“Yup.”
“Crane? And you’re starting classes Monday? At Sleepy Hollow?”
Jason nodded.
“Ouch,” said Joey.
“Will they rag on me, do you think?”
“Oh, my dear Ichabod.” Joey donned the earmuffs and gassed the weed-eater. “Run for your life.”
#
Jason met Zef Van Brunt on Saturday night.
The Horsemen, Sleepy Hollow’s football team, had an away game scheduled, followed by the midseason Spirit Dance. Hadewych volunteered his son to pick Jason up and introduce him around the event.
Jason didn’t want to leave Eliza. She’d had a bad spell Friday night – her chest had started hurting and she’d been shaking and sweating. But Eliza insisted that he go. She wanted him to make new friends and settle in, and she fretted that he’d missed too much of the semester and would find himself shut out socially. “Half their little groups start clumping together in the first week,” she said.
No, thought Jason, half their little groups start clumping together in the third grade.
That morning she took him to Revel’s Menswear in Tarrytown and bought him a new blazer and tie. Zef showed up around seven-thirty wearing a maroon hoodie and jeans. He was blond, like his father, but had thick dark eyebrows; he was almost as tall as Jason but broader and square-jawed, a sullen teenaged Viking. He mumbled greetings to Eliza and directed Jason out to the car. He never took his hands out of his pockets or looked up from his shoes.
Zef’s car was a dented blue cruiser with one green door on the driver’s side. It was a piece of junk parked next to Eliza’s Mercedes. Jason came round the passenger side.
“Back seat,” said Zef.
They climbed in and Zef cranked the stereo so he wouldn’t have to talk to his passenger. The speakers were powerful, and right behind Jason’s head. It sounded like the drummer was beating a herd of cats to death.
They drove down Gory Brook but turned right on Broadway, away from the school.
“So I hear we’re cousins,” Jason shouted, trying to be heard over a guitar solo.
Zef snapped the music off.
“You don’t go for that bullshit, do you?” he said.
“No. Guess not.” Jason loosened his tie. So this was his only family in the world. Great. “Where are we going?”
“I have to pick up Kate.”
“Kate?”
“My girlfriend,” he said. He sounded morose and edgy. They drove in silence the rest of the way. The silence was louder than the noise had been.
That kid Joey had called Zef “a good guy,” but Jason didn’t see it. He wasn’t too surprised, though. If he had lived under Hadewych’s thumb his whole life, he’d be angry too. He stared at the back of Zef’s head for a while, trying to guess his story, but then he caught Zef looking back at him in the rear view mirror so he turned away and watched the road.
They drove past the Old Dutch Church and cemetery, turned onto a winding street, drifted past a large reservoir ringed with red and gold trees. The sun dipped behind these, and you couldn’t tell where the leaves and sunset met, the two were so alike.
Jason didn’t look forward to the dance. He’d be a third wheel, an unwanted guest, tagging behind Zef and his date all night, surrounded by strangers. How had this become his life? So much had changed. When would something change for the better?
“Wait,” said Zef.
He parked in front of a colonial-style house on a hill. Zef left the car at the curb and walked up the driveway. A small jack-o’-lantern flickered on the porch, the first smile Jason had seen all night. A middle-aged man greeted Zef at the door before he had even knocked, throwing arms wide and hugging him. He was tall, fit, with wavy brown hair, pinstripe shirt and suspenders. The girl’s father, Jason guessed, and a big fan of Zef. The man gestured inside, but Zef shook his head and pointed at the car. The man nodded and disappeared. Zef stood on the doorstep for a long time, hands in pockets. He walked to the porch railing and looked up. So did Jason. The first few stars were appearing.
Then so did she.
She was tomboyish, this girl. He could tell by the way she swung the door closed, the way she jumped down all three stairs at once, the way she walked straight across the lawn, ignoring the path, leaving Zef in her wake. But she wore her femininity as a party dress tonight, something for a special occasion, her dark blonde hair pinned in back except for a few wisps that curled in front of her ears and brushed her cheeks. She had dimples and a mouth made for laughing. She wore a light fuzzy jacket over a black top of thin silk, and as she slipped into the car, Jason’s eyes trailed to a tiny sliver of exposed skin above the waist of her jeans.
“Hey,” Kate said. “Eyes up here, mister.”
She’d seen him looking. He blushed and turned away, though she’d sounded amused, not angry. He glanced back at the girl but she was watching Zef slip behind the wheel, her expression one of pure adoration.
Oh, well, Jason thought.
She threw her arms around Zef and kissed him.
For a long time.
11 home of the horsemen
The headlights of Zef’s cruiser swept across the sign: Sleepy Hollow High: Home of the Horsemen. Dozens of cars climbed the hill to the school, windows rolled down, every radio tuned to a different song. Jason saw a girl with a carnation in her hair, swinging a handbag on a gold strap, pretty, a freshman probably, sparkling with just enough childish delight that Jason guessed she would be skipping to the dance if others weren’t watching. Jason saw low necklines, short skirts¸ ruffles, pleats, and bright earrings. Three girls paraded through traffic, arm in arm down the middle of the street. Above the entire scene, two baby-faced boys with scraggly chins sat on a huge paint-splattered boulder, laughing at the show and smoking cloves. One had a megaphone in his lap.
The parking lot snarled with student drivers and brake lights. Zef swore and drummed the steering wheel. He honked and waved to a group of boys. These bounded over, battering the hood with their palms, bowing to Kate, hands to their hearts. They wore matching maroon jackets and gap-toothed grins. The tallest ran in front of the cruiser and directed traffic, making a gap for Zef’s car. Kate leaned out the window and hugged the boy’s neck. This gave Jason a view of rounded denim, rivets and long curving seams. Zef gassed the car playfully, the hug broke, and Kate slipped back inside. Someone behind them wailed, “I love you, Kate!” with exaggerated despair. Boys laughed and pounded on the trunk. Zef stuck an arm out the window and raised his middle finger in farewell. The wheels punched off a speed bump and Jason’s teeth clacked together.
They pulled in alongside the football field, perched on the hill above the school. Four lights blazed down from a stainless steel cross arm. The shadow of a goalpost stabbed across the field, a broken pitchfork. A painted Headless Horseman threw his blazing football across the scoreboard.
Kate made tracks towards a distant line of yellow buses. Jason was out of the car next. The cold air bit his cheeks and he missed the car heater. He stood on a strip of grass, pulling on his jacket, watching Kate go. Zef had introduced her to Jason on the way over, but after a few minutes of polite back-and-forth she’d turned her attention back to Zef, talking about mutual friends, their parents, the dance. Jason sat, staring at the passing streetlamps. Or at Zef’s hand on Kate’s knee.
“Grab this, dude?”
Zef popped the trunk and lifted out a canvas garment bag. He heaved it into Jason’s arms. Jason fumbled with it, trying to find a grip.
“What’s in here?”
Zef shouldered a duffel.
“Oh nothing,” he said, grinning. “Dead body.”
Zef slammed the trunk and walked off. Jason wrestled with the garment bag, got it to fold over his shoulder, and followed after, muttering to himself.
Rounding the last bus in line, they saw a parked truck with a horse trailer. A black-haired man of about fifty stood alongside, talking to Kate. She’d climbed onto the trailer hitch, lean
ing in to scratch the snout of a sleek rose-gray horse.
“You’re my beautiful boy,” she cooed in its ear, her left hand twining in the bridle. “My best fella.”
“Look at that,” said Zef, “I’ve been replaced. Hey, Carlos.”
The man wiped his hand on his windbreaker and shook Zef’s.
“You never had a chance, mister,” said Kate. “Gunsmoke is my true love. Aren’t you, baby?”
The horse nodded twice and snorted at Zef.
“I watered him before we left,” Carlos said.
“Good,” said Kate. “How’s his leg?”
“Oh, fine. It’s just a little stretched tendon. He limped for a few days, that’s all.”
“Poor thing,” she said, and scratched the horse’s cheek.
“But I can still ride him?” said Zef, his voice a little sharp.
“Oh sure.”
“Good deal,” Zef said. He reached up and wrapped an arm around Kate’s waist. She came down like a tree felled by a lumberjack, her body against his, kissing him before her feet touched the asphalt.
“How’d he hurt his leg?” said Jason, looking away.
“My fault,” said Kate, breaking from Zef. “I rode him in mud.”
“And you go too fast, Miss Usher. Too fast,” said Carlos.
“No such thing. Gunsmoke loves it when I ride him fast, don’t you baby?”
“Who wouldn’t?” said Zef with a mischievous leer, and Kate bit her lip and punched him in the shoulder.
“So we slipped a little and he threw me,” she said. “I didn’t mind it. It was fun. Like being shot from a cannon. Look at this, though.” She sloughed the jacket and pulled her blouse away to reveal a dark bruise on her shoulder.
“Ouch,” said Zef. Kate pouted a little, and he kissed the spot.
Carlos turned to Jason.
“This girl is crazy, you know?” he said, rolling his eyes.
“I’m just sorry my big boy hurt himself.” She pulled her jacket back on and stroked the animal again. It shook its head and snorted vapor against her palm.
A band began to play in the distance. Jason turned and saw that the sea of headlights had thinned. A few lonely stragglers hunted for parking spaces.
“That’s our cue,” said Kate. “Will you be okay?”
“Oh, no problem,” said Carlos. “I got Slaughterhouse Five on tape. Just come up when you’re ready. I’ll have his saddle on.”
Kate hugged the man, kissed his cheek. Carlos flapped his arms in embarrassment, tucking his chin into his chest bashfully. He pulled open the door of the truck, waggled a palm towards Zef and Jason, and climbed into the cab. Kate noticed Jason struggling with the heavy garment bag. She shook her head, took the thing by the hangers and tossed it to Zef, frowning. Then she did the impossible. She flung an arm across Jason’s shoulders and walked him across the lot, leaving Zef to trail behind.
When they reached the stairs she stopped. They half-stood in a pool of light from an overhead bulb. Kate glowed, bridal white, Jason in shadow beside her.
“So. This is our school,” she said.
From where they stood together, the Hollow was a glittering layer cake of sky and palisades and the Hudson River, of lit windows and the jousting red and white car lights on Broadway. The school itself took massive square bites from the sky and the river and the village below. A few floodlights made vertical puddles of red brick down the sides, revealing stone columns, a few rectangles of yellow and blue that were bulletin boards, and a pumpkin propped cheerily by the doors to the gym, which were thrown wide and spilled caramel light. Something warm and sweet played inside.
“What do you think?” she said.
Kate’s arm lay draped across his shoulder. His own hand had slipped around her waist, somehow. And she didn’t seem to mind.
“Feels like home already,” he said.
Zef cleared his throat. “What’s the holdup?” he said.
Kate broke the moment. She danced down the stairs, alone, her arms out, spinning, enjoying the cold air and the romantic music, leaving the two boys in her wake.
#
A round plug of dancers filled the square hole of dance floor, answering the band’s backbeat with a throb of dress shoes on wood; answering with shouts, with laughter, with hands clapping, fingers snapping, with palms raised to testify, with hands on shoulders, hands on breasts, hands around neckties, thighs and Dixie cups.
Zef stripped down to his black tank top, Kate to her black silk. She grabbed his belt loops and launched him into the center, where they orbited each other, radiating heat. At their table, Jason made silent conversation with the maroon hoodie and the fuzzy jacket, which had remained behind to keep him company.
Come on, Jason. Dance with me, said the fuzzy jacket.
I want to, he replied.
Touch her and I’ll break your neck, said the hoodie.
The senior class held court from the bleachers, laughing at the groundlings below, spitting ice, giving thumbs up or thumbs down, dispensing favor or social death. Juniors and sophomores sat at purple-draped tables, holding hands around disco-ball centerpieces as if competing in a séance tournament. Freshmen milled near the stage where a rock band played beneath the scoreboard and American flag.
The band was named Hollow Praise. They were a dismal bunch, but the lead singer was fantastic. He wore a white jacket and black jeans. He was young, dark-haired and animated, riffing on lyrics, improvising over the din with a powerful tenor voice. He pulled the band along, lifting them up, making them better. In a gap between songs, the kid waved to Jason amiably. It was Joey Osorio, the cemetery worker, the boy who planned to win an Academy Award.
Or a Grammy, thought Jason, impressed.
He chewed a pretzel. The crowd roared. He wanted to dance tonight. Yes, dance with her. Why didn’t he? He could. He would! He stood.
He sat.
Come to me, Jason, whispered the fuzzy jacket.
He stood again.
He began to dance. Not really, but he started bobbing his head in a vague way and pivoted his hips a little, trying to find a groove. He moved his feet, his elbows, bit his lower lip. He made tentative steps forward on each second and fourth beat, and he entered the crowd, sideways, feeling like a lame virus infecting a cell. He reached the nucleus, where a group of dancing football players had carved a place for Kate. He saw her before she saw him. She laughed as she danced, her arms up. He could see her navel. Eyes up here, mister, he thought. She’d seen him. She reached out a hand. Beautiful. He moved towards her.
The song ended.
“That’s our break, guys. Back in ten,” Joey said.
The kids applauded. Couples broke, milled about, and dispersed.
“Where have you been?” said Kate, breathing hard, her hair dark, her face wet and full of reflected light.
“Around,” he said.
She smiled.
“With who? Did you meet somebody?” She fixed his tie. “Be good.”
The football players moved in. Kate pulled away. One boy threw his arm around Jason’s neck and pressed a Dixie cup to his chest. Jason smelled beer.
“You the newbie?” the kid said, his palm on Jason’s chest. He wore a black knit cap and chewed a swizzle stick.
“Never mind, Jimmy,” said Kate.
“I said, are you?” Jimmy persisted, with a drunken good cheer. The swizzle stick threatened to put Jason’s eye out.
“I start on Monday,” Jason said.
“Crane, right?”
Ugh.
“Yeah, but – ”
“HEY!” Jimmy pulled the swizzle stick from his mouth and bellowed across the dance floor. He twisted Jason to face the bleachers. “CRAAAANE!” Someone waved back, rose, and came to meet them.
“Leave it, Jimmy,” said Kate.
Jimmy whipped back around, still gripping Jason, who felt like he was at the chiropractor’s.
“But it’s Craaaane!” he said, as if that explained everything.<
br />
“No kidding. Shut the hell up, Puleo,” someone growled.
A broad-shouldered boy strode onto the dance floor. The players parted, as instantly and obediently as a puddle would for Moses. He wore a tight white muscle shirt and a tiny crucifix on a silver chain. Jason thought that if this kid flexed his neck the crucifix might put someone’s eye out. Goliath reached forward as if to grab Jason’s ear. Instead, he took the Dixie cup out of Jimmy’s hand and took a drink.
“So. Crane. No shit,” he said, smiling. He stuck out a hand. “E. Martinez,” he said. “Number twenty-five.” He crushed Jason’s hand bones into a small bundle. “So you’re the new kid.”
Jason nodded.
“Say hi to Jason, guys,” said Martinez.
They passed him around, slapping his shoulder.
“Hi, Jason,” they said as one.
“Excellent. Welcome,” said Martinez. “You play?”
“Play? Play what?” said Jason.
“Be nice,” said Kate.
“I’m nice. I’m always nice,” said Martinez. “Do you play a sport?”
“Yeah, do you play a sport?” repeated Puleo.
“I – ” Jason began, trying to decide whether to tell the truth. The boys stared at him. “No,” he said. “I don’t play.”
“No? Nothing? He plays nothing. What a tragedy.”
“It’s a real a loss to the school,” said one.
“There goes State,” giggled Puleo.
“Not even basketball? Tall kid like you?” Martinez grabbed Jason by the bicep, testing it, finding it skinny, breakable, a little hilarious. “No? Too bad. Hm. Have you considered… tetherball?” he said. Laughs all around. “Maybe you could be the pole.”
Puleo and the others found this hilarious.
Kate intervened, slipping her right arm through Jason’s left.
“Let him be, Eddie. He’s mine.”
“He’s yours? Zef would love to hear that.” Martinez touched a wisp of hair that had fallen forward onto Kate’s cheek. His thumb fanned against her skin. “No need to trade down, baby,” he said, in the tone of a john propositioning a whore.
Sleepy Hollow: Rise Headless and Ride Page 9