“I don’t want to get into it,” he said flatly.
“Con, you are in it.”
He tried to keep dancing, but Anne was no longer moving. “Is this the time and place?” he demanded. “What is your problem, Anne?”
“It’s our problem,” she hissed. “And the problem is, I’m pregnant.”
He tried to cut her off before she said the word pregnant, but failed. “Anne, I’m not in the mood.”
“You think I’m in the mood?” she snapped. “You think pregnancy is a mood? Well, it’s not. It’s the direct result of our—”
“Shut up,” Con said.
Anne froze. I need you and you tell me to shut up? Kip, it was true; all the terrible things I said to you were true.
Anne was stiff with panic. Con began dancing again, and he shifted her on the floor, rather like a mannequin instead of a real person.
That’s what I am, though, Anne thought. A mannequin. A store dummy. God knows I have the wardrobe, and the same amount of brains.
She began to cry.
Con hissed, “Not here. I cannot stand it, Anne. Do you follow me? Read my lips.” He made each word into a single sentence, spat from between his teeth like something vile. “I. Can’t. Stand. It!”
Anne could not speak. Fears flew through her mind like a flock of blackbirds. I did everything wrong. I spoke wrong, I played the game wrong, I blew it completely.
She felt slack and limp, like an old clothesline sagging in the backyard. And then she thought, Why is it my responsibility to get everything right? Why isn’t some of this Con’s responsibility?
Con had danced her away from everybody, off the dance floor entirely, and back to the wooden bench where they had sat with Gary and Beth Rose. Beth Rose, let me tell you something about men, Anne thought. Let me tell you what happens when it’s time to pay the price.
Con started to say something. His eyes fixed not on her eyes, but on the tear tracks that had worked down her cheeks to the fine slender line on her chin. They stared at each other. For a moment she thought he would touch the tears, and wipe them away, and they would hug in love and desperation and it would all be better.
But Con walked away.
She knew without looking that he was not asking a junior high girl in a Victorian maid costume for another soda, that he was not bringing the photographer to the wooden bench, that he was not rounding up his buddies so they could have a private party.
He was leaving.
For good.
Con transferred school so often that transferring Monday morning would be nothing for him. He wouldn’t even have to move to do it; just saunter into his previous high school, grin at the vice principal, pass through guidance with a cocky salute, and enroll himself back where he’d been half of tenth grade. She knew Con. And his mother would sign the papers without even questioning what she was signing.
Oh, he was well named.
A true con artist.
And how I fell for him, she thought.
Chapter 14
BETH AND GARY WERE dancing slow. He circled, shifting his weight more than dancing, and gradually Beth was swung into a different position and she could see Con and Anne behind her. They couldn’t hear a thing because the band played so loudly. I can lip read, she thought, laughing to herself.
“Con, say something,” came from Anne, and some emotion made her purse her lips more than usual, so that the words were as clear as written letters. “Con, I’m pregnant. It’s our baby. You and me. What are we going to do?”
Beth nearly fainted. Not for a moment had she given Molly’s rumor any credence. Molly was horrid; anything she said was lies; Anne was perfect. Blood rushed from Beth’s head and she sagged against Gary more than dancers do. Gary simply moved closer to her, supporting her more.
She could still see Anne clearly. Anguish crossed Anne’s face, and tears shone like jewels in the half light of the dance floor.
Beth Rose, who knew little, knew that Con would hate a public display. Although it meant she had to detach herself from Gary, Beth Rose straightened so she would have a better view of Con’s face.
Blank as a piece of typing paper.
Does he really feel nothing? Beth thought. Or does it take all his self-control to hide what he does feel? Anne is crazy, bringing it up now. Why did she come to the dance at all? Why didn’t she tell him before, or after?
“What’s the matter with you?” Gary asked.
She had forgotten to continue dancing, but had come to a full stop to stare at Con, as if watching a freak show at the circus. Flushed, Beth mumbled that she had something in her shoe. Gary looked skeptical. She bent over to take off her shoe—and she was not wearing them. Like half the girls there, she had kicked her shoes off under the benches and was dancing barefoot.
“Pebble on the floor,” Beth said desperately.
“Uh huh,” Gary returned dryly.
Beth did not know what to say next. I haven’t had enough practice, she thought. I haven’t been around boys enough. Oh, if I were anybody else in this room I’d know what to say next.
She gave him a silly little smile, which she knew made her look like somebody cringing before the dentist’s drill. They stood still. “Well, I’m really in a dancing mood, Beth,” said Gary. He smiled at her. A sweet smile. Her heart flipped again. She started to say, “Me, too, Gary,” but he said first, “So maybe I’ll dance with Jennie; she’s sitting this one out.” He smiled again. Identical smile. Beth found herself reflecting the smile, as if she were his mirror.
He’s going to leave me here, right out on the floor in front of everybody, she thought. She wanted to throw up, or cling to him, but there were too many witnesses.
And then he was gone.
Like the sun behind a cloud.
Beth stood very still, trying to look as if she enjoyed standing alone, as if Gary had gone on an errand of her choice.
Gary bent over Jennie, and Jennie giggled, and looked around for her date. It was Bob, and Bob was laughing and nodding, because he was talking with another boy and didn’t feel like dancing. Jennie took Gary’s hand and in a moment they were dancing, just as she and Gary had been.
I’ll pretend to myself that Gary is coming back any moment, and that’ll make me feel okay. I can carry it off if I pretend to myself as well.
Chin high, skirt rustling, Beth moved toward the side of the room. Wallflower, she accused herself. You’re not retreating, you’re running. Whatever you call it, you’re not sticking it out. A real woman would have gone over there and asked Bob to dance.
She shuddered at the mere thought.
On the wooden bench she had just left sat Anne Stephens.
Alone.
Frozen. Even her tears seemed frozen.
How absorbed I am by my own troubles, Beth thought guiltily. I actually forgot about Anne’s. Beth looked around for Con, but did not see him. No. He couldn’t have.
Timidly she sat next to Anne. She could still feel the warmth from when Con had been sitting there. “Can I help?” she said hesitantly.
Anne’s head turned as if her neck hurt. “Nobody can help,” she said tonelessly. “I have to go home alone.”
“Hey!” said Christopher Vann. “You!”
The lead guitarist looked over at Chris, didn’t like what he saw, and kept on playing. Christopher Vann did not appear to notice that the band was in the middle of a piece and three hundred people were dancing to it.
“Hey, stop it,” Christopher said loudly. Loud enough to be heard over the boom of the guitars and the throbbing of the drums.
The guitarist was a fairly small man. He didn’t much care for the way this drunken football player type loomed over him. Uneasily he said between verses, “Hey, buddy, buzz off, huh?”
“Who you telling to buzz off?” demanded Christopher.
The band could not draw any closer together. Their positions were fixed by their instruments. The keyboardist could not leave his keyboard and the drummer could
not leave his drums. The guitarists could shift only as far as their electric cords would let them.
Both guitar players moved back into the collection of drums and cymbals. They were not on a stage. Kip had tried to rig one, but had had trouble with electrical outlets and given up. So Christopher towered over them and on top of them.
“Listen!” said Christopher. “I don’t like the junk you’re playing.”
They finished the song they’d been doing. People clapped for the dance and stood waiting for the next one; the band was just back from a fifteen minute break. Now the kids wanted their money’s worth.
“So what kind of junk do you like?” said the guitar player, smiling. “We aim to please.”
Christopher lurched forward, stumbling over a cord. The guitarist put out a hand to steady Christopher, and Christopher threw the hand aside. Wonderful, thought the musician. Just what I need … some drunk slob who’s going to smash my instrument. Guy looks older than high school. Who is he, anyway?
The musician scanned the crowd for help, but nobody had noticed anything yet. By the time they noticed, he would probably have a bloody nose and a broken guitar.
“I like hard stuff,” said the drunk. He began listing bands whose specialties were obscenity and violence. They could never use that kind of thing at a high school dance. They’d never get another job again. Besides, the girl who organized the dance—Kip somebody—made it clear that one rule broken and the dance would be shut down like a nuclear plant with a leak.
The guitar player kept a friendly smile on his face, but he knew he looked like someone afraid of dogs smiling at a slavering rabid Doberman pinscher. The smile was a smirk of fear.
Caitlin said, “Watch me.”
Sue shivered with delight and apprehension. Caitlin had nerves of steel. Sure enough, Caitlin led her foursome over to Molly. Molly was talking with a half dozen seniors, the kind that Con and Anne would be when they were seniors—special.
Caitlin interrupted everybody’s conversation. They all let her, neither frowning nor continuing. Sue had read somewhere this was a sign of power—being able to interrupt at will. She waited for Caitlin’s power display. Caitlin said without preliminaries, “So, Molly. Got your Harvard weekend all lined up?”
Jimmy began edging away. He didn’t go in for this.
Molly, sensing a trap, smiled without committing herself.
Caitlin said to the seniors, “Molly brought a Harvard man. Or at least, a former Harvard man.”
“What do you mean by that?” Molly cried.
“Yeah, we saw him lurching around,” said one of the seniors.
“I mean he got kicked out, of course,” Caitlin said to Molly. “Why else would he be at a high school dance? In November? When even colleges aren’t on vacation?”
“He has a long weekend,” Molly said stiffly.
“A hell of a long weekend,” Jimmy said, pitching in when Sue pinched his arm.
Everybody laughed. Sue said, “It was so clever of you bringing him here, Molly. He can’t get liquor here, so eventually he’ll dry out on soda. Only you would think of that.”
The senior girls began laughing. “Miaow,” said one of them, turning away. “Listen, you juniors go have your fights on your own time, okay? We’re busy.”
“Okay,” said Caitlin cheerfully. “Want to stick with us, Molly, and be juniors together?”
“I think I’m glad I’m graduating,” observed a senior girl.
Sue and Caitlin linked arms with their boyfriends and moved away, laughing.
Christopher was making quite a scene, but because he was on the same floor level as the musicians, only the dancers pressed right up against the instruments realized it. Two senior boys, Billy and Roy, were mildly interested. “I remember him,” said Billy. “Always picking a fight.”
“Yeah,” Roy said. “They threw him off the football team for fighting. You have to be some fighter for that to happen.”
“How did he ever get into Harvard to start with?” asked Roy’s date, Megan. Megan had a high-pitched voice, and it carried. It carried, unfortunately, as far as Christopher. Christopher swung around to listen, but Roy didn’t notice. With a grin he said to Megan, “Must’ve lied on the application.”
The second guitar player took one look at Christopher’s face and quietly unplugged his guitar, preparing to beat a hasty retreat. The drummer thought exclusively of the dollars invested in his outfit and hoped that Billy and Roy were stronger than they looked. The keyboard man wondered if his accident insurance covered football players falling backward into his instrument.
As for Billy and Roy, they had time to remember that Christopher had been such a good sports player because he moved so fast, and then they were both bleeding.
Christopher would have landed a second punch on each of them, but he was having difficulty getting his balance back. There were plenty of witnesses now, but they were so completely surprised to have a fight break out next to them that they reacted even more slowly than Christopher.
One of them was Roddy.
Roddy had spent the entire week retreating. Retreating from Molly and her laughing at him.
Retreating from his mother and her conviction that Roddy was still dating Molly.
Retreating from Kip when she turned out not to be very nice after all. (He still couldn’t understand that; he’d gone out of his way to be easygoing. He would never understand that to Kip, he was just being wimpy.)
And now everybody was retreating from Christopher Vann. Chris would win by default because all his possible opponents were just backing off.
On the other hand, Roddy did not have the personality for assault, especially when Christopher outweighed him by fifty pounds at least. Billy and Roy struggled to get out of the way and into position to hit back. The girls screamed, especially Megan in her high, piercing voice. No music covered the screams. People began moving toward the noise, to see what was happening, so that within seconds there was a crowd, not just dancers.
Christopher regained his balance, drew his arm back and got ready to punch Billy. Billy, half on his feet, was nicely lined up to get his nose broken.
Roddy picked up the electrical cord that had been connected to the second guitarist’s instrument, jerked it hard in front of Christopher, and tripped him flat.
The most amazing event of Roddy’s life was not tripping Chris—it was that not one single person saw the electrical cord. What they saw was his bunched-up fist jerking through the air. Every person standing there thought Roddy had slugged Christopher and brought him down easy as that.
“Way to go!” yelled two of the witnesses, joyfully pounding Roddy’s back and then less kindly pounding Christopher, who was down now and not likely to get up again.
“Oh, Roddy!” cried Megan, her voice carrying all the way to the rose arbor, “that was wonderful of you!”
Roddy began to laugh.
“Oh, Roddy, I adore you!” cried Megan.
Billy and Roy got up sheepishly and said thank you and shook his hand. Somebody had a real handkerchief, which Billy put to his nose, and Megan gave Roy a wad of Kleenex, which he pressed to his split lip.
“Quick thinking, Rod,” said Gary, nodding congratulations.
Kip, of course, had planned for every possible event, and had hired two off-duty policemen. The two cops shouldered their way through the yelling teenagers. “All right, all right. So what happened?”
It was a woman cop. Roddy thought, she’s not even as big as I am. What can she do with an ape like Christopher?
And then he thought, She could arrest me for starting it!
But the first version came from the shrinking guitarist, and the second came from Megan, and the third from the drummer. The police officer said sharply to Christopher, “Get up, young man, and explain yourself.”
Christopher looked up at her, mumbled under the piercing threat of her glare, and got to his feet without help from anybody standing there. He didn’t look sober, but he
didn’t look drunk, either. He looked totally humiliated and ready to be sick. The police officer withered him just by looking at him.
“You two boys all right?” she asked Billy and Roy. The boys nodded with embarrassment. Megan made little cooing noises over Roy’s bloody lip and Roy obviously was praying that she would stop making such a big deal of this, but Megan didn’t catch on and just got louder.
“Okay,” said the policewoman very very loudly. “Okay, kids, listen up. Who came with this jerk? Somebody’s gotta drive him home.”
Molly was almost at the exit. She had change, she could call her parents to come for her. Better never to walk back in there than—but Sue and Caitlin yelled at the top of their lungs, “Hey, Molly! He’s down this way! Over here! Want us to show you?”
The parents at the rose arbor smiled sympathetically at Molly. “Can you handle him, dear, or should we tell the police officer to take him home herself?”
Molly gritted her teeth. “I can handle him,” she said, walking back through the cafeteria. Somebody—probably Kip—had flung on all the lights, and now the romance was ruined: You could see the dingy acoustical tile on the ceiling and the stainless steel counters where the lunch ladies served every day.
“Revenge,” said Sue. “It’s sweet.”
“Probably even sweeter for Roddy,” said Caitlin. “I hear Molly dumped him to bring Christopher in the first place.”
“I can’t believe Roddy was the one to hit him,” Sue said. “It just goes to show, you can’t judge by appearance. I’m going to give Roddy another chance. He’s not such a geek after all.”
“He can’t be. He came with Kip.”
“With Kip? Really?”
Caitlin nodded. “I saw them come in together.”
“Amazing.”
Molly reached Christopher. Sue and Caitlin weren’t near enough to be able to watch. But they stationed themselves by the door to enjoy the final exit.
As for Roddy, he was grinning from ear to ear. He wished he had something else to do, like chew tobacco, or swivel a pair of drumsticks between his casual fingers. But Megan telling everybody how wonderful he was filled the gap. It occurred to Roddy that he could date Megan very easily right now.