Repossessed (9 page)

“Then you wouldn't mind if I asked you a few questions about it right now.”

“I need to get to my next class.”

“Just a couple of very quick questions.”

“All right, then. Go ahead.”

He leaned back against his desk and folded his arms. “Tell me about it.”

“What do you want to know?”

He shrugged. “How about you tell me the title first.”

“The Crucible.”

“What's it about?”

“On the surface, it's about the Salem Witch Trials, in which a group of lying teenage girls claimed to be possessed by Satan's minions.” I still found the whole thing laughably insulting. “However, it can also be read as a metaphor for the McCarthy hearings of the 1950s.”

“What about the main character. Who is it?”

“I would say John Proctor.”

“Okay. So. Tell me what happens to John Proctor.”

“Among other things, his wife is accused of witchcraft. There is some difficulty because he has had an affair with one of the accusing girls. His wife could clear herself by admitting in public that he has done this thing, but she won't, and so she is lost. John Proctor himself is then accused and, in the end, hangs for a crime of which he is innocent.” I looked steadily at Mr. Collins, waiting for the next question.

But he didn't ask. His gaze, which had been intent and accusing, wavered.

“All right,” Mr. Collins said after a moment. “I'll let this grade stand. But if I so much as glimpse your eyes moving an
inch
in the direction of somebody else's paper, I'm going to flunk you, pronto.
Capisce
?”

“Yes, that seems fair. But you know,” I remarked, because I felt it should be pointed out, “sometimes students
do
make a commitment to work harder.”

“Not often.”

“But sometimes.”

“Very rarely.”

“But
sometimes.
”

“Well…maybe.” He glanced at the stack of papers on his desk and seemed to droop a little. “Yes, maybe
sometimes
they do.”

I waited a moment, but he didn't say anything. “Are we done?” I asked.

“Yes. You can go now.”

“All right,” I said, pulling Shaun's backpack over my shoulder. “Thank you for your time.” I added, heading for the door.

“Shaun?”

I turned around.

“Don't be a smart aleck.”

I was about to say,
Yes sir
, but then, thinking better of it, I just nodded. I wanted to get to Lane before she was gone.

 

“Hi,” I said as I caught up with her in the hall.

She turned around, her lovely hair sliding over her shoulders. I didn't know as much about human expressions as I should have, but I was getting better at it, and it was clear that her face changed when she saw that it was me. Or rather, when she thought she saw Shaun. At any rate, I saw why it was said that people's faces “glowed”
when they were happy. Lane was
glowing
now.

The sparkling-eye thing, not so much.

“Hi.” Her voice sounded breathless.

“I was wondering,” I said very calmly—even though I could actually feel the heart pounding against my lungs and ribs as I spoke—“if you'd like to come over to my house after school today.”

“What for?”

“For…” I hesitated, thinking.

Don't say “mutual sexual fulfillment
.”
It'll ruin everything
.

“…homework,” I finished. “I was hoping you could help me with my homework.”

“In what?”

“English.” Then I remembered that Lane hadn't been doing so well in English, last I'd seen. “Geometry,” I added.

“Um. Which is it?”

“Geometry,” I said firmly. “I'm having trouble with geometry.”

“Sure, I'll come. Your mom or dad'll be there, right?”

“Shau—my dad doesn't live with us. My mom doesn't get off work till six.”

“I can't come over till after six, then. My mom won't let me go to somebody's house unless an adult is there.”

Shaun's backpack was digging into my shoulders. I gave it a heave, trying to shift it a little.

I'd forgotten about Lane's mother's rules. They
did
complicate things.

“You don't have to tell your mom,” I pointed out, knowing that this approach was probably futile.

Indeed it was. Lane pulled her books against her chest. “I can't
lie
,” she said, looking a little bewildered at the thought.

Lane, Lane, you honest girl. How I adore you!

“You could come to
my
house,” she said.

No, I could not. Lane's grandmother lived there, and not only would she
not
leave us alone, she wouldn't even let me in Lane's
room
. She would make us sit at the dining room table with her while she drank a glass of buttermilk and told stories about her childhood.

I thought quickly. I had to do this ASAP. I didn't know when the hammer would fall, so to speak.

“How about if we meet at Bailey's house,” I suggested. “His mother is home after school.”

“You and I would do homework at Bailey's?”

“Yes. Your mother knows Bailey's mother, does she not? And trusts her?”

“Does she not,”
Lane repeated, her mouth twisting into a smile.

“What's funny?”

“Nothing. I guess maybe Bailey's house would be all right,” she added. “Bailey's okay with that?”

“Yes,” I said, joy swelling inside my chest. Bailey was a friend who approved of my quest. He'd make sure Lane and I had time alone.

 

“You invited Lane Henneberger to
my
house,” Bailey echoed. “Without asking
me
?”

We were standing in the lunch line, waiting to be served something on a round bun. I perceived ketchup packets on the trays of people farther down the line, and felt a flutter of anticipation.

“Why'd you do that?” Bailey complained.

“I have no chance at a union with Lane in her house,” I pointed out.

“You have no chance at a union with Lane in
my
house, dude. And unless I've missed something, you barely even
know
Lane.”

“I know her very well.”

“Yeah? When's the last time you talked to her?”

“This afternoon.”

“Before…this week. When's the last time you said anything to Lane Henneberger before this week?”

“I don't remember.”

“The last time I know of was back in second grade. Remember we yelled ‘Banzai!' and threw water balloons at her in the street?”

“Are you refusing to let her come over?”

“I don't
care
if she comes over. You're totally missing the point.”

Bailey was the one missing the point. And I couldn't explain it to him. He hadn't seen Lane pining for Shaun, hadn't seen her writing lustful pages about the way Shaun's hair curled on the back of his neck. She loved Shaun, and was more than ready to demonstrate her feelings. As I was ready to demonstrate mine.

I sighed. “Okay, Bailey, what's the point I'm missing?”

“Even if she
would
let you get in her pants, you aren't going to have a chance to try.”

“All you have to do is leave us alone in your room for a little while.”

“What do you think, my mom and I are going to wait in the driveway while you seduce her?”

“Oh, yeah.” I remembered. “Your mom.”

“Duh!” Bailey's mother never minded teenagers coming into her house. She never minded if they ate her food and stayed for hours. She just always seemed to have one eye and ear on them.

“Hmm. That
could
be a problem. I've already invited Lane, though.” I thought about it. “If the three of us are in your room, could you go for a snack and not come back for, say, an hour?”

“No.”

“Thirty minutes?”

“And what do you want me to tell my mother when she asks why I'm hanging around the kitchen while you two are in my room with the door shut?”

“That you're very hungry?”

“Shaun. Think with your head and not your nuts.
It's not going to work
.”

Logically speaking, I knew he was right. Still, I felt positive about the outcome. Somehow I would manage to get time alone with my Lane.

“Well,” I said, unable to come up with any other ideas on the spur of the moment, “why don't we proceed as planned, then, and just keep an eye out for the opportunity which may present itself?”

“We?”

“Okay,
I
will proceed as planned. Lane and I will come over to your house to do homework.”

“I totally don't care. Just don't expect anything from me.
Or
my mom.”

“I won't.”

“And do you know how weird you've been talking?”

“No,” I began, but then I realized what he meant was that I had not been using Shaun's grammatical patterns.

I was starting to slip.

“Whatever,” I said quickly.

But Bailey was already shaking his head as he picked up his tray.

W
hen I sat down at our table, my tray held a hamburger and a small mound of French fries, but only four ketchup packets. The stingy net-head behind the counter wouldn't give me more than that.

“Can I have your ketchup?” I asked Bailey.

“No.”

I sighed. I rather enjoyed sighing.

I carefully tore one packet and squished the ketchup out, onto my fries. I had a fork today, and would try Shaun's mom's salad-stirring method.

As I reached for a second packet, I glanced up and saw the sower of pain loading up his tray in the lunch line.

Reed McGowan. The third “tree.”

It nagged at me, having such close access to him.
Being in his physical presence right
now
, having a chance to communicate with him while he was actively committing his sins.
Not
interminably reliving those sins via his pathetic, whining soul when the sins were old, stale, and carved in stone.

I couldn't give up on him yet. A small flame of hope burned in me, an almost human kind of hope. Here I was, outside of the usual rules that bound me. And I wanted to
keep trying
.

Bailey turned to see what had captured my attention. He turned back quickly.

“Tell me,” he said, “that you're not looking at Reed McGowan.”

“But I
am
looking at Reed McGowan.”

Bailey gave a quick glance over his shoulder again. “He's not doing anything to anybody.”

“He did, though. And he will.”

“But he's not
now
. So quit looking at him.”

But I couldn't. There stood a walking pile of cruelty, guilt, insecurity, and childishness.

Reed McGowan: my future.

“Come on,” Bailey said, more urgently now. “Don't give him anything to start with.”

He sounded so concerned that I hesitated a few moments, considering. But I wanted very much to get Reed moving away from the bowels of Hell—or at least
my
part of the bowels of Hell. If he ended up in somebody else's part, that was their lookout.

“I have to try,” I told Bailey. “I have to talk to him.”

“You're not serious. He'll kill you.”

“Unlikely,” I said. “He may hit me again, but I doubt he'll beat me to death.” I wasn't going to be using this body much longer anyway. A few loose teeth would be worth cutting eons off Reed's company in the afterlife.

I pushed my chair back and got up.

“Aw, no,” Bailey pleaded. “
No
, Shaun.”

“It must be done,” I said simply, and went to see Reed.

They say you can catch more flies with honey than with vinegar,
I reflected as I headed across the cafeteria. Although what one would want to do with flies once caught, I do not know. Murder them, most likely—that seemed to me to be what humans generally did with caught flies. I suspected there was a lesson and a warning there about humans in general.

I didn't want to murder Reed. I wanted to change him, but I knew that wasn't possible.

All humans have free will. Reed was the only one who could do the changing.

In this case, all I could think to do was to plant a seed and hope it'd start growing on its own. A disappointingly small
K
, but surely better than nothing.

Reed was paying for his lunch. I observed that he had
not ketchup packets, but mayonnaise. Not milk, but iced tea. Otherwise, he had the same as everyone else: one hamburger, French fries, and a mixture of peas and carrots.

“Reed,” I said, approaching him as the net-head handed him his change. “May I speak to you?”

He looked up, and when he saw who it was, his eyes narrowed.

“I want to apologize,” I told him, “for what I said yesterday. I wasn't thinking how it might make you feel.”

Reed kept his eyes on me, but didn't say anything. I had no idea what he might be thinking.

He looked away, and deliberately dropped his change into his pocket.

“Move on, please,” said the net-head.

Reed scooped up his tray and started across the cafeteria.

I quickly caught up with him. “It concerns me,” I said, walking beside him, “to see you treating other people the way you sometimes do. I'm guessing that at this point you don't particularly care how they feel about it.”

That was silly. Of course he didn't care about making people feel bad. The sowers of pain never do—not till later. Sometimes much, much later.

I started over. “Do you care how it reflects on
you
when you mistreat others?”

He still wouldn't look at me. In fact, he seemed to be pretending I wasn't even there. The only thing he said was a snarled “Outta my way” to a knot of girls who were standing in the aisle.

“When people hear you speak like that,” I pointed out, “they don't respect you. They certainly don't like you. If they even fear you, it's only the sort of fear they might feel for a mad dog.”

The girls found their seats, and Reed continued on again. He was walking
very
quickly now. I had to trot to stay with him. I continued to speak in a low voice: “You may think, because you have friends, that you are liked. But teenagers are notoriously insecure, and for the most part your ‘friends' must know that you could turn on them on a dime. On a
dime
,” I said again, liking the sound of it. “Yes, you could turn on them on a dime.”

We were almost to Reed's usual table, where his friends already sat. And finally Reed spoke.

“Get away from me,” he said out of the side of his mouth.

“All right,” I agreed, out of the side of my mouth as well. “I just wanted to give you something to think about. If you want to have
real
friends, you might want to consider whether your actions are those of someone who can be trusted and relied upon.”

Reed finally stopped. I did, too. I felt oddly light and
pleased, as if the act of speaking my mind had somehow removed a weight I'd been carrying.

He stood there, still holding his tray, staring down at me with his upper lip slightly curled. I couldn't tell if he had been touched by my words or if he wanted to hit me again.

I found myself hunching into my shoulders a little, in case our encounter took the hitting direction.

“You,” Reed McGowan told me with complete conviction, “are a total
freak
.” Then he stepped over to his friends, put his tray on the table, and sat down. Our interview was over.

I didn't realize I'd been holding my breath until I let it out.

I'd said exactly what needed to be said—and he hadn't hit me! That could be because we were still in an area supervised by adults.

But it could mean that he had been
listening
.

In either case, I had sown my seed. That seed now had a chance to take root.

I unhunched my shoulders and walked back to Bailey.

Perhaps later, during a quiet time, Reed would reflect on what I said. If he did reflect, there was only one conclusion he could come to.

Another
K
begun.