IT WAS TWO MINUTES UNTIL THE 7:30 BELL, AND FOR Owen Young, the craziness was in full swing. He stood behind his desk at the front of the room with his grade book open, a pile of Xeroxed handouts on top of his briefcase, and a crowd of kids around his desk.
"No," he kept saying as the kids tried to drop their essays on his desk. "Don't hand them in now. Wait until I call for them." Some of the kids dropped the essays anyway. The corner of his eye caught Chuck Longano, one of his students.
"Hey, great meet yesterday," Chuck shouted.
Owen smiled back. "Yeah, the girls were terrific. East Harrow is a tough team."
The bell blasted over the P.A. Owen put up his hands and said, "Come on, come on, that's it. Seats! Seats!"
The wailing wall of kids in front of him kept clamoring, but Owen had learned he had to stop listening if he ever wanted class to begin. "No questions. No answers. If you're seated, you're here. If you're standing, you're late. Let's go."
Reluctantly, the petitioners dropped back and shuffled to their seats. Owen felt the air twang from the noise and energy. He jabbed a pencil in the air as he noted which seats were empty.
He saw right away that Casey wasn't there. She hadn't been at the meet yesterday, either, and she hadn't come to him with an excuse. Owen's chest tightened as he thought about Casey. He was losing her fast.
Distracted, he said, "Okay. While you're writing in your journals, I'm going t—QUIET!—I'm going to call your names. Bring up your essay and lay it down. If you haven't got it, don't bother with excuses. Just bring it tomorrow and I'll take ten points off."
He sat behind his desk and felt depressed about Casey being absent. He shrugged off the emotion and began to call names. He liked collecting essays, but he didn't look forward to reading through all of this mud. At least a cold front had brought chilly fall air and brighter skies. As he thought about these things, Casey walked into the room.
At first, he felt his spirits lift, but quickly he frowned. She looked slovenly, which she never had before. Her hair was ratted and her denim jacket and skirt were askew over a half-buttoned white shirt. She glanced at him and mumbled, "Sorry. My ride was late."
She started for her seat. Owen said, "Casey?"
She stopped, her hip jutting impatiently, and looked at him. "Yeah?"
"Don't you take the bus?"
"I get a ride now."
"Well, you know, if your ride is late, school policy says it's illegal."
"Yeah, I know." Her voice was thick with sleep. "Okay," he said. "When are we going to talk about yesterday?"
"What was yesterday?"
"The meet against East Harrow."
She hissed an obscenity, then raised her face to the fluorescent lights and sighed. "I forgot. I'm really sorry, Mr. Young."
"We'll talk about it later. Right now, I've got to get this class going."
She moved listlessly to her seat, muttering to herself. She sat down with a thud and touched her fingertips to her desktop as she squinted up at the board. He watched her rummage in her big gray pocketbook and come out with a pen. She flipped open her notebook and began to write.
Owen knew she was dating Paul VanHorn and he knew a lot about Paul. He had seen other bright, terrific girls get sucked into relationships and surrender their morals, their needs, and their personalities. He had never understood it. He couldn't understand it now.
He kept collecting essays, and got to Casey's name. "Miss Gordon?" he said.
She looked up with a blank face. "I don't have it." Damn, he thought viciously. "Tomorrow?"
"Yeah." She nodded, and looked down again.
He marked a zero in the grade book and felt himself get angry. He felt something similar when he fell a few yards back in a ten-kilometer race and his hamstring quit. He usually coaxed some extra yardage out of the anger. Now the anger would motivate him to look into Casey Gordon's love life.
Casey stopped writing and looked out the window, in time to see Paul's car leave the parking lot. Unsaid words stuck like chicken bones in her throat. He'd deliberately pulled up late the last few mornings. "Don't sweat over it so much," he'd said. "It's no big deal."
But it was a big deal to her. Or at least it always had been a big deal. She didn't know why. They wouldn't hold back her diploma. Everyone knew you could be a total dirtbag but if your mother cried to the superintendent, they'd cut a deal for you. Nobody didn't graduate.
She balanced her face on her fist. Every time she got ticked at Paul for something, he turned out to be right. It felt kind of nice to walk in late. Man, she was tired of toeing the line. Paul had untied her and she was running free.
A hand poked her ribs and she sat up. The hand belonged to the girl who sat next to her, and it held a folded note. Casey reached down to take the note and glanced at the front of the room. Mr. Young was scrawling "Christendom" on the board.
Casey leaned over her books as she unfolded the note. It was from Dina DeLillo, a curly-haired little girl who sometimes hung out with Casey and Faye and the gang.
Mr. Young's strong voice rose and fell in sturdy cadences as Casey read the note. The sun flattened out against the windows and spilled over desks. It made Casey feel like a sensuous cat.
The note said, Heather wants to know if you're coming to the School Spirit Dance because if you are she doesn't have to hang out with Lillian all night. ES. Glenn wants to know if you're coming, too, but don't let him know that you know.
Casey refolded the note and fought a smile. She hadn't even seen the gang lately, Paul had kept her so busy. And he hadn't been hitting her. Boy, she wanted to tell Faye that. He liked to pinch and poke her a lot, and it got annoying, but not one temper fit.
She crumpled the note viciously and glanced over at Dina, who gave her a big smile. For some reason, she wanted to go to the School Spirit Dance. She missed everybody. But Paul didn't like crowds. And he'd give her hell for doing this.
Mr. Young was getting worked up over the influence of the church in medieval Europe and how it got drama started. He was crouching and gesturing and making weird voices. The kids were laughing. Casey looked out the window again and watched colorfully dressed girls walk by. A paper cup dropped from a second floor window. She felt her insides draw together and twist around.
She was scared to go. She was scared of Paul hitting her for it. But that was stupid. He wouldn't mind her having a good time.
Casey tore a sheet of paper from her spiral notebook and quickly wrote a note back to Dina saying she probably would go to the dance. Then she folded the note and let it sit next to her pocketbook while she delicately extracted paper shreds from the spirals. She looked up at the clock and saw that the period had four minutes to go.
With a big sigh, Casey leaned into the aisle and jabbed the girl next to her. The girl glared at her, then nodded and took the note. Casey sat erect and blushed as she saw Mr. Young looking at her.
"Ah," he said, "the lateral underhanded note pass. Smartly done." Everyone laughed. As long as you get your jollies, Casey thought.
She slumped in her seat, realizing that she'd lost the stupid composition assignment. Maybe she wouldn't hand it in at all, and see what it was like to get a zero. Maybe she'd flunk everything, right down the line. How long could Mom ground her?
She daydreamed about kissing Paul and she smiled with her eyes half-shut. The bell rang.
When Heather pulled into a parking space the night of the School Spirit Dance, the moon was full and the creatures were out. Heather's Camaro shuddered and burped as she turned it off. Casey peered through the smeary windshield.
"You sure you want to leave the car here?" she asked.
"Where else am I going to leave it?" Heather said. Her white-blonde hair was moussed and gelled and it made her look like a lion-woman from Alpha Centauri. Her long silk shirt helped the effect.
"Good luck," Casey said. They both got out of the car and stood in the chilly night air. The parking lot lights were on, bathing the scene in a lurid pink glow. Muscle cars prowled the aisles, with deep macho roars. The ground seemed to throb with blasting stereos.
As they walked gingerly on the shattered glass that always lined the student parking lot, Casey and Heather breathed the stale smell of beer and the sweet smell of pot. The raw power of darkness and the shuddering energy of hundreds of kids reached deep inside Casey's ribs and beat there like a second heart. She liked it.
At the school entrance stood two security cops, next to their cars. They wore school jackets and caps and held walkie-talkies. "Narcs," Casey said.
"Yeah," Heather agreed. "Let's hide the crack."
They both giggled. Kids hung around outside the school, smoking cigarettes or making out. The stink of nicotine hit Casey's nostrils as she and Heather neared the glass doors.
"What's Carolyn doing with Vinnie?" Casey asked, as she gestured toward one passionate couple.
"Making babies," Heather said. That sent them both into a paroxysm of laughter.
Inside, they were slammed by the heat. The custodians had gone nuts with the boilers. "Whoa," Casey said, putting up a hand.
"I'm going to die in this outfit," Heather moaned.
The gym lobby was a mass of bodies, including kids and teacher chaperones. Blue and white crepe paper had been strung up wall to wall. The girls presented their tickets and went into the gym, which was dark except for flashing disco lights. Rock music came at them like a runaway train, and the jumping feet of five hundred kids made the polished wooden floor bounce up and down. Casey felt strangely nervous.
"Hey! Casey!" The words were thin over the earsplitting music. She turned and saw Glenn. He wore a black shirt, mostly unbuttoned, and tough-looking pants.
She made eyes at him. "Sexy."
He did body-builder poses and then glided into a raunchy dance step. He gestured to her. She looked at Heather. "Let's dance," she said.
Casey let the driving beat spin up through her legs into her midsection, and she began to move with Glenn. Heather joined in as well. The band members were kids from the school. Casey knew most of them, and they were pretty bad.
After the number was over, Mr. Germaine, a Social Studies teacher, got on the mike and started making announcements. Casey couldn't understand most of it. He said, "My man," a lot, and "What it is!" and "How're we doin'?" The kids screamed and clapped. Casey, Glenn, and Heather went to the concession table.
"Coke?" Glenn asked.
Casey nodded. Her skin tingled from dancing, and the backs of her thighs hurt. She suddenly felt lousy about missing the track meet. It was the first time ever. Not only was she scratched from the next meet, but her legs were killing her because she hardly trained. Paul had asked her why she didn't quit the track team. Casey couldn't answer.
Glenn handed her the wet, cold can. She popped the top and fizz bubbled up. She tipped back her head and gulped the first burning sips of soda. She shivered and pressed the can against her perspiring forehead.
"Whoa," she said. "That felt good."
Heather was drinking a can of Slice with a straw, and Glenn had a Sunkist orange. "Where's Faye?" Casey asked.
Glenn jutted his chin. "There."
Casey looked, and thought she could see Faye and Eddie on the other side of the bandstand. They were touching foreheads, their hands on each other's waists. Casey turned away, feverish with jealousy. Of what?
"So how's it going?" Glenn asked. "Haven't seen you for a while."
"Fine," Casey answered with a shrug. "I've been grounded mostly."
"For what?"
"Search me. How are you?"
Glenn looked meaningfully at her. "A little banged up."
"Oh, yeah?"
He laughed. "You really don't know, huh?"
"About what?"
Heather looked up and said, "He got hurt in the game against Northville. Your knee, right, Glenn?"
"Yup. I'm sidelined for another week or so."
Casey felt stupid. "I didn't know. I'm sorry, Glenn."
"It's okay. Flynn made me assistant field coach so I get to call some of the plays."
"That's great," Casey said. "Jesus, I'm really sorry. I've been so out of it."
"I figured," he said. "When you stop coming to the games, I know something's up."
Heather slurped from the bottom of the can. "Casey is obsessed."
"Get real," Casey said.
"She always gets obsessed," Glenn said with fondness. "Even when she was a little kid. Remember when you got into The X-Men? You had every X-Men comic in the world."
"X-Men?" Heather said.
Casey felt her cheeks heat up. "It was this stupid comic book. I just liked it."
"You went psycho over it," Glenn said. "My mom used to drive us to these comic-book conventions so Casey could look for X-Men comic books. You still have those?"
Casey sipped more Coke. "Probably. Unless I threw them out."
"Aren't they worth money?" Heather asked.
"Who knows?" Casey said, wishing they'd get off the subject.
"Casey wouldn't sell any of them," Glenn said. "She just put them in these plastic bags and took them out and read them. That's the way she is."
Casey made a sardonic face. "Thanks. Do I pay you the nickel now or later?"
Glenn grinned. The band started to play a slow song, way off key. Slowly, couples drifted out to the middle of the gym and slid into swaying embraces.
Glenn touched Casey's elbow. "Come on," he said.
"I don't know, Glenn."
"Give me a break."
She put the can on the table. He led her through the maze of warm, pungent bodies, and then turned her around. She relaxed against him and wrapped her arms lightly around his neck. He linked his hands at the small of her back and they pressed together and rocked to the beat. A flow of relaxation massaged Casey's body. She remembered the comic books, and fat little Glenn taunting her about them. She remembered identifying with the mixed-up teenage mutants in those stories, with nobody to love or understand them. Casey used to fantasize that she was a mutant, and she kept giving herself different powers. Sometimes she could pick up cars by telekinesis, and sometimes she could move so fast that everyone else appeared to be standing still.
She molded herself more intimately to Glenn and rested her cheek in his damp neck. She felt miserable for missing the football games. Damn it. Why did everybody make her feel guilty? None of them would stick by her when she needed them. As long as she solved their problems. Heather wanted Casey tonight to avoid Lillian. Glenn wanted to make a play for her. Faye was making goo-goo eyes at Eddie. What a farce.
The dance ended, and Casey held on to Glenn for a moment. Then, as if a spell had broken, they parted and headed back to the concession table. Lillian grabbed the mike on the bandstand. She was all frilly in a blue confection with a scoop neck.
"This is such a wonderful turnout ..." Lillian was gushing. Most of her words got lost in howls of feedback and the steady roar of the crowd. "Support our student organization ... spirit of this senior year ... "
"Give it up," Casey said.
Heather's eyes sparkled as she watched. "She's so into it. She's got so much belief."
"I think it's all phony," Glenn said. "She told Mrs. Markman she didn't do a report because she was made a deacon of her church and she had to run a rap group."
"I hate that," Heather said, changing sides. "That's so hypocritical."
"I think she really does believe in herself," Casey said. "I don't think she thinks she's a hypocrite."
"It works," Glenn said. "She gets everybody to wait on her."
"It's her serenity," Casey said. "She's just so peaceful." "Like a saint," Heather said.
"Now Faye would have a great comment on that if she wasn't so busy sucking face."
The others laughed. Heather said. "This is so great."
"What?" Casey said, "Tearing Lillian apart?"
"No," Heather said. "Just talking. We haven't done that for so long."
"I agree," Glenn said. "We ought to ditch this dance and go to Little Tony's for two pies and a pitcher of Coke."
"Yeah!" Heather said. "Want to do it, Case?"
Glenn said, "Maybe we could even grab Faye."
"Not without Eddie," Heather said.
"So let Eddie come along. I like a drama fag every once in a while."
They laughed at that. The band crashed into an up-tempo number. Casey said, "How about if we just hang out here for a while?"
"Oh, come on," Heather said, disappointed.
"We'll see," Casey promised. She clapped her hands and thrust her arms in the air, getting into the music. Heather sulked, but Glenn joined in. Casey began to spin and shout and do fancy steps. She needed to release the tension and hold on to the mood.
Out of the corner of her eye, Casey noticed Paul. She stopped dancing and made tight fists of her hands. Glenn noticed, too, and looked at Casey. He huffed a little and streams of sweat ran down his temples.
"Did you invite him?" Glenn asked.
Casey shook her head.
Glenn's hand folded over her shoulder. "Don't worry. He won't bother you."
She looked up at him. "Don't be stupid, Glenn."
She wriggled away. Paul wore his old Army fatigue jacket; it had battle ribbons on it. He wore it over baggy pants, and she thought she saw an earring in his left earlobe.
She began to feel ice-cold inside. If she asked Glenn, he would take her home, or even to Little Tony's. She wouldn't have to face Paul. She wouldn't have to be punished. But she couldn't run away from it. She'd betrayed him and he had a right to be pissed off. She felt as if she was four years old again and she'd just drawn big looping pictures on her door with a Magic Marker, and Mom came home.
Casey moved toward Paul, feeling like · she was in slow motion. He saw her, finally. His eyes were like fingers hooking into her flesh. She felt sick to her stomach.
With a sudden clap, he contorted his body into a slinky dance step. A slow grin split his face and he glided back and forth, his legs dazzling. He kept his eyes on her. Other kids started to stare at him. Casey shook. She made herself stand near him.
Paul flung himself around, now low to the floor, now upright. Now and then he'd freeze, then launch back into his dance. A ring of spectators gathered around him, whooping and clapping as Paul performed for them.
The band stopped after an eternity, and everyone applauded and yelled. Paul's chest heaved. Electronic beeps and howls came from the bandstand. Paul said, "You didn't dance with me."
She tried to say, "I'm sorry," but she could barely make her throat move.
"This is a pretty good dance. You should have asked me to come."
She could only shake her head. Beneath her studded blue shirt, her skin chilled.
"You could have handled two guys," Paul said. His voice was louder.
Casey shook her head again. Her throat was paralyzed.
"Any SLUT can handle two guys, right?" Now he was shouting. "That's what you are, right? A little SLUT."
Casey's eyes filled. She was shaking so hard she couldn't see straight.
Paul pointed at her. "You came here without telling me. What kind of crap is that? Huh?"
He shoved her, hard. She shuddered and crossed her arms over her chest. Some guy said, "Hey, buddy, take it easy."
Paul snapped an obscenity at the kid, then turned back to Casey. "What's the deal, slut? Make me look like a fool? You want your head broken? Huh?"
He shoved her again. Out of the corner of her eye, Casey saw Glenn come steamrolling out of the crowd. Paul kind of crouched and hit Glenn in the stomach. Casey could hear the pop. Glenn doubled over. Paul hit Glenn in the ribs and Glenn whimpered. Casey thought she was going to throw up.
Two male teachers elbowed their way in. Then two security guards appeared. It was hard to see with the disco lights. The teachers grabbed Glenn, who was thrashing around and trying to stand up straight. The security guys were crowding Paul, who kept shrugging them off and strutting around. Paul's face was darkly flushed. He looked crazy.
"Get your damn hands off me," he kept saying. His eyes found Casey again. "What's the story, slut? You staying here?"
Casey kept taking deep breaths to stay upright. She tried desperately not to think of everyone watching her.
Paul looked at her sharply. "I'm walking. If I walk and you stay, then you're history."
"Let's move it," one of the guards said gruffly.
Paul moved closer to Casey. "With me or without me?" Casey needed to get out of the gym, into the air. She thought she heard somebody—Heather? Faye?—saying, "Don't go with him, Casey, don't." It didn't matter. She'd been such a fool to do this. She could have talked it over with him. He probably would have said okay. She was so wrong to just go and not tell him.
She nodded to Paul.
"I'll be outside," he told her. He began to walk away. Then he spun, and screamed at her. "Don't you EVER pull this on me again. You hear me?"
Casey lowered her head.
"ANSWER me, slut."
She formed the word "Yes."
He spun again and strutted between the security guards. Casey forced her legs to move, aware of all the eyes following her and the whispers that struck her like hurled stones between her shoulder blades. She would never come back. She would never let any of them hurt her again.
Outside, the cold air awakened her. She smelled smoke. She stood shivering under the amber lights that outlined the brick building. She couldn't see Paul. There were other kids, in small groups.
Then she saw the taillights of a security car, driving toward the far side of the lot. She began to walk quickly, wanting to be away from the school before Glenn or somebody came after her.
She crossed into the parking lot and she saw him, past the lights, by the chain link fence just where it bordered the playing fields. Casey kept her head down because the wind blew dust at her eyes. Her teeth chattered and her shirt felt clammy against her skin.
The walk stretched out forever, but finally she was out of the light. She heard the distant swoosh of cars on the road, and music. She ran one hand along the chain link, listening to it rattle.
She saw Paul waiting for her, and stopped. He smoked a cigarette. Its orange tip glowed brightly, then ebbed. He dropped the cigarette and ground it out with his heel. She could just see his outline. She jammed her hands into her dungaree pockets and trembled in the wind.
"Get over here," he said.
She shuffled the last few steps toward him. He cupped the back of her head in one hand and then pinched the nape of her neck. "You're stupid," he said. "You never learn anything."
"Don't call me stupid," she said.
"I'll call you what I damn want."
She said, "You made me look like a fool." A new sensation razored through her throat. Anger. Pure, clean anger. "You could have talked to me on the side. You didn't have to pull that crap."
He looked away and laughed with disbelief. "This is funny. You cheat on me and you have the nerve to tell me I'm pulling crap."
"I wasn't cheating," she said. "I just danced with Glenn."
"You don't dance with anybody unless I say so."
She could hear faint surges of music that rose and fell on the night wind. Her anger slipped, but hung on. "You don't own me, Paul."
"I don't, huh? Okay, you want out? Maybe we should just cool it for a while. You want that?"
She shook her head. "No."
"Damn straight. Don't ever try to walk away from me. I'll break your legs. Wherever you go, I'll find you. I'll be there, and I'll be waiting."
The anger drained, and she felt ice-cold. For a moment, she realized what she'd gotten herself into and how terrified she was. For a searing instant, she wanted to be back in the gym, close to Glenn and Heather and Faye. She wanted to scream for help. But being alone scared her so much more. Her spirit sank, and she regretted everything she'd said. She'd been an idiot. What if he left her? Where would she go now? How could she face anybody?
She kept her eyes lowered. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to start an argument."
"You're a piece of garbage, you know that?"
"You don't have to talk that way," she said.
"I don't."
"No."
His fingers tightened on her neck and he slammed her against the fence. She hit with tremendous force and her ears rang with the jingling. He spun and gripped the fence with both hands, imprisoning her. "I don't have to do that. You make me look bad but I don't have to do that. You spit in my face and I don't have to do that. Is that right, huh?"
He punched her in her ribs and she moaned at the stabbing pain. "What don't I have to do, slut?" he spat. "What is it I don't have to do, huh? Huh? Huh?"
With each "Huh?" he punched her. He used sharp, hard jabs, with closed fists. He exhaled hard with each punch. She saw his face, and it looked horrible, like something out of a monster movie. Oddly, she was aware of the parking lot behind him, of individual cars gleaming in the light, of the school building far away.
He punched her in the face and brilliant red lights exploded in her head. Now the punches came in flurries, everywhere, again and again. Her mouth filled with salty warmth. It made her cough. She couldn't get air. Every time she tried, long, pointed sticks jabbed her windpipe. She wondered if she really, truly were going to die.
Then she wasn't being hit. The absence of the punches startled her, almost as if a loud record had been turned off. She could hear her breath gurgling and scraping inside her. She heard his car start, and she heard the tires crunch. She thought she saw his headlights.
Her soaked back became aware of the fence pressing its grid into her. She couldn't feel her face, but she sensed the wind. She found a small pool of anger, and she pumped it into her legs. She was not going to sink onto this filthy asphalt with all the glass and old beer and God knew what else. Anyway, they'd be looking for her. She needed to get home and wash up and put some makeup on the bruises. She'd gotten pretty expert at that.
She pulled away from the fence but held on with clawed fingers. She was able to see the dark fields and the school. It was blurry, but she could see it. She coughed and spat up. Then she lurched around the end of the fence and stood on hard-packed dirt. She began to walk. She crossed the open field, breathing through her mouth. She had an awful stitch in her side, but she'd had those before.
She was across the field now, in the open, and the wind swirled around her. She heard the rustle of millions of dead leaves. The moon slid from between black clouds, and Casey saw the cinder track coldly illuminated. She stumbled onto the track and began to jog. Once or twice around the track and she'd have the strength to find her way home. How? She'd come here with Heather.
It didn't seem to matter. At least she didn't feel worried about it. It was nice to run, and it was almost as if she were floating above the track, like one of the X-Men. Maybe it was true! Maybe that was her power, to fly, to float, to spin over the moonlit track in the cold rushing wind, to race the spinning leaves. Awesome! Wait until she showed everyone.
Only for a brief instant, as unconsciousness swept over her, did she comprehend that she was falling.