watched, standing in front of her locker and fiddling with the combination. She had unlocked the metal door several times, gotten out her books, put away her jacket and lunch, and even attempted to straighten out the top shelf. It was only the sixth week of school and already she couldn't find anything in there. "Hey, Dunn, let's go." She glanced over her shoulder at the two girls. "Go ahead, I'll catch up." She kept busy fishing in the messy shelf. "What's taking you so long?" one of the girls demanded. They were both shorter than she and wore their hair in the same short, curly style. "I have to find my geometry homework," she explained, still searching. "Go on, I'll catch up." Now she was afraid he would come while those two were there. She would never have the courage to say anything to him then. "We'll wait," one of the two said, leaning with a thump against the row of lockers. Don't! I have to check in with Tinko. She wants to see me about something." "About what?" the girls asked, almost in chorus. "I don't know. Something." She didn't look at her friends. "Jesus Christ, more bullshit," one said, and turned to the other. "Come on, Tracy, let's go." "See you in class, Val," Tracy said, following her friend into the thick pack of students who crowded the hallway on both sides, opening lockers, getting ready for first period. Valerie sighed. Then she spotted him, coming toward her down the length of the hallway. His head bobbed above those of the other students. He was moving quickly, weaving his way through the crowd. Not speaking to anyone. Not even nodding hello to classmates. She jerked open her locker again and picked up a small minor, concealing it in her hands. She caught her reflection, looked to see if her hair was all right, that she hadn't smudged her lipgloss. Then she glanced around the open locker door. He was hurrying, realizing that he was almost late. The first bell had already rung. Reaching back into the locker, she pulled tissue from her purse and blotted her lips. The lipgloss had been a mistake. She shouldn't have tried to look older. He would only think it was dumb. He wasn't the kind of boy to like girls who wore lipstick. "Hey, excuse me." Valerie looked up, trying to sneak the mirror back into her purse inconspicuously. "You're blocking my locker," he said. "Oh, sorry." She stepped away to give him room, slamming her own locker shut. "That's okay." He slipped the green backpack off his shoulder and set it on the floor between his feet while he twirled the dial of his lock. She noticed the pack had come from L. L. Bean; so had his navy-blue down vest. "How did you memorize the combination so fast?" Valerie asked. She held her books for first period clutched against her chest. Scott shrugged. "I don't know. I've always been good with numbers." He jerked open the lock, slipped it off the metal latch, doing it all with one hand. He was trying to be casual about it, effortless, but the Yale lock slipped out of his grasp and hit the concrete floor. "Shit!" He reached down quickly and grabbed it, embarrassed by his clumsiness. "You're new, aren't you?" Valerie asked. She took a step closer, watching him. "Yeah." He opened the locker door and began transferring books, trying to remember which class was first period. In his shirt pocket he had a schedule, but he didn't want her to see him checking it. "You'll need the geometry book," she said, seeing him shove that one back into his locker. "What?" Scotty glanced at her. "You have geometry first period. Mr. Schwinn. We're in the same class." She smiled. "I'm Valerie Dunn." Her smile was lopsided. It seemed to spread to one side of her face as if there was too much of it. And she was tall. Taller than his mother, though not as tall as he was, and skinny. He could knock her over with a shove. She was wearing jeans and a Michigan State football jersey. The jersey was enormous on her and she kept pushing up the sleeves, bunching the folds at her elbows. He thought she looked cute. "What's your name?" she asked when he didn't respond. "Scott. Scott Gardiner." "Hi." She kept watching him, still smiling. Her eyes were bright and very happy, as if she didn't have a care in the world. He wondered why he hadn't noticed her before. He liked tall girls. Short girls made him nervous; it was as if he couldn't trust them. She inched closer, still leaning against her locker. Down the length of the hallway only a few students were still at their lockers; most had moved into classrooms. Nervously, he wondered why she was hanging around. The second bell would ring any second, and they'd both be late. He began rifling through the shelf again, searching for his notebook. "Missing something?" she asked. She still sounded cheery, as if she were having a terrific time. The bell rang. "Oh, Christ!" He slapped the metal door in frustration. "What is it?" she demanded, concerned now. "I can't find my goddamn notebook, that's what!" "Is this it?" She reached out and lifted a spiral binder from the zipper pocket of his pack. "Oh, yeah, thanks." He grabbed the notebook from her, slid it under his arm, and hurriedly locked his locker. "Well, how do you like Flat Rock?" she asked conversationally, falling into step with him as they walked toward the classroom. He shrugged. "It's okay. I don't know." He walked fast, trying to shake her off, but her legs were almost as long as his. "Where did you go to school before?" she asked, keeping pace. "In Connecticut. Spencertown Academy." "Boys only?" "Yeah." They had reached the doorway of the classroom and Scotty paused. He did not want to walk in with her. "Thank you." Valerie beamed as he paused at the door, giving her room to enter first. Inside the classroom, in the wide space at the front of the room, she glanced back at him and grinned. He liked her smile. It made her pretty face seem slightly out of whack, a little less perfect. Then Scott spotted Nick Borgus watching him, saw the big senior lean across the aisle and nudge Hank Simpson, nod toward him and Valerie. Scott kept walking. He went around Mr. Schwinn's desk and down the far aisle, away from the two seniors, away from Valerie Dunn. He dropped into his own seat and slumped down immediately, as if trying to hide behind his books. The two seniors were the first students he had met at Flat Rock High School. It had been the opening day of school and his mother had wanted to drive him. It was a new school, she had said, and he might get lost, but he wouldn't let her come. "I'm a junior, Mom. I don't need to be led around like some little kid." He had driven the car himself, arriving just as all the school buses were coming from the rural areas. The buses had blocked off the drive to the front entrance and student parking, so he cut across the section marked Faculty Parking, circled the one story building and came up behind the school on a dead-end drive. There were a handful of students standing outside, smoking by the trash cans. They watched him drive toward them, shouted at him to stop, that he was going the wrong way. Scott wheeled the car around, using one hand and handling it easily, showing off a little. He hit the brakes and the MGB squealed to a stop. "Hey, where's student parking?" he shouted, keeping the engine running. There were half a dozen boys standing near the huge trash containers and none of them answered. They glanced back and forth, snickered, as if his question was funny. "Who is this turkey?" one of the boys finally asked, not moving from where he stood, leaning against the trash containers. "Shit, I don't know," another answered. He was taller than the others and he slowly went into a deep knee bend, so as to bring him self down to the level of the low slung MGB. "Hey, Nick," he drawled, "let's give this asshole some shit." For a moment Nick, the shorter one, said nothing. He had a small, round, smooth head, shaped like a bullet. "New guy, huh?" he said to no one in particular. "He's wearing a fuckin' tie!" the taller boy exclaimed, as if startled by the sight. "Hey, you want to just tell me where should I park?" Scott asked again, trying to sound unimpressed. On the steering wheel, his hands, began to sweat. "Nick," said the big student, "this is some fuckin' new kid. Some rich kid with a fuckin' MGB." "Shut your mouth, Simpson," Nick said. He sounded annoyed. He, too, had seen that the new kid was wearing a tie and a blue blazer. Who did this fucker think he was, Nick thought, coming to school dressed like that? "Come on, Nick, let's just ride this wimp's ass," Simpson pleaded. Nick glanced at him. "Keep it cool," he ordered. Scott saw the two of them exchange glances, then move toward him. They walked slowly, taking their time, as if time itself belonged to them. Scott knew their kind. He had seen them at the Academy. Seniors. Football jocks. Assholes. The two boys
were wearing jeans, football sweatshirts and sneakers. Self-consciously Scott jerked at his tie, loosening it. "Now, what did you say you wanted?" the one called Nick asked. He was not smiling. "The parking lot. Where do students park?" He was almost whispering, embarrassed and afraid. Simpson sat down on the MGB's hood, as if claiming the car. He leaned over the windshield and grinned. "You new here, preppie?" Scott nodded, not wanting to speak. He had to get away. It would only get worse. "Where you from?" Nick asked. "Connecticut." He kept his answer short so they wouldn't see how nervous he was. "Well, preppie, usually you can park anywhere in the back lot," Nick answered, speaking quickly, as if he wanted to be helpful. "But they use the lot on Tuesdays for band practice, so you'll have to park on the side street." His face was without expression, as if it were paralyzed. "But there are No Parking signs..." Scott turned around, pointing to the side street at the end of the football field. "It doesn't make any difference on Tuesdays. The cops know kids put their cars on the street" "Yeah, we all do," Simpson added. He got off the hood, as if ready to let Scott drive away. They were lying, Scott knew. And they knew he knew. What they wanted to see was how he would handle it. At Spencertown, Scott would've known what was cool. But here he wasn't so sure. Was their violence just a pose, or would they beat the shit out of him if he challenged their word? For a moment they all waited. Then the shorter guy said, "My name is Nick Borgus." He extended his hand. "And you're...?" "Gardiner. Scott Gardiner." He reached to shake hands and saw what was so strange about Nick Borgus. The boy's eyes were the color of shallow water, pale and nondescript, dead in his face. "What year?" "Junior, but my schedule is pretty messed up. I've got some senior courses, and for some courses I'm only taking the final exams." He kept talking, explaining how he had been in the accelerated program at Spencertown. "A smart prick, huh, preppie," Simpson said. The MGB's canvas convertible top was down and he leaned into the front seat intimidatingly. "Hey, Simpson, lay off!" Borgus interjected. "Don't bother about Simpson here," he said to Scott. "Everyone knows he's a dumb fucker." Borgus grinned, shoving Simpson away from the car. "He gets weird around anyone who has an I.Q. over ninety-five." Simpson shoved back and the two of them struggled noisily, but Scott could see it was all a put on, that they were just playing at having a confrontation. "Hey, go park it on the side street," Nick said, suddenly turning back to Scott. The game was over. "You never have to worry about Tuesdays at Flat Rock," he added, grinning. Scott moved fast. He nodded okay and wheeled the tiny car around, shifting rapidly as he accelerated down the short drive, and out onto the side street. He didn't look back. He was afraid they might be watching him and laughing. He felt stupid driving through the big empty parking lot, but he knew Borgus would make an issue of it if he disobeyed. So he parked the car on the side street, under a No Parking sign, and shut off the engine. Then he held on to the steering wheel, as if for his life. He hated Flat Rock High School. It was a crummy place, full of Neanderthals like Simpson. He should have stayed at Spencertown; he shouldn't have let his mother make him move to Ballycastle. He reached up and closed the canvas top of the convertible, then got out of the car and locked it. She had given him his father's car as a bribe to make him transfer, and he had fallen for it. He had left his friends and Hobgoblin and now he was an outsider. He knew it already, had known it the minute he saw the way they acted and the way they dressed. They would never accept him, nor did he want to be like them. They were all hicks, he thought, country crackers. Farm boys. He glanced again at the No Parking sign. "Ah, fuck it," he swore out loud, spun around, and walked back across the football field to the school. That afternoon when he came back to the car, a parking ticket had been slipped under the windshield wiper. What other trouble were they planning for him now, he wondered, as he glanced across the classroom. The two seniors were whispering to each other, and as Valerie went down the aisle, Nick Borgus grabbed her arm and pulled her closer. "Hey, do you actually know that creep?" he asked. He had hold of her jersey, had pinned her against his desk. "Let go, Nick!" Valerie jerked free of his grip. "Hey, cool it, Dunn." He softened his voice and glanced around, searching for the teacher, but it was okay; for some reason the teacher was late. "Do you know that preppie?" he asked. "What if I do?" She glanced nervously between him and Hank Simpson. She had been in school with the two of them all her life, rode the bus with them every day, but ever since classes had begun that fall, things had seemed different. Now she was frightened of them, of their size and strength. "Where does he live?" Simpson asked, whispering, as if the information were a secret. "At Ballycastle..." Immediately she felt as if she had betrayed Scott and she glanced across the room and saw he was watching her. "See, I told you he had money," Simpson said, leaning across the aisle and slapping Borgus hard on the shoulder. "Is he related to that crazy old fart?" "His mother just works at the castle, that's all," Valerie answered, pushing past the two seniors. "Quit picking on him. He hasn't done anything to you." "Yes, he has," Borgus whispered, staring across the room. "Like what?" She moved between the two, blocking Nick's sight of Scott, and making him respond to her. "He looks funny. I don't like funny-looking assholes. And he's got money." "No, he doesn't. His mother, I told you, only works there. She's writing a history of Ballycastle, or something. My sister is a tour guide there; she told me all about it" "Have you seen his car, that MGB?" "So what?" Valerie was puzzled, unsure of what Borgus meant. "It's just a tiny little car." "It's an MGB, for chrissake. Do you have one? Do Hank or me even have a car? Fuckin' no. We've got to ride the goddamn school bus and this preppie tools in here every day." He was growing angrier as he spoke. "Borgus, you're crazy." Valerie started to laugh at him. "You don't like him because he's tall and makes you look like a shrimp." Laughing, she dodged quickly down the aisle, getting away before he could reach out and smack her on the bottom. "Bitch," Scott thought, watching her. First she's nice to him out in the hall, then she stands there laughing at him with Borgus and that cretin Simpson. He flipped open his spiral binder and skimmed through the clean pages until, hidden in the back, he found his list of names, and at the bottom, in his most flowing script he added hers: Valerie Dunn.