by Carl Deuker
Finally they reached the end of the last hallway and started up the path leading past the music portable. That ended my detective work. I usually went home that way, but there were all kinds of bushes and trees up there. Whatever those guys were up to, it was no good, and I didn’t want any part of it or them. So I turned right and headed out onto Sixty-fifth. That route was longer, but just seeing cars and other people made me feel better.
I got across the street before I thought of Monica. Then I stopped dead in my tracks, my whole body tense. She was up there, at the top of the path, alone in the music portable.
That’s when it hit me. The straight shoulders, the little bounce on the balls of the feet. I hadn’t seen the face, but I knew that walk.
I gave myself a little shake and told myself that even if they were planning something, Monica was gone. It was later than usual, and I hadn’t heard any music. She was home. She was safe.
I started toward my own home, but I hadn’t gone more than ten steps before I turned around. I had to know for sure.
By then it was deep twilight. I bounded up the stairs and re-entered the main campus. I half-walked and half-ran down the hallways. The air was so thick that my own footsteps sounded far away and muffled, like a blanket was over everything. As I came up to the portable, I heard something. I didn’t know what. But something. I crouched and peered through the window, the same way I had that first day when I’d discovered Monica playing.
At first I couldn’t see anything, but slowly my eyes adjusted to the darkness. When I finally could see, I couldn’t make sense of what I was seeing. Two guys wearing Halloween wolf masks were kneeling on the ground, their hands grabbing and tearing at something on the floor. I cupped my hands against the side of my head and looked harder. That’s when I saw that that something on the floor was Monica.
Her blouse had been torn open. One of the guys had her around the neck while the other guy had his hands on her pants and was yanking and pulling. She was fighting back, kicking and squirming and biting. I could hear choked screams.
I leaned back away from the window. My heart was racing. I couldn’t move; I couldn’t breathe. I felt like running, running down the hill and back to my house. No one would ever know I’d been there.
I think I even decided that that was what I’d do. That I’d run straight home, climb the stairs to my room, close the door, and turn on my radio. That’s what I would have done the year before, and I could feel that other person inside me, pulling me away. But I wasn’t that person anymore, and I didn’t run.
I took a deep breath and then threw open the door. “Leave her alone!” I shouted.
For one second everything stopped. The two of them looked at me, then let go of her. A second later the closest one was charging at me. I held my hands up in front of my face expecting fists to rain down on me, but all he wanted was to get past me. He grabbed me, and I recognized the grip of the hand, and he pulled me forward, spun me around, and shoved me toward the center of the room. I hit a desk hard and fell. When I looked up the second guy was running out the door behind him.
Monica was maybe ten feet away, weeping softly. I crawled toward her. “You okay?” I whispered, embarrassed by her half-naked body, glad that it was as dark as it was, not knowing what to do or say.
She didn’t answer. Instead she pulled her knees up to her chest and started rocking back and forth. I took off my coat and put it over her. I laid my hand on her shoulder, but she shook convulsively at the touch. I took my hand away.
I don’t know how long she rocked back and forth. Maybe five minutes, probably less. I do know that the room was almost completely dark when she finally spoke. “Look away,” she whispered hoarsely. I turned my head and I could hear her pull her clothes back on as best she could.
“Do you have a handkerchief?”
I pulled one out of my back pocket and handed it to her. She wiped her face.
“What can I do?” I asked.
“Walk me to Sixty-fifth,” she said softly. “I’ll be okay once I get there.”
I would have gladly done more. I would have let her cry on my shoulder. I would have walked her all the way home. I would have bought her something to drink, something to eat.
But that’s all she asked for, so that’s all I did.
When I opened my own front door the house smelled like tomatoes and garlic. “Is that you, Ryan?” my mom called from the kitchen. “You’re late.”
“Sorry,” I said, “we had a team meeting after practice.”
“I hope you’re hungry. I made spaghetti for dinner.”
I went into the kitchen and gave her a kiss. Then my eyes fell on a saucepan filled with thick tomato sauce and bits of sausage and mushroom. A wave of nausea came over me.
I stepped back. “Actually,” I said, “I don’t think I can eat anything. I don’t feel good.”
She put the lid down on the sauce pan. “Ryan, I’ve been waiting dinner especially for you.”
“I’m sorry, Mother,” I said. “But my stomach aches and my head hurts.”
My father came downstairs. “Did I hear you come in, Ryan?”
“He doesn’t feel good,” my mother said, and she put her hand up toward my forehead to check for a fever.
I pulled away. “I’m just tired. All I want to do is go to my room, maybe read a little, then sleep.”
“Anything go wrong at practice?” my father asked.
“No,” I said. “Nothing went wrong. I’m just tired.”
He nodded. “Well, we’ll see you in the morning, then.”
I hadn’t lied to them. I was tired, more tired than I’ve ever been in my life, but as soon as I closed the door to my room, I knew I couldn’t sleep. I turned my reading light on, then went to my window to look out.
I don’t know how long I stared at Josh’s window, trying to make sense of what he had done. I tried to get my mind around it in a dozen different ways, but there was no doing it, no doing it.
I returned to my bed, flicked off the light, and lay there in the dark, staring at the ceiling. What was going to happen next? That was the question that kept going through my mind. What was going to happen next?
5
Josh and I never walked to school together. He was late a lot, and even when he wasn’t, he was barely on time, and I liked to get going early. But that next morning I sat on the step at the bottom of his porch, waiting for him to come out of his house.
He smiled when he saw me, a big toothy smile. “Hey, Ryan!” he called out in a too-loud, too-happy voice, “What’s happening?”
“Nothing much, Josh,” I answered. “What’s happening with you?”
“Nothing at all,” he said, trying so hard to sound natural that he seemed incredibly unnatural.
We walked along for a block. He was going on and on about the baseball team and the state tournament.
“Listen,” I interrupted, “what do you say we skip first period and get something at Larsen’s?”
He grinned at me. “I didn’t think you ever cut class. I thought you were Mr. Straight A’s.”
I was tired of playing games. “I’ve never gotten straight A’s in my life, Josh. And we need to talk right away.”
The smile disappeared. “All right.”
When we reached Larsen’s we got some doughnuts and mocha and found a table in the corner.
“I love their stuff,” Josh said, biting into his doughnut, his voice cheerful again.
“Look,” I said, “I know it was you.”
He sipped his mocha. “You know what was me?”
I grimaced. “Cut it out, will you? Don’t play games with me.”
But he persisted. “You’re the one who’s playing games. I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.”
“I’m talking about the Halloween masks your father never threw away. I’m talking about what you and whoever was with you did to Monica Roby yesterday.”
That got him. He leaned toward me, the smile gone. �
�Keep your voice down, will you!”
After that we both spoke in whispers.
“What were you going to do to her, anyway?” I asked.
He scowled. “We weren’t going to rape her, if that’s what you’re asking. All we were going to do was pants her, scare her a little. Then you came busting in and ruined everything.”
“How could you be so stupid?” I said, frustrated.
“It was a prank, a joke, that’s all. A way to get back at her for the stuff she’s done to me. It should have been over in about a minute, and it would have been if she hadn’t fought.”
“What did you think she was going to do, Josh? Let you strip her naked and do nothing?”
“I didn’t think she’d fight like that,” he snapped. He held his hand out. “She bit me so hard my hand still hurts.”
I looked out the window and saw a long line of cars waiting for the light to change on Eightieth.
“Listen,” I said at last. “It’s not going to take her long to figure out it was you. And when she does, she’ll go straight to Haskin. She might be there right now.”
“Did she say my name yesterday?”
I shook my head. “No.”
His jaw tightened. “So how come you’re so sure she knows it’s me?”
“Because it’s obvious.” I paused. “You should go to Haskin this morning and explain that it was supposed to be a joke, but that it somehow got way out of hand, and that you’re sorry. He might go easy on you.”
Josh laughed mockingly. “He won’t go easy on me. He’ll suspend me, and Wheatley will kick me off the team. That can’t happen, Ryan, not now. Not with the tournament coming up. Those major league scouts have got to see me pitch. They’ve got to. My future is on the line.”
“I’m telling you: She knows it’s you.”
He leaned back. “You don’t know for sure she’s going to report this. And even if she does, even if she says it was me, what does it matter? Lots of guys don’t like her. She can’t prove anything. Nobody can prove anything.” He paused. “Unless you talk.”
His words hung there like a kite stuck in a tree.
I took a deep breath. “I’m not going to say anything. But I still think—”
“Don’t think,” he snapped. He finished off his mocha, then stood. “You’re making a big deal out of nothing. I scared her a little. Paid her back a little. That’s all. It’s over.”
6
We walked straight to school then. Neither of us spoke, and when we reached the main hallway we went our separate ways without so much as a nod.
I wanted Josh to be right. I wanted to believe nothing had happened. During the passing periods that morning I searched for Monica. I wanted to see her walking down the center of the hallway the way she always did, a smile on her face, a troupe of followers behind her. I looked and looked, but I couldn’t find her.
By the time fourth period rolled around I was certain she wasn’t at school. As I headed toward Ms. Hurley’s room, I spotted Josh. He was laughing loudly, his arm around Rita Hall. I had a sudden feeling of revulsion for him. I couldn’t bear the thought of seeing him grin his way through English, playing the part of the total innocent.
I’d already missed half of one class that day, so I decided to go ahead and skip another one entirely. I headed across Fifteenth and over to Salmon Bay Park.
I sat on one of the picnic benches that looks down on the playground. A few young mothers were there, pushing their toddlers on the swings, helping them climb the monkey bars. They glanced up at me suspiciously, wondering what I was doing.
As I watched the little kids play, I thought about the words Josh had used to describe what he had done. A prank. A joke. They were the wrong words. They described harmless things, childish things—things that are quickly done and quickly forgotten. But Monica wouldn’t forget what Josh had done to her, not ever. And I wouldn’t forget either, not for as long as I lived. Then I realized what he was really telling me: that he could forget about it, and that he would.
I thought back over the year, over things Josh had said and done. What had happened in the music portable—it fit. It was like the final piece of a jigsaw puzzle. The picture had been there all along. But I’d been so close to it, I hadn’t been able to see it. Or maybe I hadn’t wanted to see it.
I suddenly felt cold. I looked up at the sky and saw that clouds had covered the sun. Pretty soon the poplars were tossing back and forth, and the mothers on the playground were herding their children home.
I would have loved a downpour—thunder and lightning and torrential rain. I would have let it drench me to the bone, the way Monica had during that storm in fifth grade. But it was May, not February, and instead of a winter storm it was the briefest of spring showers, over almost before it had started.
I walked back to school. I sat through Mrs. Beck’s class and had just begun to read in Mr. Woodruff’s when the classroom phone rang.
Mr. Woodruff picked it up. “Yes, he’s here . . . Okay. I’ll send him right down.” He hung up, turned toward me. “Ryan, Mr. Haskin wants to see you in his office.”
Kids around me oohhed and aahhed mockingly.
“Should I bring my books?” I asked.
Mr. Woodruff nodded. “You’d better.”
When I reached the office Mrs. Bruch had me sit. “He’s got some parents in there now,” she said, smiling. “I don’t suppose you mind missing a few minutes of class while he finishes up.”
“I’ll try to survive,” I answered, trying to join in her joke.
But a moment later the phone on her desk rang. She put her hand over the receiver. “He wants you to go right in,” she said.
I walked to Haskin’s door, tapped on it.
“Come in,” I heard from within.
Haskin was behind his big oak desk, leaning back in his swivel chair. Facing him were a man and a woman. The man stood as soon as I entered—a short, balding man. He stuck out his hand. “I’m John Roby,” he said. My mouth went dry as I shook his hand. “This is my wife, Christine.”
She smiled up at me. Looking at her was like looking at Monica in thirty years. The same strong face, only a little wrinkled. The same shining eyes, only somehow sadder.
Haskin motioned for me to take the remaining seat as Mr. Roby sat down again. For an awkward twenty seconds or so, no one spoke. Then Mr. Roby cleared his throat.
“I asked Mr. Haskin to have you come down here so that my wife and I could thank you personally for what you did for our daughter. It was very brave of you.”
I wanted to shrink away, to disappear. “All I did was open the door,” I said softly.
“I thank God you did open the door,” Mrs. Roby put in, reaching out to take my hand in hers. “I can’t even think what might have happened if you hadn’t.”
I couldn’t look at her, so I fixed my eyes on a bit of white on the carpet. No one said anything for a long time.
Finally Mr. Roby stood. “I guess that about does it for today,” he said to Mr. Haskin.
Haskin nodded. “I’ll get in touch with you as soon as we learn anything.”
“Good. I’ll be waiting for your call.”
Mr. Roby shook my hand again. So did Mrs. Roby. Then he opened the door for his wife and the two of them were gone.
I stood and looked at Haskin, who was sitting in his big chair again. “Should I go back to class now?”
He shook his head. “Sit down, Ryan. I’d like to talk to you for a minute.”
He rocked back and forth in his chair, rocked and chewed on the end of his pen and stared at me. I felt more and more uncomfortable as the seconds ticked by. Finally he stopped rocking, leaned forward, tapped his pen on his desk, and then pointed it at me. “Who did it, Ryan?”
I felt my face flush. “I don’t know,” I stammered. “They were wearing masks.”
“I know all about the masks,” he answered. “But there are other ways to know people than by seeing their faces. So I’ll ask you again. Who
did it?”
“I told you. I don’t know.”
“No idea at all.”
“None,” I said.
He ran his fingertips over his lips. “You did a good thing, Ryan, saving that girl. A very good thing. Don’t undo it by lying. The police have been called. A detective will be talking to you. Think about what you’re going to say. This wasn’t somebody’s homework that got copied. This was a criminal assault.”
7
I waited for the bell ending school, then headed over toward the gym to change for practice. My mind was still back with Haskin, so when I felt the hand on my shoulder, I jumped.
It was Josh. He grabbed me by the elbow and pulled me behind some bushes along the side of the gym.
“What happened?”
I told him about Monica’s parents and the police.
“Did my name come up?”
I shook my head.
“Good, good.”
“Josh, what am I going to say to the police?”
His eyes widened. “What do you mean, What are you going to say? You’re not going to say anything.”
“It’s not that simp—”
Right then David Reule’s face peered in at us, stopping me midsentence. “Hey, what are you guys doing in there?” he called.
“Nothing,” Josh answered, and as we stepped out a big smile covered his face.
“I don’t know about this,” Reule razzed. “Two guys alone in the bushes together . . .”
Josh playfully got Reule in a headlock. “You keep quiet, David. Don’t tell anybody our little secret!” The two of them went into the locker room side by side, both of them laughing.
I was terrible at practice. In the batting cage I missed just about everything, and during infield practice I bob-bled throws to the plate I normally would have caught no sweat. The only good thing was that Wheatley was in his office poring over the stats on Chehalis, our next opponent.