by John Saul
It was then the idea came to him.
If he had a job after school, there was no way his father could insist that he go out for sports.
Straightening up, he tucked his shirt neatly into his jeans, then walked into the camera store. From behind the counter a friendly-looking man with gray hair and wire-framed glasses smiled genially at him.
“What can I do for you?” the man asked.
“Are you Mr. Spalding?” Mark asked.
The man nodded. “None other. And who might you be?”
“Mark Tanner,” Mark replied. “I just moved here, and I was wondering if maybe you needed some help. Just part-time, after school and maybe on weekends.”
Henry Spalding’s brows arched skeptically. For a moment Mark was certain he was going to be turned down flat. Then, to his surprise, Spalding cocked his head thoughtfully. “Well, actually, I’ve been thinking about some help. Ski season is coming, and that always brings some people around. Then there’s Christmas, and whatnot.” His gaze sharpened slightly. “But it’s evenings I’d need.”
Mark thought quickly. What difference did it make? If he was working in the evenings, he’d have to do his studying in the afternoons. “That’s okay,” he said. “That would be perfect.”
Spalding disappeared into the tiny office at the back of the store and returned with a crumpled and stained job-application form. “Well, why don’t you fill this out, and then we can talk,” he said, handing the application to Mark. As Mark fished a pen out of the bottom of his book bag, Spalding regarded him speculatively. “What team are you on?” he asked. “You look kind of small for football. Tennis, maybe? Or baseball?”
Mark shook his head, not looking up from the form. “I’m not on any of the teams,” he said. “I’m … well, I guess I’m a lot better at photography than I am at sports.”
Suddenly Mr. Spalding’s hand appeared in Mark’s line of sight, pulling the application back.
“Not on any team?” he heard the man asking, and looked up to see Spalding gazing quizzically at him.
“N-No,” Mark stammered. “Why?”
“Why, because it makes all the difference in the world,” Spalding told him. “This is Silverdale, son. Here, we support our teams. And that includes making sure they get first pick of the part-time jobs.” Then, seeing the look of disappointment in Mark’s eyes, he tried to soften the blow. “Tell you what,” he said. “I’ll give the school a call tomorrow and sort of see what’s what. Maybe nobody on the teams will want the job here. And if they don’t, then you can surely have it yourself.”
Mark bit his lip and managed to thank Henry Spalding before he picked up his book bag and backed out of the little shop. But as he started home, he knew that there would be no job for him at Spalding’s camera shop.
After all, he’d overheard one of the boys in his photography class talking that morning about looking for a job until baseball season started.
As he turned onto Telluride Drive, Mark began to wonder if maybe he wasn’t wrong about Silverdale after all. A week ago it had all seemed so exciting.
Now it didn’t seem exciting at all.
6
Sharon Tanner stood at the kitchen sink, her lips pursed, her brows pulled together in a worried frown. Though there were four steaks sizzling on the grill behind her, she had forgotten them for the moment, for she was watching Mark, who was seated cross-legged on the lawn near the garage, staring blankly at the rabbit hutch. Though she’d been watching him closely for only a few minutes, she’d been vaguely aware of his presence in the backyard for at least half an hour. That in itself wasn’t unusual; Mark usually spent at least an hour a day taking care of the rabbits, petting them, checking them, or just playing with them, letting them run free in the yard for Chivas to chase, confident that the dog would bring them back unharmed.
But today something was different. Instead of frolicking around Mark and sniffing eagerly at the hutch, Chivas was sprawled out on the ground beside his master. The dog’s forelegs were stretched out in front of him and his massive head rested quietly on his paws. Behind him, his tail lay limply on the ground, and though he looked as if he might be asleep, Sharon could see even from the kitchen that his eyes were open and staring up at Mark’s face.
Chivas, too, apparently sensed that something was wrong. And now that she thought about it, Sharon realized that it wasn’t only today. All week, it seemed in retrospect, Mark had grown quieter and quieter, spending more and more time by himself, wandering around in the hills with Chivas after school, or just sitting by himself in the backyard, staring at the rabbits in their cage. But she was almost certain he wasn’t seeing the rabbits at all. No, something else was on his mind, something he hadn’t been willing to talk about. When Kelly came into the kitchen, demanding to know when dinner was going to be ready, Sharon made up her mind.
“In a few minutes, honey,” she told the little girl. “How’d you like to take care of the steaks for me?”
Kelly’s eyes glittered with pleasure, and she instantly picked up the large fork from the counter by the grill and stabbed experimentally at one of the thick T-bones that were just barely beginning to brown. “Is it time to turn them?”
“Every four minutes,” Sharon replied, glancing at the meat and deciding she had at least fifteen minutes in which to talk with her son. Leaving Kelly alone in the kitchen, she went out into the yard and dropped down on the lawn next to Mark. As if sensing that help for his master had arrived, Chivas sat up, his tail wagging, his big trusting eyes fixed on her expectantly.
“Want to talk about it?” Sharon asked.
Mark glanced at her curiously. “Talk about what? Did I do something wrong?”
“No,” Sharon replied. “But I’m your mother. I can tell when something’s bothering you. You get quiet. But quiet won’t fix anything.”
Mark took a deep breath, then sighed. “I—I guess I’m just not sure I like Silverdale,” he said, looking away.
“This is only Thursday. In less than a week you’ve already decided you don’t like it? You were the one who was so excited about coming, remember?”
Mark nodded glumly. “I know. And I know how much Dad likes it. Even Kelly’s stopped sulking about her friends at home.”
“And you don’t want to rain on anybody’s parade. Right?”
Mark hesitated, then nodded. “I guess so,” he admitted. But then, as he met his mother’s gaze, everything that had been building up inside him since Monday came pouring out. “All anyone here thinks about is sports,” he said. “Mom, I can’t even get a job, ’cause I’m not on any of the teams.”
Sharon stared at him in confusion. What on earth was he talking about? “A job?” she asked. “Why are you looking for a job?”
Mark flushed self-consciously. “I—Well, I thought if I had a job, Dad might get off my back about going out for sports. I mean, if I was working, I wouldn’t have time to play, would I?”
Sharon could hardly keep from laughing out loud, but the look of appeal in her son’s eyes stopped her. “Well, aren’t you the devious one,” she said, allowing herself a small chuckle. “I have to admit, it would probably work. So what’s the problem?”
Mark shrugged, and told her what had happened at the camera store on Monday afternoon. The scene had been repeated on Tuesday and Wednesday afternoons, as he’d presented himself at other shops. Today, Henry Spalding’s words had been repeated to him again, this time at the drugstore. “What am I going to do? I’m not going to make any of the teams, and I’m not going to be able to get a job, and Dad’s going to start riding me.”
The two of them sat without speaking for a few minutes, as if the silence itself might provide a solution. Finally, Sharon shrugged. “I wish I knew what to tell you,” she said. “I’ll try to keep your father from pushing you too hard. But you know your father.” She gave Mark an affectionate pat on the back, then scrambled to her feet. “Come on. Supper’s almost ready.”
But Mark shook hi
s head. “I’m not very hungry,” he said, looking up at her. “Is it all right if I just skip dinner? Maybe I’ll take Chivas up into the hills.”
Sharon considered it for a moment, then made up her mind. He’s almost sixteen, she told herself. He has to start working things through for himself. “Okay,” she agreed. “But just make sure you get back before dark. I don’t want you getting lost up there.”
Mark grinned at her, and the change in his expression alone was enough to make Sharon certain she’d made the right decision. “I won’t. But even if I did, Chivas would get us back.”
As Sharon started back to the kitchen where Kelly was already yelling that the steaks were going to burn, Mark and Chivas disappeared down the driveway.
Mark wasn’t certain how long he’d been gone. In fact, he hadn’t really been paying too much attention to how they’d gotten here. With Chivas romping ahead of him, he’d walked north until he’d come to the edge of town, then followed the winding course of the river for a quarter of a mile to a small footbridge. Crossing the bridge, he’d found three paths leading in as many directions, and chosen the one that would take him uphill. Within twenty minutes they’d come to the edge of the valley and started up into the mountains.
The tree-dotted meadowlands of the valley quickly gave way to thick stands of pines interspersed with groves of aspen. Chivas, his whole body quivering with pleasure at the strange aromas that filled his nostrils, kept bounding off into the woods, giving chase to the squirrels and birds, or anything else that moved. Mark himself kept to the trail, working ever higher. Then, as he came around a tight bend, he found himself standing at the top of a steep bluff that commanded a view of the entire valley. For some reason the crest of the bluff was clear of trees, but in several places the tall grass had been matted down where deer had apparently bedded for the night. Mark glanced around for Chivas, but the big dog was nowhere to be seen. The sun, still a little above the horizon, felt warm after the deep shade of the woods, so he dropped down onto one of the deer beds and gazed out over the valley.
A few minutes later he stretched out on his back and let his eyes close. Just for a few seconds …
It was with a start that he realized the sun had dropped below the horizon. Chivas, a low growl rumbling in his throat, was standing next to Mark, his body trembling as he gazed off into the distance, one forepaw raised slightly off the ground, his tail dropping in a slight curve behind him, every muscle in his body tense.
Mark shook the sleep out of his head, then got to his knees. Squinting in the fading daylight, he followed Chivas’s steady gaze but could see nothing.
Still, something had alerted the dog, and jarred Mark himself out of his light sleep.
But what?
And then he heard it.
It was a low, vaguely wailing sound, and when it first drifted up to him out of the valley, he wasn’t sure he’d heard it at all. But then, as he strained his ears and Chivas’s growl grew louder, the sound changed, becoming a scream of something that sounded like pain.
Pain, or fury.
It was an animal sound, vicious and feral, and Mark felt a chill in his body as the howl slashed through the peace of the evening.
A split-second later the howling abruptly ended, leaving not even an echo to reverberate through the hills.
Chivas, at his side, barked once then fell silent.
The two of them stayed where they were for several long minutes, listening for the sound again, but a silence seemed to gather, and as the sun continued to set and the sky in the west took on a brilliant, pinkish tinge, long, deep shadows could be seen in the valley below.
“Come on, boy,” Mark said, instinctively dropping his voice to little more than a whisper. “Let’s get home.” He rose to his feet and started back along the path through the woods. This time Chivas, instead of bounding off on a path of his own, stayed close to his master. Every few yards the dog paused to look back, a soft whimper rising in his throat.
Mark hurried his step, but it wasn’t until they’d crossed the bridge once again and were back in the more familiar surroundings of the town that he finally felt himself begin to relax.
Linda Harris watched anxiously as Tiffany Welch took a deep breath, ran three quick steps, jumped, then hit the end of the springboard perfectly. The board launched her upward, and she executed a near-perfect flip in the air before landing unsteadily on the shoulders of Josh Hinsdale and Pete Nakamura. The two boys, feeling Tiffany’s legs tremble, grasped her ankles to steady her, and she threw her arms wide as she remained on their shoulders for a moment before losing her balance. Yelling for them to let go, she jumped back to the mats that covered the floor of the gym.
“All right,” she said, reading the look in Linda’s eyes. “So it wasn’t perfect. But at least I got up, and by the time we have the homecoming game, I’ll be able to stay up.”
Linda shook her head. “Or you’ll wind up with a broken back. I’m telling you, Tiff, if Mrs. Haynes finds out what you’re doing, she’ll kill us all.”
“So we won’t let her find out,” Tiffany said. “I’ll just keep practicing until I get it right, and then we’ll show her.”
“Well, I’m not practicing anymore tonight,” Linda told her. She glanced up at the clock. “It’s almost nine, and I still have to do my algebra. Come on.”
The two girls said good-bye to Josh and Pete, then hurried into the locker room, showered quickly, and dressed. “Want to grab a Coke?” Tiffany asked as they left fifteen minutes later, their hair still wet, but drying quickly in the dry mountain air.
Linda shook her head. “Can’t. Besides the algebra, I’ve got an English paper due.”
“ ‘My Summer Vacation, by Linda Jane Harris’?” Tiffany asked, her voice edged with sarcasm. “Don’t you just hate those things?”
Linda giggled. “Except that this one’s even worse,” she said. “I have to come up with a thousand words on The Most Important Person In My Life.’ Maybe,” she went on, as a sudden image of the English teacher’s humorless face came into her mind, “I’ll do my paper on Mr. Grey himself.”
Tiffany shook her head. “My brother tried that two years ago. Mr. Grey gave him an F and made him do it over again.”
As they turned the corner around the school building, a figure suddenly stepped out of the shadows ahead. Both the girls froze for a second, but then they heard, “Hey! It’s just me.”
The figure moved fully out of the shadows, and Jeff LaConner appeared in the light of the streetlamp above. “I was waiting for you,” he said to Linda.
Tiffany glanced at Linda out of the corner of her eye. “How about Jeff?” she said. “You could write the paper about him, couldn’t you?” Then, before Linda could think of a good retort, Tiffany said a quick good-bye and hurried away, leaving Jeff and Linda alone.
Jeff fell in beside her and slipped his arm around her shoulders. It wasn’t the first time he’d put his arm around her as they’d walked, but tonight, for some reason, it made her feel uncomfortable. Almost instantly she realized why.
Mark Tanner.
Linda had been dating Jeff LaConner since last spring. But even during the summer, when they’d spent time together almost every day, she hadn’t been certain how she felt. Of course, at the beginning she’d been thrilled that Jeff was interested in her at all, since she was only a freshman and he was a junior. And a football star, at that. And she’d loved the envious looks Tiffany Welch and the other girls had given her when Jeff came over to sit with her at lunchtime. But as the summer wore on and Jeff began spending more and more time practicing football, she’d had misgivings. It wasn’t that she didn’t like him—she did. It was just that he didn’t seem to be interested in anything but football, and half the time, when he’d come over to see her, he and Robb ended up out in the backyard, passing a ball back and forth while she sat on the porch wondering why he’d come at all.
And then last weekend Mark had come to town, and on Saturday, before Robb had
arrived and Mark had gotten so quiet, she’d enjoyed talking to him. Not that they’d really talked about much. But it had been easy for her to talk to Mark, because unlike her brother, or Jeff most of the time, he really listened when she talked to him. It had been the same every morning this week, when they’d walked to school together. Even at lunch hour, though most of the time she was with Jeff, she’d found herself looking around for Mark.
“We still on for the pep rally tomorrow night?” she heard Jeff asking now. As he spoke, she felt his hand tighten on her shoulder, and there was a roughness in his voice she couldn’t remember having heard before.
“T-Tomorrow night?” she asked, stammering slightly. “But you didn’t ask me, did you?”
Jeff stopped walking and turned to face her. They were a few yards away from a streetlight, and though Jeff’s face was partly in shadow, his expression appeared angry. “I didn’t think I had to,” he said. “You’re going to be there, and I’m going to be there, and we always go out afterward, don’t we?”
“Do we?” Linda asked, then felt stupid at the sound of her own question. Of course they did—everyone knew they did. Why had she said something so dumb?
Mark Tanner: that was why.
“What do you mean, do we?” Jeff asked. There was a definite tinge of anger when he said, “You’re my girlfriend, aren’t you?”
Linda swallowed. “I—I don’t know,” she replied. All of a sudden it seemed as if her mind had gone off on its own and she no longer had any control over her own thoughts. “I think—well, maybe we’ve been spending too much time together.…” Now, why had she said that? Sure, she’d been thinking about Jeff, wondering how she really felt about him, but she hadn’t really been thinking about breaking up with him, had she?