by Lois Duncan
“You didn’t hurt those rats.”
“In a way I did. Nobody turns into an alcoholic without being hurt, does he? Human or rat? It does stuff to your liver.”
“An alcoholic is an alcoholic. You didn’t make those rats that way. That was what your experiment was all about. You were proving that they were that way to begin with because of heredity.”
“But an alcoholic with no access to liquor is a dry alcoholic. I made those rats wet alcoholics. There’s no way they’d have gotten liquor if I hadn’t given it to them. So the ‘cruelty to animal’ regulations do really apply.”
“Your experiment was cool. Really incredible.”
“Thanks, Gordon.”
“I mean it. If I could I’d switch places. Do you believe that?”
“I—yes. Yes, I do.” Erika turned to look at him, really look at him, for the first time since they’d begun to walk together. What she saw was a young man who was too tall and too thin and who had a shock of hair so blond that it was almost white. He wore glasses, just as she did. His Adam’s apple was too big. When he talked, it bobbed up and down so fast that it seemed to vibrate. Behind the lenses of his glasses, his eyes were a clear, clean gray, like snow clouds. They were quiet eyes, intelligent eyes. He had acne on his chin. Not a lot. Just enough to show that his chin was real. It wasn’t a weak chin; in fact, it was surprisingly strong, considering the narrow lines of his face.
“You could’ve put together a real project,” Erika said. “Why didn’t you? That solar system was a cop-out.”
“I know. I didn’t realize I had any competition.”
“That’s no excuse.”
“You’re right. Next time I’ll know better. I’ll know people like you are waiting in the wings.” He cleared his throat. “Erika—are you mad?”
“Not at you or Mr. C. At myself.”
“I’d like to see your experiment setup. When we were talking with Mr. Carncross this afternoon, all you had there were the records and notebooks. I’d really like to see a demonstration with the rats and the bottles and everything. Would it be all right if I came over sometime? Like, when you’re feeding them or something?”
“I feed them mornings and evenings,” Erika told him.
“Could I come over tonight?”
“I’ll be feeding them around eight.”
“That would be great.” He drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. “After you feed them, maybe you and I could go out for some food or something. Okay?”
“I guess so,” Erika said. “I mean—sure. Why not?”
She wasn’t smiling. When you saw a year’s worth of research go down the drain, smiles didn’t come easily. But—quite suddenly—she didn’t feel quite as terrible as she had a few minutes before.
Chapter 17
The next morning, Tammy Carncross didn’t get up to go to school. She lay in bed with her eyes closed until her mother stuck her head in through the doorway to check on her.
“I have cramps,” Tammy told her.
“Bad ones? Do you need some Midol?”
“I already took some, thanks.”
She hated having to lie to her mom. It was far too easy. Lilly Carncross always accepted everything Tammy told her at face value, so deception was no challenge. Still, there was no way this morning that she could tell her the truth—that she simply couldn’t face the day.
So Tammy lay guiltily in her bed, listening to the usual morning sounds of a house coming alive—water running, toilets flushing, her dad’s electric razor buzzing from the bathroom across the hall, the clank of pans in the kitchen. Eventually there was the sound of the front door opening and closing and the car engine turning over in the driveway beneath her bedroom window.
That receded, and almost immediately it was replaced by the clicking of her mother’s computer.
Huddled beneath the covers, Tammy could picture her father parking his car in the faculty lot and entering the school building. Stopping by the office to check his mailbox. Walking down the hall to his classroom. Inserting his key in the lock. Turning the knob.
I should have prepared him, she thought miserably. But how could I? I did take the oath. I can’t go back on that. Besides, it’s not as though I really know anything. Like Ann said, all anybody talked about doing was going in to look. Maybe that’s all that happened. Maybe—
She sighed and closed her eyes, trying to block out the unwanted certainty.
She did know.
“My, God, Dan, I’ve never seen such a mess in my life! And the smell—the stink—what the hell did they do to the walls?”
The principal stood in the doorway of the science room, looking as though he’d been struck in the face.
“Neither have I, Shel. That’s why I called you down here. I couldn’t possibly describe it. You had to see it for yourself to have any idea of what must have gone on.” Dan Carncross glanced helplessly about him, his eyes moving from one disaster area to another as though desperate for a place to light. “If a bomb had gone off in here, it couldn’t have done more damage. And like you say, that stuff on the walls. It’s got to be animal feces of some kind. Not cows or horses—something else.”
“Do you have any idea who’s responsible?”
“None at all. I was here a good half hour after school yesterday talking with a couple of students about their science fair projects. The three of us left the room together. The building was pretty much empty by then except for a club meeting going on in one of the classrooms down at the end of the hall. Nobody seemed to be hanging around. There wasn’t any indication that…this would happen.”
“Did you lock up?”
“Of course, but Mr. Moore hadn’t been in to clean yet. He must have forgotten to relock after he swept up. The room was open when I got here this morning.”
“Is there anything that can be salvaged?” the principal asked.
“Not much, I’m afraid. They destroyed almost everything of value—the lab equipment, the test tubes, even the burners. Gordon Pellet had his project set up over there on the table. That’s smashed. Everything on my desktop was dumped on the floor, and—and the feces—smeared on top of it. All the papers were set on fire in the sink. The drawers were pulled out and emptied. I had a photograph of my wife and daughters in the middle one; somebody ripped that to shreds and poured chemicals on it.” Dan shook his head in disbelief. “And what’s on the board—it’s crazy. What more can I say?” Someone had used a permanent marker to write the word PIG in large, sprawling letters on the whiteboard.
“This isn’t the sort of thing that comes out of nowhere,” Mr. Shelby said slowly. “Something must have triggered it. Have you had any run-ins with students recently?”
“No. Absolutely not. This has been a good semester.”
“What about the kids you saw after school yesterday?”
“Gordon Pellet and Erika Schneider? There’s no way one of them was involved in this.”
“You were only able to select one to represent Modesta High at state, weren’t you? That must have caused a few hard feelings.”
“I don’t think it did. Erika’s an intelligent girl. She understood the problem. She was disappointed, of course, but certainly not vindictive.”
“What ‘problem’ was it she understood?” Mr. Shelby asked.
“She had a project that would’ve been disqualified by the judges at state. There’s a special committee that certifies all experiments involving live animals. There’s a strict list of requirements, and Erika’s project doesn’t meet them.”
“So Gordon’s going to state?”
“Well, he was.” Dan Carncross nodded ruefully at the splintered remains of the solar collector. “There’s no chance of that now.”
“I guess the first thing to do is call the police,” the principal said. “Maybe they can get some fingerprints. This vandalism represents several thousand dollars’ worth of damage to school property. Beyond that, though, there’s the psychological aspect. As you
say, it’s sick.”
“Because of the club meeting, the building must have been open until after five,” Dan said. “That means anybody who wanted to could’ve walked in through the south door and hidden out someplace—maybe in one of the restrooms—until the place was empty.”
“It would have to have been done that way,” Mr. Shelby agreed. “Otherwise the students down in that end room would have heard it. You don’t smash up a roomful of furniture and equipment without making a lot of noise.”
“It was some outsider, I’m sure of that,” Dan said. “None of our students would do a thing like this.”
“I’m inclined to agree with you,” Mr. Shelby told him. “This sort of mindless destruction is the work of a maniac.”
“Irene, can I talk with you a minute?”
“Why, certainly, Ann.” Irene Stark glanced up at the girl in the doorway. “This is my free period. But don’t you have a class?”
“I do, but I’m cutting it. I really need to see you. May I close the door?”
“Of course.” Irene frowned slightly as she watched Ann shove the door shut and turn to approach her desk. There was something about the look of her that was disturbing. In fact, when she thought about it, Ann hadn’t been looking like herself for a week or more. She appeared thinner than she had been, and there were shadows beneath her eyes, as though she weren’t sleeping.
“Sit down,” Irene said. “You look tired. Are you worried about Tammy? I know she’s always been a close friend of yours. It must be distressing to have her resign as she did.”
“That’s her own business,” Ann said, pulling a chair out from the art-room table and turning it so that it faced the teacher. “Tam hasn’t been happy in the group for a while now. It’s probably just as well for her to drop out.”
“It was better, if it had to happen, that it was before we went to the science room. Tammy is a great girl in many ways, but she’s having problems working out her loyalties. The warning we felt we had to issue yesterday might not have been something she’d have felt comfortable with.”
“I’m not comfortable with it either. Not the part about what the girls did—with what I said about Dave.”
“Your sisters felt Mr. Carncross was a ‘male chauvinist pig.’ You agreed with them.”
“That’s true. And when they started brainstorming about who around here owned pigs, I told them Dave did. But I didn’t realize they’d go to his farm and shovel that nasty stuff out of the bottom of the sty and use it like they did. Dave would be horrified if he knew about that. I’m kind of horrified myself.”
“But that’s not what you came here to talk about, is it?” Irene said.
“No,” Ann said. “And it isn’t about Tammy either. It’s me. Irene—I’m—I’m not going to Boston.”
“You can’t mean that!” Irene said sharply. “Everything is all set.”
“No, it isn’t. Something’s happened to change things. Dave and I have decided—we’re going to get married at Christmas.”
“Next Christmas. That’s what you’ve been planning on. I’ve always been sure, though, that once you got established at the institute you would decide to continue there longer than one semester.”
“This Christmas. We thought, maybe, on Christmas Eve.”
“But, you won’t even graduate until the end of May!”
“Don’t you think I know that?” Ann’s voice went suddenly shrill. “I’ll drop out and get my GED. Lots of people do that. It works out fine.”
“That’s ridiculous!”
“No, it’s not. And even if it was, I wouldn’t have a choice. I’m—I’m pregnant.”
Irene was silent for a moment. Then she reached across the desk and covered Ann’s hand with hers.
“Oh, my dear,” she said quietly. “What you must be going through!”
“It’s been—really hard,” Ann said shakily, unnerved by the unexpected sympathy. “I couldn’t believe it. I kept thinking I was wrong—that if I just waited and pretended it wasn’t true—that it would turn out to be a bad dream or something.”
“You’re certain?”
“Yes. I’m sure. I haven’t been to a doctor yet, but I took a home test. So yes, I’m sure.”
“Do your parents know?”
“Not yet. I only told Dave last night. He was wonderful about it. In fact, I almost think he was happy. He said he’s always wanted to have a big family, and he doesn’t mind starting one right away.”
“Well, he’s managed to accomplish that very nicely, hasn’t he?” Irene said dryly. “And to finish off your chance for an art career in the process.”
“That’s not fair,” Ann objected. “Dave was very understanding when I told him I’d been offered a scholarship. He encouraged me to take it. He said he’d wait for me until I came back from Boston and was ready to settle down.”
“And he then saw to it that you couldn’t go.”
“No, it wasn’t like that,” Ann insisted. “Dave’s never pressured me into anything. This was just as much my fault as his. It happened the night his mom died. That was such a shock, Irene, you have no idea! Dave had just come in from doing the evening chores, and there she was, lying on the bed. He went over to lay a blanket on her, and he saw she wasn’t breathing. He called me—and I went over, Kelly drove me—and an ambulance came—and they took her away.” Her eyes filled at the memory. “After they left, the house seemed so quiet, so empty. I looked over at Dave, and he was crying. He wasn’t making any sound, just sitting there on the sofa, staring at nothing, and the tears were sliding down his face. There’s something so heartbreaking about seeing a man crying, especially a strong man like Dave. I went over and put my arms around him, and we hung on to each other, and he said, ‘Annie, stay with me. Don’t leave me alone.’ ”
“So you stayed.”
“I had to! He needed me! I guess we weren’t thinking straight. I know we should have… you know, used something… but it didn’t seem to matter right then. All that mattered was being together completely. I love him, Irene. If I had it to do over again, I’d do the same thing.”
“Would you really?” Irene asked, withdrawing her hand. “Even knowing what the outcome would be, knowing the sacrifice you would have to make, you can still say that?”
“Yes—I think so. Maybe not. Oh, I don’t know. It’s too late now to even think about that.”
“How late is it, exactly?” Irene asked her. “When did you become pregnant?”
“Seven weeks ago, or thereabouts. It was the night Holly had her birthday party.”
“And you say you haven’t told your parents?”
“No. Dave and I are going to do that together. We thought we’d get our plans all worked out first so we could tell them when the wedding would be and everything,” Ann said miserably. “That’s going to be the hardest part of all. My dad’s not well. I don’t know how he’ll take this. He and Mom really like Dave, and they’ve always trusted us so completely.”
“Why do they ever have to know?” Irene asked her quietly.
“It’ll be pretty obvious, won’t it, when the baby comes early? My parents aren’t stupid.”
“And neither are you, my dear,” Irene said. “Though at the moment you’re acting that way. It’s perfectly safe to terminate a seven-week pregnancy. There’s no reason in this day and age for any woman to bear a child unless she wants to.”
“If you’re talking about abortion, I couldn’t,” Ann said. “Dave would never agree to it. I couldn’t even suggest it.”
“I hardly think Dave has a right to make this decision for you. You’re the person who has to carry this baby and bear it and raise it. You’re the one who has to give up your dreams and opportunities in order to spend your days alone in a farmhouse changing diapers. Dave would be getting exactly what he wants—a substitute for his mother, a woman tied at home to cook and clean and do laundry, and god knows what else a farmwife is expected to do these days. I suppose he’d have you cannin
g vegetables.”
“I don’t mind canning. And I love babies.”
“You could still have babies. You have thirty good childbearing years ahead of you, Ann. The question is one of timing. When do you want those babies? Right now, when you have so much exciting living to do, so much to learn and achieve—or later—when you’re ready?”
“I want them later, of course,” Ann said. “But we’ve already got one started, and it’s growing inside me right now. And Dave would never let me abort it. He doesn’t believe in abortion.”
“Why would you have to tell him?”
“I’d have to. He knows I’m pregnant. If I suddenly tell him I’m not pregnant he’s going to want an explanation.”
“Which could simply be that you were mistaken to start with,” Irene said. “You haven’t been to a doctor. Those home tests aren’t always accurate. It’s possible that you really will start your period tomorrow. This could turn out to be the bad dream you’d like it to be. Suppose you could wake up in the morning and find everything back the way it was. How would Dave react to that?”
“He’d be happy for me.”
“And sorry for himself?”
“Maybe. Or maybe he’d be relieved for both of us. I don’t know. I’m so confused about everything. Abortion is such an ugly thing to think about. It’s like murder.”
“It isn’t like murder,” Irene said. “It’s like stopping something before it has a chance to begin. Consider this, Ann: Every single month a woman’s body produces an egg which has the potential to become a human being. Every month that this egg is produced and not fertilized, it dies. Yet I’ve never heard anyone refer to abstinence as murder. Have you?”
“Of course not.”
“What’s the difference?”
“I don’t know. When you put it that way, there doesn’t seem to be much of a difference,” Ann said. “I just feel like abortion is wrong. I’ve been raised to think that way.”
“That’s because you live in a town that’s a hundred years behind the times. I still can’t believe that a place like this still exists. Pregnancy and motherhood are the ultimate weapons men use to keep women helpless and ‘in their place.’ In this case, you’re going to be robbed of a wonderful future. In its way, that itself is a form of murder, isn’t it? It’s the murder of Ann Whitten, the artist.”