heard someone snicker, someone else hiss.
He knew he wasn't invisible any longer.
Brother Leon entered the office at the moment Brian Cochran finished his final tabulation. The end. The last total of them all. He looked up at the teacher, delighted with the timing of his arrival.
'Brother Leon, it's all over,' Brian announced, triumph in his voice.
The teacher blinked rapidly, his face like a cash register that wasn't working. 'Over?'
'The sale.' Brian slapped down the sheet of paper. 'Finished. Done with.'
Brian watched the information sinking in. Leon took a deep breath and lowered himself into his chair. For an instant, Brian observed relief sweeping the teacher's face, as if a huge burden had been lifted from him. But it was only a brief glimpse. He looked at Brian sharply. 'Are you sure?' he asked.
'Positive. And listen, Brother Leon. The money — it's amazing. Ninety-eight per cent has been turned in'
Leon stood up. 'Let's check the figures,' he said.
Anger surged through Brian. Couldn't the teacher let down for one minute? Couldn't he say 'good job?' or 'thank God?' Or something? Instead, 'let's check the figures.'
Leon's rancid breath — didn't he ever eat anything else but bacon, for crissakes — filled the air as he stood beside Brian looking over the tabulations.
'There's only one thing,' Brian said, hesitating to bring the subject up.
Leon caught the boy's doubt. 'What's the matter?' he asked, more angry than curious, as if he anticipated an error on Brian's part.
'It's the freshman, Brother Leon.'
'Renault? What about him?'
'Well, he still hasn't sold his chocolates. And it's weird, really weird.'
'What's so weird about it, Cochran? The boy's obviously a misfit. He tried in his small ineffectual way to damage the sale and he succeeded in doing the opposite. The school rallied against him.'
'But it's still weird. Our sales total comes to exactly nineteen thousand, nine hundred fifty boxes. Right on the nose. And that's practically impossible. I mean, there's always some spoilage, some boxes get lost or stolen. It's impossible to account for every single box. But this comes out right on the dot. With exactly fifty boxes missing — Renault's fifty.'
'If Renault didn't sell them, then obviously they are not sold. And that's why there are fifty missing boxes,' Leon said, his voice slow and reasonable, as if Brian were five years old.
Brian realized that Brother Leon didn't want to see the truth. He was only interested in the results of the sale, knowing that his previous nineteen thousand, nine hundred fifty boxes had been sold and he was off the hook. He'd probably be promoted, become Headmaster. Brian was glad he wouldn't be here next year, particularly if Leon became permanent Headmaster.
'You see what's important here, Cochran?' Leon asked, assuming his classroom voice. 'School spirit. We have disproven a law of nature — one rotten apple does not spoil the barrel. Not if we have determination, a noble cause, a spirit of brotherhood…'
Brian sighed, looking down at his fingers, tuning Leon out, letting the words fall meaninglessly on his ears. He thought of Renault, that strange stubborn kid. Was Leon right, after all? That the school was more important than any one kid? But weren't individuals important, too? He thought of Renault standing alone against the school, The Vigils, everybody.
Ah, the hell with it, Brian thought as Leon's voice droned on sanctimoniously. The sale was over, and his job as treasurer was over. He wouldn't be involved with Leon or Archie or even Renault anymore. Thank God for little favors.
'You got the fifty boxes set aside, Obie?'
'Yes, Archie.'
'Beautiful.'
'What's it all about, Archie?'
'We're having an assembly, Obie. Tomorrow night. A special assembly. To report on the chocolate sale. At the athletic field.'
'Why the athletic field, Archie? Why not the school?'
'Because this assembly is strictly for the student body, Obie. The brothers are not involved. But everybody else will be there.'
'Everybody?'
'Everybody.'
'Renault?'
'He'll be there, Obie, he'll be there.'
'You're really something else, Archie, you know that?'
'I know that, Obie.'
'Pardon me for asking, Archie…'
'Ask away, Obie.'
'What do you want Renault there for?'
'To give him a chance. A chance to get rid of his chocolates, old buddy.'
'I'm not your old buddy, Archie.'
'I know that, Obie.'
'And how's Renault going to get rid of his chocolates, Archie?'
'He's going to raffle them off.'
'A raffle?'
'A raffle, Obie.'
Chapter Thirty-Five
A raffle, for crying out loud.
But what a raffle!
A raffle like no other in Trinity's history, in any school's history.
Archie, the architect of the event, watched the proceedings — the stadium filling up, the kids streaming in, the slips of paper being sold, passed back and forth, the lights dispelling some of the cool of the autumn evening. He stood near the improvised stage that Carter and The Vigils had erected that afternoon under Archie's direction — an old boxing ring resurrected from the bowels of the bleachers and restored to its former use except for the absence of ropes. The platform stood directly at the fifty-yard line close to the stands so that each kid would see everything and wouldn't miss any of the action. That was Archie. Give them their money's worth.
The athletic field was at least a quarter of a mile from the school and the residence where the brothers lived. But Archie had taken no chances. He had disguised the event as a football rally, strictly for students, without the inhibition of the teachers being present. They had arranged for the sweet-faced kid, Caroni, to ask for permission — Caroni who looked like a choir boy. What teacher could refuse him? And now the moment was at hand, the kids arriving, the air crisp and cool, excitement shivering through the crowd — and Renault and Janza there in the ring, glancing uneasily at each other.
Archie always marveled at things like this, things he had arranged and manipulated. For instance, all these guys tonight would be doing something else except for Archie who had teen able to alter their actions. And all it took was a little bit of Archie's imagination and two phone calls.
The first call had been to Renault, the second to Janza. But Janza's call had been simply routine. Archie knew he could shape Janza's actions the way he could shape a piece of clay. But the call to Renault had required the right moves, resourcefulness and a little touch of Archie in the night. Shakespeare yet, Archie chuckled.
The phone must have rung, oh, fifty times and Archie hadn't blamed the kid for not rushing to lift the receiver.
