"Hi, this is your friendly author. I think all of you are doing a terrific job, and I'm impressed with your honesty. It takes a lot of courage to admit some of the things you're admitting."
Okay, what's the catch?
"No catch, Kimber. But you did say that I should keep you from wandering, right?"
Are we wandering?
"Well, I'd say you were avoiding. Nobody wants to talk about what happened after the Senior Weekend."
You're right. None of us wants to talk about how dumb we were.
"And I don't blame you. So I thought I might steal a chapter or two for that hallway fight. Do you mind?"
No. I think we were kind of hoping you'd help us out.
Okay. (I don't need the quotes now, Kimber.) Let's be brave and set the scene for the catastrophes:
It was April in Westfield, just after the Senior Weekend in Washington, D.C. Spring wasn't exactly in the air. Northwest winds blew cold rain and pewter skies over Westfield day after day. But the seniors could smell graduation. Huddled in their winter coats, they counted the days. And they struggled with love.
April was a critical time for love. Old romances soured, and new ones bloomed. Breakups left girls sobbing in the bathroom. Fights brought teachers running.
For our six swains, the fuse was especially short. The Senior Weekend had been a nightmare. Six hundred seniors, armed with boom boxes and junk food, had descended on the nation's capital with liquor and mischief:
Two football players were sent home for climbing to the hotel roof and rappelling into their girlfriends' room.
Eight seniors were barred from the Saturday night dance because they had a water-gun brawl in the lobby of the National Archives.
An entire wing of the hotel was suspended from Sunday's trip to Great Adventure because they staged an ice cube war.
And three girls were reprimanded for drinking with four Swedish boys. Rumor said that one of the girls spent the night with one of the guys, but there was no evidence—yet. For the purposes of this story, we're not concerned with the forty-seven seniors who were disciplined. We're interested in that alleged party with the Swedish boys. Because the girl in the rumor was Martha.
But for the moment, we'll skip to a few days after the weekend. On this particular Tuesday, at 10:03 A.M., the halls seethed with students, passing from third period to fourth period. Rain pattered dismally against windows. Let's locate our players in this scene:
Martha was coming from the Music Suite, where she'd finished Concert Band. As she edged around a corner, she was caught up in the swirling tide of students in the gym lobby. Meanwhile, Rob was heading toward the central hallway from the "A" wing, which is on the opposite side of the building. He'd just gotten out of Mystery and Magic, his senior English class. He figured to meet with his buddies by the stairway and talk about what they were doing later. Rob's hair was damp from walking outside. His eyes looked like windows into hell. He hadn't gone on the Senior Weekend, because his boss at the garage wouldn't give him Saturday off, and he needed the money. So he'd heard about Martha but hadn't been there.
Now, between the "A" Wing and the Music Wing is the Social Studies Wing. Out of one of those rooms came Greg Fratelli and John Brody. They were jocks, but not the cream of the team. They were best known for massive parties that ended up on front lawns with cops making arrests. They were also the two guys who got sent home from the Senior Weekend for mountaineering on the roof.
They were ticked off at getting caught, and they were even more ticked off that Martha had slept with this Swedish guy and only got reprimanded. So they were not going to miss any opportunity to terrorize Martha and her boyfriend.
Meanwhile, Kimber was walking Lou to his Calculus class on the second floor. She did this even though it always made her late for Physics. But Lou expected to be escorted by Kimber. She remembered when she'd flown to his classroom, with heart hammering and palms sweating. She remembered the pride that threatened to burst her smiling face as she and Lou walked together.
Now she waited with impatience, and self-hatred. The Senior Weekend had been soggy and miserable. Lou had complained the whole time, and he and his buddies had played cards during the Saturday night dance. So on this morning, Kimber was sore. She and Lou walked without touching, each waiting for the other to talk.
Deena didn't take part in the melee that was only four minutes away, but it's important to know that she'd gotten back together with Phil. She'd cried her heart out for three days after he walked out, and then he called again. They met at El Torito and talked. Then they held hands across the table and looked into each other's eyes. She promised him that she would never wear Brett's chain again.
Deena, at this moment in the story, was walking into her art class which was opposite the Music Suite. She looked forward to the class because she was working on a pastel portrait of Phil. She was going to give it to him for his birthday.
That places all of the participants. In the next few seconds, Martha squeezed from the gym lobby into the Social Studies wing, and ...
Hey! What am I? Chopped liver?
Jason! Oh. I guess I did exclude you. But this scene has to do with the main characters and the hallway fight after the Senior Weekend.
I went on the Senior Weekend. I went on Lightning Loops. I went on Rolling Thunder backwards. I shut my eyes a lot but I survived.
Well, okay, but this dramatic moment involves couples, and you're not part of a couple ....
So I'm not worth talking about.
Don't be defensive.
Sorry. But you see? You considered me nada because I didn't have a girlfriend. That's exactly what drives people like Kimber and Martha into stinko relationships. Individual hominids can be useful citizens. One can function for a time without a romantic companion, ¿si?
I guess you have a point.
Leave my appendages out of this. But place me in the scene. I was, at the moment of the donnybrook, in the school store, to ask Mr. Carman if Expressions could sell magazines there. So I was only ten yards from the arena.
All right. Let's place Jason Goldman in the school store.
Now, within the next few seconds, Martha squeezed from the gym lobby into the Social Studies wing. Greg Fratelli and John Brody met between two classroom doors and laughed to each other as they scanned the passing bodies. Rob shuffled behind a logjam of students feeding into the central hallway. On the second floor, Kimber and Lou passed the main stairway, about to tum left to head for Lou's classroom.
At 10:04:23, Greg Fratelli pointed and said to John Brody, "Hey, look!"
It wasn't hard for Greg to distinguish Martha in the crowd. Her frizzed mane of carrot hair was a flag. Greg edged along the row of lockers to get into position. At six feet, four inches, Greg was powerfully muscled. Black hair hung in a lick over his forehead. John Brody wore clipped, white-blonde hair and was lankier. They leaked strength.
When Martha was opposite their doorway, Greg thundered, "HEY! SULLIVAN!"
This was not thunder you could ignore. Heads swivelled, and the stream backed up. Martha knew Greg was calling to her. She tightened her lips and looked down.
"YO! DON'T KEEP WALKING, BABE!"
Martha flushed, trying to escape. But John had already maneuvered into the hallway and blocked her. She stopped short of his monolithic form and looked into his eyes.
"Don't walk away," he said.
"Suck ice," Martha told him.
"Where's Robbie?" John said. "Or is it Sven?"
Greg hulled his way to where John stood. They created a blockade that forced everyone to flow around them.
Greg said, "Do Swedish guys yodel when they do it?" He and John snickered.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" Martha said.
"Nothin' s wrong with us," Greg answered. "Something's wrong with you. Right?"
"Could you let me get to class?"
"You won't get in trouble. Just show your Honor Society Pass, no sweat."
Martha's jaw worked with impotent rage. She felt her eyes grow wet. "Get the hell away from me."
"No way," Greg said. "You can hang with us, babe."
John said, "I have Swedish blood, Sullivan. Want to taste some?"
"Cretin."
She was painfully aware of eyes, stabbing her like hot pins. She knew if she tried to sidestep her tormentors, they'd block her again. They were determined to make her late for class. Getting her in trouble was a payback. Making her look like a slut in front of strangers was a double payback.
At this moment, Rob was leaning against the brick wall by the central stairway. He checked his watch, scanned faces, and sighed. The kids were moving faster, like red blood cells through a vein.
"Damn," Rob murmured. The guys had gotten hung up, probably at the Deli. He blew out a breath, and headed down the Social Studies hallway.
He didn't become aware of the obstruction until he was almost on top of it. When his eyes registered the two jocks, he automatically adjusted his path to go around them. Even though he was a jock himself, he didn't think much of these boys. There were guys who played sports for fun, and there were guys who played to inflict pain.
As he slithered between John Brody and a trio of gum-cracking girls, Rob realized that everybody was looking at the jocks. He looked, too. He saw Martha.
Martha said, "Rob!"
Rob saw that she was crying, and his stomach tightened. But his brain was sending conflicting messages.
"What's going on?" he asked.
"Hey, Rob!" John Brody rolled his shoulders menacingly. Greg said, "Don't sweat it, Robbie. We're just getting a piece."
Rob didn't need this. The whole damned hallway was watching him. He levelled his gaze at Martha. "You want to walk with me?"
She nodded.
But the boys weren't going to let it go. John Brody stepped between Rob and Martha. "Stay loose, Robbie."
"Hang it up. I'm not in the mood."
"No? I hear Martha's always in the mood."
Rob's head throbbed. He knew he'd get his jaw broken if he fought with these guys, and he couldn't afford to get laid up now. Worse, he dido 't feel mad enough to fight. He was sore at Manha for putting him in this position.
John crowded Rob, daring him to make a move. Rob clenched his fists. "Get out of my face, Brody."
"You want to go somewhere?"
Martha stared at Rob. The surrounding kids were beginning to thicken, forming a ring around Martha. They smelled a fight. For Martha, a fight meant the principal's office and suspension, and as it was, she had to appear in Mr. Sachs's office next Tuesday about the Senior Weekend.
Rob knew the stakes. If Martha was a normal girlfriend, no problem. He'd be whaling on these guys right now, getting his face kicked in. But if he fought for Manha, he'd look like a fool. His friends expected him to dump her. She'd shown him up. Everyone in this hallway understood that Martha deserved what she got.
So Rob said, "I don't have time for this."
With his face afire, he turned away. He'd done it. He'd dumped Martha with those words, and she knew it.
John Brody perceived that Rob was throwing in the towel. Part of him respected Rob for having the guts to wash his hands of Martha. But part of him was already pumped for violence. He felt a rush of disappointment at being deprived. His body ached for a fight.
So he gave Rob a light two-handed shove. "Get lost," he said.
Rob countered with a shove back. "Keep off."
The smell of battle charged the heavy air. On the second floor, Lou and Kimber were passing the staircase when someone said, "There's a fight in the hall."
Kimber felt her throat pull taut. She couldn't deal with fights. Lou's eyes flickered down the stairs and caught a boy charging into the hallway.
"Hey!" Lou called. "What's going on?"
Kimber sighed angrily. The call of the wild! The kid downstairs yelled up, "It's that girl from the weekend! Some guys fighting over her!"
Kimber felt her blood freeze. "Oh, God. Martha."
Lou uttered a brief obscenity. Then he stunned Kimber by wrenching away and hurling himself at the stairs. Kimber said, "Where are you going?" and followed him. She slid her hand along the railing and then swung herself into the turn. But Lou had already disappeared down the corridor.
Kimber saw and heard the commotion as she emerged into the hallway, but she was bumped by a burly Phys. Ed. teacher. She tried to make headway, but the corridor had gridlocked. How had Lou gotten through?
Lou had simply cannonballed his way along the lockers, flinging aside anyone who stood in his way. Blindly, he shoved and grunted until he found the ring of spectators. He arrived just as John Brody shoved Rob for the second time. This shove spun Rob hard against the lockers.
Lou stared at Rob, and then saw Martha. She looked at him, dumbfounded.
But that was nothing to her astonishment when he held out his hand and yelled, "Come on!"
John Brody, who had been awaiting Rob's charge, turned at this unexpected noise. He couldn't comprehend what was happening, since his entire mind and body were primed for combat. Greg Fratelli had been watching dispassionately.
"Butt out," Greg warned.
Lou gave Greg a stare of such contempt that Greg was taken aback. Then Lou renewed his offer to Martha. "Come on, let's go."
Martha reached out to take his hand. "I'm with you."
But Greg Fratelli got there first. His hand came down like an attacking hawk. "HEY! ARE YOU STUPID?"
Lou was lean and of average height. Greg expected to flick this insect aside. But Lou was not going to be flicked. His fury, fueled by a secret that not even Kimber knew at the moment, was backed by strength from playing lacrosse. He jabbed Greg in the kidneys hard enough to stun Greg into letting go. Then he pushed hard, against Greg's chest. Greg pitched backwards into the crowd, taking down a few bystanders.
John Brody plucked Lou from the center of the hallway and spun him around. But his intended jawbreaker never landed. John was bearhugged from the rear by the Phys. Ed. teacher, Mr. Eduardo.
"That's it!" Mr. Eduardo grunted, straining to hold John. Lou felt himself yanked backwards and knew instinctively that these were faculty hands.
"Okay," Lou panted. "No sweat. I won't do anything."
Lou had been captured by Mr. Albanese, a paunchy assistant principal. Mr. Eduardo was still wrestling John, who was cursing and spitting like a trapped wolverine. Lou looked for Greg Fratelli, who was gone! No honor among jocks.
Rob was gone, too. Martha looked at Lou with curiosity. "Are you okay?"
Lou nodded. He was still confused. Martha kept staring at Lou. She knew what his secret was, but she hadn't totally connected it to his sudden appearance.
Kimber finally broke through the mob. She looked with incoherence at her hard-breathing, flushed boyfriend, who stood guarded by the AP. She also saw Martha looking at Lou, and figured out that Lou had rescued Martha. The realization made her feel ice cold and empty.
"Lou?" she said. "What is going on?"
He shook his head. "Nothing. Go to class."
"Don't play games!" she cried. "Since when do you get into brawls in the hallway?"
Martha said, "He was trying to help me." She said it a little defensively.
"What was happening?"
Martha put a helpless hand to her face. "These jerks were hassling me."
John Brody had finally ceased his struggles and stood sullenly inside a classroom. Mr. Eduardo guarded the door. Dimly, Kimber heard the late bell sound.
"Great," she said. "Now what do I do? They'll send me outside and I'll be ten minutes late."
Lou glared at her. "Kimber, we're in a little trouble here, you know? The biggest problem in the western world is not your lateness to class!"
Mr. Albanese raised his eyebrows at the outburst. "Calm down," he ordered. To Kimber, he said, "We told the hallway duty people to let you go to class from this corridor. Just don't stop anywhere."
"Thanks," Kimber said. But the news didn't make her happy. She knew Lou was right; she'd been selfish just now. No. She'd been jealous. Jealous of what?
And now she had to get going. Angrily, she said, "I'll see you after eighth."
"Yeah, sure," Lou said, pushing back his hair.
"Call me later," Martha said.
"Okay."
Kimber turned, with a frustrated backward glance, and stalked up the corridor wondering how it happened that her boyfriend was under house arrest with Martha Sullivan. It didn't make sense. At least, it shouldn't have made sense. If it did, she'd be really upset.
Mr. Albanese checked the now-deserted hallway for stragglers. Then he muttered something into the walkie-talkie, which crackled a return message. "Over and out," he said, which made Martha giggle.
"Okay," he said. "Main office. Let's go."
Martha looked searchingly at Lou. "Where did you come from? Krypton?"
"Upstairs."
"Thanks. I don't know what to say. I didn't expect you to fight for me."
"It's okay."
She licked her lips and wiped half-dried tears from her cheeks. "Rob got here first, but he didn't fight for me."
"Are you surprised?"
She shook her head, then lowered it as fresh, unexpected crying came. She sniffed, angry at her weakness.
Lou embraced her. She shuddered in his arms, once, and then stiffened. He let her go and she took a deep breath and smiled. "Thanks."
"No problem."
She looked terrible. Her mascara, which she didn't put on too well in the first place, had run in teary rivulets down her freckled face. But her smile was like the sun rising over an Adirondack lake. That's what Lou thought of, anyway, since he loved to go speedboating on Adirondack lakes. He hadn't thought about Adirondack lakes with Kimber, not in a long time.
But right now, Lou was not rational. Adrenaline made him high. He glanced at John Brody in the classroom and shuddered. He imagined his jaw wired shut for six weeks. He'd been a horse's rear end. The excitement of it made him intoxicated.
Meanwhile, Kimber returned the nod of the English teacher guarding the central stairway and continued down the wide corridor past the school store and the library. Windows on the opposite wall showed breaks in the clouds.
She was growing more agitated each second. She glanced at the window of the school store and saw Jason inside, talking to Mr. Carman. Jason turned and saw her. He waved wildly and blew kisses. She laughed silently and waved back. He raised a finger to tell her to wait.
She leaned against a showcase window and watched Jason. Mr. Carman got a wrapped brownie from a shelf and gave it to him. Jason slipped the brownie into his shirt pocket and came out into the corridor.
"Hi," he said. He went up to Kimber and scrutinized her face. "You are in major pain, sweetie. What happened?"
Startled, Kimber felt her eyes fill. She clenched her hands and bit her lip, hard.
"Uh oh," Jason said. "Bad news." He gently hugged her and she hugged him back, sobbing idiotically.
"I'm sorry," she said into his bony shoulder.
"I have this effect on women," Jason said. He rubbed her back. "Let it go. Just try not to get mucous on my shirt."
She laughed and pulled back slowly. She gripped his hands tightly. "Thanks, babe. I needed a hug."
"I need exotic sex," Jason said.
"Stop," she admonished. "Don't joke. I just need a friend."
"No joke," he said. He dug the brownie from his shirt pocket. It had gotten pretty mashed. "I bought you a present. Hugged brownie."
She laughed, half crying again, and took it. "Thank you." She kissed his cheek.
"I'll never wash my face," he said. Then he cringed. "Whoops. I promised no jokes."
"Walk me to class, okay?"
"Sure. What did happen?"
She shook her head. "There was a fight down the hall. Some jocks were harassing Martha, and Lou jumped in."
"Lou jumped in?" Jason's eyes glimmered shrewdly. "Interesting."
He hooked his arm through hers and walked with her past windows filled with stormy sky. Kimber appreciated the warmth of Jason's affection because she was very cold and lonely right now. She kept her confusion to herself because she wanted to sort it out. She was too stubborn to throw the problem into someone· else's lap.
Jason swallowed yet another poison pill, and contented himself with being near Kimber as her confidant. He hadn't seen Lou, looking dangerous and sexy in the corridor, but he could imagine. He knew the way Kimber and Martha must have looked at him, and he knew it was a look he would never in his life know from a woman.
So, as John, Martha, and Lou were escorted by Mr. Albanese to the Main Office, Kimber and Jason walked the empty hallways. The fight had only lasted for thirty seconds, but not one of them was in the same romantic situation.