9

Stephen Zola lived in the Garden Lane Apartments, a modern complex recently constructed just outside of the Centerville village limits. It had a pool and the grounds were well manicured. Presently, there were fifty units with another twenty on the planning board.

Mr. Lucy’s kids knew that Zola lived alone. Richard Slattery and two of his friends, also high-powered students scoring in the top one percent on the college boards, had visited Mr. Zola a few times and bragged about it. After all, they were on “friendly, adult terms” with one of their high school teachers. He served them coffee and they “discussed” other students and school candidly. At least, that’s what Slattery claimed.

Mr. Lucy was happy to learn that Richard Slattery publicized his visits well. He said that fit in perfectly with the plan, even though, as Johnny explained, Slattery was what the other students characterized as a “brown-noser.” He played up to all of his teachers.

“Which bugs me because he doesn’t have to,” Johnny said. “He’s so bright as it is.”

“He’s a type,” Mr. Lucy explained. “No matter how well he can do on his own, he’ll always play up to those who judge him. He’ll be a company man. Don’t ever trust him or those like him.”

Johnny understood.

“Mr. Zola was probably like that when he was in high school and in college, huh?”

“Precisely. That’s why they get along so well.”

Everyone was confident after they left Mr. Lucy’s, even though no one spoke for a while as they walked. Under the circumstances, Mr. Lucy decided that Gary should be excused from his grammatical drills. He promised to do the work on his own anyway, but Mr. Lucy recognized that just now it would be difficult for Gary to concentrate on the assignment.

They walked down Highland Avenue, staying even closer together than they had before. The strategy against Mr. Zola had bound them tighter. It was as though they shared one giant imagination. Everyone saw the same visions; everyone pictured the same scenes and heard the same dialogue.

Remarkably, although there was some nervousness, there was no evidence of fear. No one expressed any hesitation; no one brought up the possibilities and the consequences of failure. It was as though failure as a possibility didn’t exist when it came to Mr. Lucy or anything he proposed.

Of course, the boys would be taking the most visible risks, but the girls had been part of the planning and saw themselves as much a part of the conspiracy as were the boys. In their minds it would be difficult, if not impossible, to separate themselves from the results.

It was Mr. Lucy, though, who pointed out how important it was that it not look like a conspiracy. The girls could be encouraging and supportive, but they shouldn’t be found at the scene or around the boys shortly afterward.

“I know how it is in schools,” Mr. Lucy said. “You four are getting identified and maybe even isolated by the others. You’re hanging out together everywhere nowadays, right?”

They admitted it and they saw his point. And the fact that he could so anticipate things made them even more confident. They were being tutored by the best, by the strongest, by the wisest.

When they reached the point in the village where they would part and go their separate ways to their separate homes, Johnny turned to the three others, his face tight with determination, a mirror of Mr. Lucy’s.

“Don’t call each other tonight and talk about it,” he said. “Someone in your house might overhear your conversation. Just for a precaution, let’s mix more with other students tomorrow. Get into conversations with different kids during lunch and in the halls. And whatever you do, don’t challenge or annoy Mr. Zola in any way.”

“I’ll go back to sleeping in his class,” Gary said. “Just for tomorrow.”

There was a short silence among them. Johnny could sense that they all wanted to touch one another. It was strangely similar to a team going into a huddle before a play in a game. He smiled knowingly and put his right hand out. Sandy looked down at it a moment and then put hers on top of his. Sheila did the same quickly and then Gary joined in. No one said anything. Johnny pulled away and they exploded into different directions.

And they all did the same the next day—they followed Johnny’s suggestion and stayed away from one another, except for that one moment right before the last period of the day when Johnny and Gary confronted one another outside the boys’ room in the lower corridor. Johnny’s nod meant that it was all a go. Things had proceeded just as Mr. Lucy predicted they might.

During his fifth period study hall, when Johnny knew Mr. Zola had a free period, he got a pass from the study hall monitor to go to see him. He purposely did it toward the end of the period so there would be little time to talk.

Mr. Zola worked in his room during the fifth period, preparing his lab for a demonstration to be carried out during the next class. In a school as small as theirs, it wasn’t hard to get to know everyone’s pattern from time to time, and in fact, on two occasions, Mr. Zola had asked Johnny to come to him from the study hall for a conference fifth period. Both times, pre-Mr. Lucy, it was to be bawled out for bad work or no work.

As Johnny walked to Mr. Zola’s room he fortified himself by conjuring up images of Mr. Lucy, especially the expressions on his face when he spoke and the look in his eyes whenever he came to a conclusion or gave advice. He reviewed some of that advice and thought hard about power and control. He remembered how much easier it had been than he thought it would be to handle his father and how good things were at home for him since he had followed Mr. Lucy’s commands. Surely Mr. Zola was no challenge for him, not with the arsenal of techniques with which Mr. Lucy had provided him. He was confident, and before he reached Mr. Zola’s room, he was even anxious for the challenge.

For a moment Johnny stood in the classroom doorway unseen and watched the unsuspecting young teacher preparing his lab lessons. Johnny concentrated, putting all his mental power into his gaze, just the way Mr. Lucy said he put his when he was about to attempt something that required strength and determination. It must have worked, Johnny thought, because Mr. Zola turned around as though he felt the intensity.

“Masterson? What’s up? Where are you supposed to be?”

“Study hall,” he said, “but I have a pass.” He held up the slip of paper.

“To where?” Zola glared at him suspiciously.

“To here,” he said.

“Here?”

“To see you, Mr. Zola, but…” Johnny let his voice drop and looked away.

“But what?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I oughtta forget it.” He looked down at his note as though the problem was on it.

“Forget what? What is this?” Stephen Zola’s interest was piqued. He put down the beaker and walked toward the classroom doorway. “Come on, what is it? You cheated on the last test?”

“No, nothing like that,” Johnny said indignantly. He stared into Zola’s eyes, his own eyes burning with intensity, the blue seemingly getting more blue. “I wanted to talk to you because I thought you could understand and you could help. I get the feeling you know something anyway.”

“Know something? About what?” Mr. Zola’s face softened. The classroom clock above them ticked down to the last minute before the passing bell, just as Johnny had anticipated.

“About Mr. Lucy,” Johnny said. He made it seem as though the words were stuck in his throat.

“Lucy? Who’s Mr…Wait a minute, isn’t that the tutor you and a few others have been using?”

“Yes sir, but…they shouldn’t. No one should,” Johnny said quickly.

“Why shouldn’t they?”

“I can’t talk right now, Mr. Zola. What I wanted to know was whether or not I could talk to you about it.”

Mr. Zola just stared at him for a moment.

“Why don’t you talk to your father and mother about it?”

“I guess you don’t know my father and mother.”

“Well, what about him?”

The passing bell rang.

“Is there any possibility of my talking to you later on?”

“I have a meeting after school, but I suppose…”

“No, I can’t stay after school. My father has me doing something at home. I’ve got to leave right away. Look,” Johnny said, putting on the most sincere expression he could muster, “I thought of you because you seem to have seen through some of this. You seem to understand already. But if you don’t think you should…”

“No, it’s not that. All right, when do you want to talk?”

“Do you think I can drop over to see you tonight, say around seven-thirty?”

Students began approaching the classroom door.

“Okay,” Mr. Zola said quickly. “Seven-thirty is fine.”

“Thank you,” Johnny said and left the room. After Johnny furtively signalled A-OK, Gary proceeded with step two.

“I’ve got to see Mr. Carman,” Gary said. “It’s very important.”

Sandy Feldman, the principal’s secretary, looked up at him over her wide-rimmed, thick-lensed glasses that had slid down the bridge of her nose. There was some ink from the duplicating machine on her chin. She had just had trouble with it because a sheet of paper got stuck between the rollers and she had to reach in and pull it out. Her fingers rubbed up against a roller and she brought the ink out with it. Then, she scratched her chin. It was the third time the machine had given her trouble this week.

She put down the face mirror and looked up at him, disgust and impatience written all over her.

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No.” He stared down at her.

“Well, Mr. Carman’s had a very bad day. He just got into his office and…”

“This is an emergency. I’ve got to speak to him. He’ll be angry if I don’t,” Gary added, practically spitting out the words. He knew that would swing her. He could sense he made her uncomfortable. She knew him well. His long hair and habitually aggressive look unnerved her. He always looked explosive to her and even more so now.

“Just a minute.” She continued to wipe her hands and began muttering under her breath. A few moments later, she buzzed the principal. “I have Gary Rosen out here and he says he must see you.”

“What’s it about?”

“He wants to know what it’s about.”

“It’s personal,” he said, sneering.

“He says it’s personal.”

“All right. Send him in,” Bill Carman said, the annoyance clearly visible in the tone of his voice.

“Go on,” Sandy told him. She waved her hand as if she was chasing away an insect.

Gary smiled when he turned away from her and walked to the principal’s office door. Mr. Lucy was right when he said that most adults resent young people. “Maybe it’s because they remind them of what they’ve lost,” he said, and Gary thought that was certainly true when it came to his mother. He didn’t know what he could say about his father, except they were both like creatures from different planets.

“What’s the problem, Gary?” Bill Carman asked even before Gary got completely into the office. The principal was sitting back in his desk chair and a cup of coffee was steaming on his desk. He had his top shirt button undone and his tie loosened. The strands of his hair were wild and loose as though he had just run his fingers through them.

Gary closed the door softly without speaking and went to the chair in front of the principal’s desk, reviewing Mr. Lucy’s instructions as he did so. Look reluctant, Mr. Lucy had said. Look pained, but don’t overdo it.

“I got to tell you something, Mr Carman. I got to tell someone.”

Bill Carman sat up in his seat. He put the coffee aside and leaned on his desk.

“Well, what is it?”

“It has to do with me and Mr. Zola.”

“Oh. Look, Gary…”

“No, you don’t understand,” Gary said quickly. “It’s not a problem in class. I didn’t get into trouble with him or anything.”

“It isn’t? So, what is it?”

“It’s something I did with him…at his place. Something he made me do,” Gary said, and looked down. There was a long pause. Bill Carman swallowed hard and then instinctively buttoned his top shirt button.

“I don’t understand, Gary. When you say ‘his place,’ you mean…”

“His apartment. I’ve gone to his apartment.”

“Yes?”

“He invited me. I wasn’t doing so well in his class, you know, so I thought…well, some others have done it,” he added quickly.

“Done what, Gary? I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

“Things,” Gary said. It’s not to going to be easy for you to say, Mr. Lucy had told him. It’s got to look like you can’t do it. That’s very important. It will affect the principal. I know the man; I know how he’ll react. Trust me.

“You’ve got to tell me exactly what you mean, Gary.”

“Bad things,” he said, and brought his hands to his face.

Bill Carman was sure the blood had left his face. He actually felt it drain away. He was never fond of Stephen Zola; the man was not his type. To Carman, Zola personified the new breed of teachers they had been getting lately—the distinctions between them and the young people they taught were diminishing. It was hard to determine who was imitating whom.

Carman didn’t like to think himself a prude, but when he was a teacher, it was not acceptable to be seen frequenting the same discos the high school students frequented. A jacket and tie were a mandatory part of the teacher’s presentation. There was a clear difference in language. It wasn’t important to seem on the same level as the student—in fact, it was important not to.

This tutor he had directed Gary and some other students to, Mr. Lucy, that was the kind of man who went into teaching. Where had they all gone? To industry? The legal profession? Bill Carman had come to believe that teaching as a career had been emasculated. And now, to hear this about one of those new types he had to tolerate…

“Do you realize how serious a thing you are saying, Gary?”

“Yes, sir,” Gary said. He looked up. His face was red and his eyes looked teary.

“Have you told anyone else this?”

“No, sir.”

“Not your parents.”

“Oh no. They wouldn’t understand. Please don’t tell them.” He looked like he would panic any moment. Bill Carman was afraid he might have an hysterical kid in his office. A horrible scenario passed through his mind: Gary crying hysterically, his secretary running in, students in the hall being attracted to the noise, the whole story exposed and in his office!

Part of this was his fault. He blamed himself for not getting around the building enough, for not observing his newer teachers enough. He should have been more like the old-fashioned administrators; he should have poked his nose into everything. Now, something like this, coming as a surprise…the members of the Board of Education will wonder how come he had no inkling. Was he so out of touch with his staff and his students? Make him the superintendent of schools?—what a laugh. What a tragedy.

“All right, all right. Take it easy. This doesn’t have to go any further than this office, Gary, but I’m going to have to know some details, and I want to continue to impress upon you the seriousness of what you’re saying. If this turns out to be a false accusation, you can kiss your public school education good-bye, not to mention all sorts of legal problems, lawsuits…you understand that?” Carman hoped that his outline of possibilities would dissuade the boy and end it all here, but he looked more determined.

“Yes, sir. It started when he told me to come over to his house to go over some things I didn’t understand in class. I thought that was nice of him, so I went. When I got there, he offered me a glass of wine.”

“Wine?”

“Yes, sir. I didn’t want to appear impolite, even though I’m not very fond of wine. My mother’s always drinking wine…I hate it. But I drank some of it. It tasted like shit. Excuse me.”

“No, go on,” Carman said, impressed with the authenticity and frankness.

“Then we got to talking about other things besides the science work. Clothes, music, that sort of thing.”

“Uh huh.” The buzzer on the intercom went off and he hit the button angrily. “No calls, Mrs. Feldman. No calls. Go on.”

“He said he wanted to show me his apartment. We went into his bedroom and…” Gary looked down. “He started to talk about how good-looking he thought I was. He said he liked my build. He squeezed my arm and then he told me not to be afraid and how important it was for us to get along.”

“My God,” Bill Carman said. He couldn’t help it.

“Do I have to describe the rest?”

“No, no, that’s all right, son. This is very serious,” he said, searching for the right words.

“The reason I came to you today, Mr. Carman,” Gary said quickly, “is because the same thing is going to happen to a friend of mine.”

“The same thing?”

“Yes, sir. Tonight.”

“Who?”

“Johnny Masterson. Mr. Zola has invited him to his apartment at seven-thirty. You know where he lives, don’t you? The Garden Lane Apartments, number four.”

“Yes, yes. Tonight, you say?”

“That’s right.”

“All right, Gary,” Bill Carman said after a moment. “I appreciate your coming forward. I know what courage it must take, but you have to realize that all I can consider having right now is an accusation and a most serious one at that. A man’s career and reputation is at stake.”

“I know. I didn’t want to come, but, Johnny…”

“Yes, I can understand. All right, listen,” Carman said. “Don’t say anything else to anyone just yet. There might be a way to handle this so that there is a minimum of publicity, do you understand?”

“I think so.”

“Go back to your last class.”

“All right.” He stood up. Mr. Lucy said the exit was important. It’s a very dramatic moment. “Thanks,” Gary said and looked down. He opened the door slowly and walked out.

Bill Carman didn’t move for a long moment. He couldn’t help but see his entire career going down the drain. These kinds of things were happening everywhere, that was true, but this was a small school system and although they had their share of drug incidents and vandalism, sexual abuse was just too urban, too sensational to be tolerated. They’d have to have a scapegoat.

He knew what the superintendent would do. He had done it before. He would claim the building has to be run by the building head. Carman could recite the words from memory: “He’s the person in direct command. He should know the nitty-gritty. My job is too big for me to be dealing with the day-to-day running of the school. That’s why I have a principal, whom I thought could handle the job.”

He would handle the job, he thought. He’d have to handle it. At this moment he hated Stephen Zola and thought only about how he could crush him. There was only one way to do it and to do it surgically clean so that there would be a minimum of damage to the school and to himself. He would have to confront the man out of the building in the most dramatic place and situation possible, so there would be no chance for a teacher-union defense. He would go to his apartment tonight just after Johnny Masterson arrived there and maybe, with luck, he would at least catch him offering the boy an alcoholic beverage.

After that, it would be easy. He could force Zola to resign and by promising to keep the reason quiet, he could help both of them; he could help the school. After a short time, he could reveal the truth to the right people and do it in such a way that he would appear to have been the most efficient and professional person involved. What could the superintendent say then, except job well done. And the board members would be impressed and the parents would be appreciative.

Yes, he thought, there was a way yet to rescue this situation and gain from it personally. He felt more optimistic about it.

The buzzer ending the school day jolted him out of his deep thoughts, but he was ready to do what had to be done.

That evening was cooler than usual. Winter was making its impending arrival known. The wind, coming from the northwest, stripped the trees of their gold, brown, and red leaves in single gusts. As Johnny walked toward Stephen Zola’s apartment complex, the road before him became animated. All sorts of refuse escaped from loosely covered garbage cans. Old newspapers danced over the sidewalks and empty soda and beer cans rattled along the gutters as they were carried aimlessly along. The swaying branches made the trees look like a chorus of hypnotized creatures trapped in the rhythm of eerie, unheard music.

Johnny walked alone, accompanied only by his shadow elongated within the pool of yellowish street light. It gave him the impression he was bigger, taller, stronger than he was before he had started on this journey. Although the streets were quiet and deserted, he did not feel isolated. Ever since they had all discussed the plan at Mr. Lucy’s house, he had felt the tutor’s presence with him, even when he moved through the crowded school day.

Now that feeling was so strong, he had to stop from time to time to look behind him or into the shadows to see if Mr. Lucy was there. Once, he thought he heard something and called to the darkness, but there was no reply.

Mr. Lucy doesn’t think it’s necessary to hold your hand, he told himself; he has faith in you. He believed this, but he still felt as though he were being accompanied. When cars went by and their headlights washed away the darkness, he looked about for evidence of another. There was never anyone.

As soon as the apartment complex came into view, he began to feel a little afraid. What if he were the one to fail after Gary had done so well? Thinking about how disappointed in him Mr. Lucy would be helped him to screw up his courage. He would do this so well that Mr. Lucy would be prouder than ever of him. After all, they were really doing this for Mr. Lucy. He was the one under attack. It was their need and their desire to be loyal to him that motivated the whole thing. He would not fail.

He turned into the main entranceway determinedly when he saw what he knew to be Mr. Carman’s car parked across the street. He didn’t see Mr. Carman in it, but he didn’t want to stare at it. He couldn’t let Mr. Carman know that he knew he was there. Everything had to appear spontaneous.

He checked his watch, saw that it was a little after seven-thirty, and pushed the buzzer for apartment four. Mr. Zola opened the door expectantly. The young science teacher wore a velvet smoking jacket, a pair of dungarees, and tennis sneakers.

“Come in, Johnny,” he said. “I just finished my dinner dishes,” he said, smiling. “This is what a bachelor’s life is like.” He backed up and Johnny entered the small, but comfortable one-bedroom apartment. It consisted of a modern kitchen, small dining room, a living room, and a bedroom. There was only one bathroom. The living room had a patio door that opened to a small veranda.

Johnny had known the apartment would be neat and clean. Mr. Zola struck him as the meticulous type. He thought it didn’t look as much like a bachelor’s apartment as it looked like what he expected a spinster’s to be. A quick perusal of all the visible rooms showed him that nothing was out of place. Even the magazines were placed neatly in a magazine rack beside the couch.

“Nice place.”

“It’s comfortable, but overpriced, believe me. Living on a teacher’s salary without any tax deductions to speak of is not an easy achievement.”

Johnny smiled and nodded. Now that he was here facing the man on a one-to-one basis with the formalities of the classroom and the school not present, he felt some reluctance. Maybe Mr. Zola wasn’t as bad as they thought he was. In order to harden himself against the man and strengthen his mission, Johnny had to recall some of the sarcastic comments Mr. Zola had made about Mr. Lucy.

“Got cold tonight, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, come on in. This is the living room, as you can see. You want some coffee? It’s still hot.”

“Coffee? Yeah,” he said, thinking how that would look. “Thanks.”

“No problem. Go on, make yourself comfortable. I’ll just be a minute.”

Johnny moved into the living room and unzipped his jacket and took it off quickly. He threw it over the couch and sat down to wait. Mr. Zola came in with the coffee on a small, plastic tray. He set it down on the small round table and then sat in the square, cushioned chair across from Johnny.

“There’s milk and sugar there,” he said.

“Thanks.”

Mr. Zola waited for Johnny to mix his coffee and take the first sip before leaning forward to speak.

“So, you came here to talk about your tutor.”

“Yes.” Johnny put the cup down slowly. “He’s helping everyone, but he’s also hurting everyone.”

“Exactly what do you mean?”

“He’s making everyone think our school is crap,” Johnny said. Mr. Zola nodded sympathetically. “He says terrible things about all the teachers, not just you.”

“I see. I thought so. What are some of the things he’s been saying?”

“Some of the kids, most of them, I mean, are really starting to believe it, too.”

“I bet. What are these things?” Mr. Zola repeated.

“He says we’re not being taught the right stuff, and the teachers don’t really care about the kids.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah. But everybody’s parents think he’s great.”

“I know,” Mr. Zola said, and smirked. “Look, would you be willing…”

The sound of the door buzzer interrupted him. He looked confused for a moment. Johnny felt his heartbeat quicken.

“I don’t know who that is,” Mr. Zola said. “I’m not expecting anyone. Let me just see,” he added when the buzzer was pushed again.

“I’ll just go the bathroom,” Johnny said, standing.

“Sure. It’s to the right of the bedroom.”

Johnny didn’t go to the bathroom. He went to the bedroom, but Stephen Zola had gone to the door, his back to him.

“Mr. Carman,” he heard Mr. Zola say with surprise. The principal entered quickly.

“Where’s Johnny?”

“Excuse me?”

“Johnny Masterson,” Bill Carman said, looking around quickly. “Where the hell is he?”

“Johnny Masterson? Why, he’s…”

Stephen Zola turned around to indicate the bathroom, but Johnny emerged from the bedroom. He had his pants and his underwear off. Zola’s eyes widened in disbelief. Bill Carman’s mouth dropped.

“Oh,” Johnny said quickly and closed the door.

“What the hell…” Stephen Zola began. He turned frantically to the principal. Bill Carman’s face was inflamed and swollen with anger.

“Masterson!” he screamed. Johnny emerged again, buttoning his pants. “Come out here.”

“Johnny,” Zola said, “what the hell are you doing?”

“I didn’t know Mr. Carman was here,” Johnny said. “I didn’t hear the buzzer.”

“What? Look, Mr. Carman…”

“Get out of here, Masterson. Get out of here and wait in the front of this place. Move it, boy,” Bill Carman said. Johnny didn’t hesitate. He went back into the living room and got his jacket quickly.

“Now wait a minute, Mr. Carman,” Zola began, “you don’t believe…”

“Out!” he screamed and Johnny fled from the apartment. He waited outside as Mr. Carman had commanded. He had to move around to keep warm because Mr. Carman remained in there so long. The longer it went, the more nervous Johnny became. Maybe it didn’t go well. Maybe Mr. Carman believed Zola.

“Get in my car. It’s across the street there,” Mr. Carman said as soon as he did emerge. Johnny moved obediently. The principal got in behind the steering wheel and started the vehicle. Johnny said nothing. They pulled away from the curb and the principal headed back toward the village. “Was this your first time over here, Johnny?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you know how serious a thing this is? What this could do to your family?”

“Yes, sir. But you see…”

“You don’t have to try to explain. I don’t need that. What I need for now is for you to be mature and intelligent about this.” He slowed the car down and looked over at Johnny. “Do you think you can do that?”

“I’ll try.”

“Eventually, your parents are going to have to know about this, as will the parents of some other students…whoever else…anyway, there’s no reason why we have to make this a public thing right now. You made a mistake and thank God I found out about it all in time…in time for you, at least.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Mr. Zola won’t be back in school tomorrow or the next day or the next, do you understand?”

“Uh huh.”

“So you don’t have to be afraid anymore.”

“I’m not afraid.”

“If you do just what I tell you, we might all get through this with a minimum of damage to your families and to the school, understand?”

“Uh huh. Thanks, Mr. Carman,” Johnny added. The principal looked at him and nodded. That was just the reaction he had hoped for.

“I’m going to let you out here, Johnny, and I want you to go right home, understand.”

“Uh huh. I will.”

“Tell nobody about this until I speak to you.”

“OK.”

“All right, Johnny.”

When Mr. Carman stopped his vehicle, Johnny got out. He held the door open a moment and looked back.

“Thank you, Mr. Carman,” he said.

“It’s all right, Johnny. I’m just glad I was there in time for you.”

Johnny nodded and closed the door. He stood there and watched the principal drive off. Then he walked nonchalantly down Main Street. He passed some of the sections of the village that he had come to detest. He was ashamed that a man like Mr. Lucy had to live in a community with such run-down buildings. Maybe one of these days, he thought, he’d set them on fire. Yeah, he thought, what this town needs is a good cleaning. Didn’t Mr. Lucy say that fire is a purifier?

He stopped at the pay phone in front of Pauling’s Drug Store and made the call. Mr. Lucy answered after the first ring.

“It went perfectly,” Johnny said. “Just as we planned.”

“That’s good. Just go home now and let things take their course.”

“We did the right thing.” He needed the reinforcement.

“We certainly did, but we couldn’t have done it without you, Johnny. You’ve become a real leader,” Mr. Lucy said. And then he added the greatest words of all, the reward Johnny sought. “I couldn’t have done better at your age myself, Johnny. I’m proud of you, proud you’re one of my students.”

“Thank you, Mr. Lucy.”

“Have a good night, buddy,” Mr. Lucy concluded.

For a few moments after Johnny Masterson hung up the receiver, he stood by the pay phone replaying the telephone conversation in his mind, the way someone would replay a video tape. Then he turned and started for home, moving in and out of the shadows as silently as the shadows themselves.

By the time he got to his house, he felt exhausted, but it was a good exhaustion, one that came from high emotion and excitement. He turned from his front door and looked back at the night. The wind had calmed some, but the air wasn’t any warmer. He was just not as aware of the cold as he had been when he had first started out.

Anyway, he felt invulnerable. Nothing could bother him; nothing could touch him or harm him as long as he was with Mr. Lucy. Never before in his life did he feel as safe and as secure as he did at this moment. In the morning he would move through this village knowing that no one could stand up against him and Mr. Lucy. The image of his great tutor loomed before him. It would be with him wherever he would go, and he was so grateful for it that he couldn’t stop the tears of happiness from coming.

He rushed upstairs to his room so no one would see and know his great secret.