and our classmates were going home to enjoy the festivities on living-room TVs and pocket transistor radios; but in Room 16, education went on.
I rapped the butt of the pistol sharply on the desk. The murmur died. They were watching me as closely as I was watching them. Judge and jury, or jury and defendant? I wanted to cackle.
'Well,' I said, 'the shit has surely hit the fan. I think we need to talk a little. '
'Private?' George Yannick asked. 'Just you and us?' He had an intelligent, perky face, and he didn't look frightened.
'Yes. '
'You better turn off that intercom, then. '
'You big-mouth son of a bitch,' Ted Jones said distinctly. George looked at him, wounded.
There was an uncomfortable silence while I got up and pushed the little lever below the speaker from TALK- LISTEN to LISTEN.
I went back and sat down again. I nodded at Ted. 'I was thinking of it anyway,' I lied. 'You shouldn't take on so.'
Ted didn't say anything, but he offered me a strange little grin that made me think he might have been wondering about how I might taste.
'Okay,' I said to the class at large. 'I may be crazy, but I'm not going to shoot anyone for discussing this thing with me. Believe it. Don't be afraid to shoot off your mouths. As long as we don't all talk at once.' That didn't look as if it was going to be a problem. 'To take the bull by the horns, is there anyone here who really thinks I'm going to just up and murder them?'
A few of them looked uneasy, but nobody said anything.
'Okay. Because I'm not. We're just going to sit around and bug the hell out of everybody. '
'Yeah, you sure bugged the hell out of Mrs. Underwood,' Ted said. He was still smiling his strange smile.
'I had to. I know that's hard to understand, but . . . I had to. It came down to that. And Mr. Vance. But I want everyone here to take it easy. No one is going to shoot the place up, so you don't have to worry. '
Carol Granger raised her hand timidly. I nodded at her. She was smart, smart as a whip. Class president, and a cinch to speak a piece as valedictorian in June 'Our Responsibilities to the Black Race' or maybe 'Hopes for the Future. ' She was already signed up for one of those big-league women's colleges where people always wonder how many virgins there are. But I didn't hold it against her.
'When can we go, Charlie?'
I sighed and shrugged my shoulders. 'We'll just have to wait and see what happens.'
'But my mother will be worried to death!'
'Why?' Sylvia Ragan asked. 'She knows where you are, doesn't she?'
General laugh. Except for Ted Jones. He wasn't laughing, and I was going to have to watch that boy. He was still smiling his small, savage smile. He wanted badly to blow everything out of the water-obvious enough. But why? Insanity Prevention Merit Badge? Not enough. Adulation of the community in general-the boy who stood on the burning deck with his finger in the dike? It didn't seem his style. Handsome low profile was Ted's style. He was the only guy I knew who had quit the football team after three Saturdays of glory in his junior year. The guy who wrote sports for the local rag had called him the best running back Placerville High School had ever produced. But he had quit, suddenly and with no explanation. Amazing enough. What was more amazing was the fact that his popularity quotient hadn't lost a point. If anything, Ted became more the local BMOC than ever. Joe McKennedy, who had suffered through four years and one broken nose at left tackle, told me that the only thing Ted would say when the agonized coach demanded an explanation was that football seemed to be a pretty stupid game, and he (Ted) thought that he could find a better way to spend his time. You can see why I respected him, but I was damned if I knew why he wanted me in such a personal way. A little thought on the matter might have helped, but things were going awful fast.
'Are you nuts?' Harmon Jackson asked suddenly.
'I think I must be,' I said. 'Anyone who kills anyone else is nuts, in my book. '
'Well, maybe you ought to give yourself up,' Hannon said. 'Get some help. A doctor. You know.'
'You mean like that Grace?' Sylvia asked. 'My God, that creepster. I had to go see him after I threw an inkwell at old lady Green. All he did was look up my dress and try to get me to talk about my sex life.'
'Not that you've had any,' Pat Fitzgerald said, and there was another laugh.
'And not that it's any business of his or yours,' she said haughtily, dropped her cigarette on the floor, and mashed it.
'So what are we going to do?' Jack Goldman asked.
'Just get it on,' I said. 'That's all.'
Out on the lawn, a second town police car had arrived. I guessed that the third one was probably down at Junior's Diner, taking on vital shipments of coffee and doughnuts. Denver was talking with a state trooper in blue pants and one of those almost-Stetsons they wear. Up on the road, Jerry Kesserling was letting a few cars through the roadblock to pick up kids who didn't ride the bus. The cars picked up and then drove hastily away. Mr. Grace was talking to a guy in a business suit that I didn't know. The firemen were standing around and smoking cigarettes and waiting for someone to tell them to put out a fire or go home.
'Has this got anything to do with you beating up Carlson?' Corky asked.
'How should I know what it has to do with?' I asked him irritably. 'If I knew what was making me do it, I probably wouldn't have to.'
'It's your parents.' Susan Brooks spoke up suddenly. 'It must be your parents.
