The Stake

Jim faced her. His scowl was gone. There was a look of hurt in his eyes. “Is that what you want?”

He does care about me, she reminded herself. Maybe he even loves me.

Lane knew she didn’t love him. Maybe once. Not anymore. She’d seen too many samples of his juvenile behavior: his pettiness, his meanness toward her friends, his constant preoccupation with sex as if all he really cared about was her body, as if his whole aim in life was to score with her. Why couldn’t he be kind and sensitive? If he were only more like Mr. Kramer, there wouldn’t be a problem.

But they’d been very close. She supposed she still cared about him. She knew she didn’t want to hurt him.

She put a hand on his arm. “No. Let’s go out tonight. I want to.”

“I guess I can stand those two for a few hours. If I have to.”

“Who knows? You may even end up having a good time.”

“Sure,” he muttered.

“Let’s see a smile.”

He bared his upper teeth.

“A smile, not a snarl. You look like an old hound with a burr up its ass.”

That brought a real smile, and a small laugh.

“Much better,” she said.

She realized that her appetite had returned. She bit into her sandwich. As she chewed she said, “Just wait and see. We’ll have a great time.”

Jim reached behind her. He rubbed the middle of her back, sliding her blouse against her bare skin. “Nice,” he said softly. “Nothing in the way. You’ll leave it off for me, won’t you? Tonight? I’ll be real nice to your pals.”

“We’ll see,” she muttered.

“Oh, come on. You been coming to school without it, you won’t need it for the movies.”

“In school you have to keep your hands to yourself.”

“Don’t haveto. I’m just too much of a gentleman to take advantage.”

“Sure.”

He grinned. “Besides, I’m no idiot. If I got cute, you’d start up wearing the damn things again.”

“You better believe it.”

He continued to caress her back. “I love it,” he said, “just knowing you got nothing on in there.”

“Cool it, huh?”

* * *

When Lane entered the classroom just before the sixth-period bell, she found Riley Benson in Jessica’s seat. He was slumped low, legs stretched out, ankles crossed. He didn’t look at her.

Why’s he at Jessica’s desk? she wondered.

It came as no surprise that Riley was back in school. She’d learned from news reports that “the suspect” had been released by the authorities, and she’d already seen him a few times today in the hallways and cafeteria.

But it seemed pretty weird to plonk himself down at Jessica’s desk instead of his own.

Lane could only think of one reason for that: he missed her. Sitting where she used to sit, maybe he felt closer to her.

She looked at him.

Poor bastard, she thought.

His head turned and he glared at her. “What’re youstaring at?”

“I’m sorry about Jessica,” she said.

“Yeah? Well, fuck you.”

“I was just trying to be nice,” she muttered.

“Yeah? Who needs it?”

In a soft voice she said, “You don’t have to be such a tough guy all the time.”

“You don’t have to be such a fuckin‘ goody-two-shoes.”

“Did the police treat you okay?”

“Cram it, huh?”

“Why won’t you let anyone be nice to you?”

“Youwanta be nice to me?” He suddenly drew in his legs and lunged sideways, leaning out over the aisle and grabbing Lane’s arm. He tugged her from her seat. As her rump hit the floor he dragged her closer.

“What’re you doing?” she cried out. “Stop it!”

She heard other kids in the classroom suddenly shouting: “Leave her alone!” and “Benson, you turd!” and “Somebody dosomething!”

Riley released her arm. Clutching her hair and chin, he twisted her face upward. “Wanta be nice to me, huh?”

“Somebody stop him!” a girl yelled.

Riley spit. The saliva spattered Lane’s tight lips. He let go of her chin and rubbed the spit around her mouth and cheeks.

“What’s going on here?” A shout. Mr. Kramer’s voice.

Riley thrust Lane away. She caught herself with an elbow, and winced as pain shot up her arm. With the back of her other hand she wiped the spittle from her face. The stuff had a sweetish, sickening odor like the smell of a sneeze.

“Benson, you son of a bitch!”

“Fuck you, man!”

Sitting up and holding her elbow, Lane watched Mr. Kramer stride toward the front of the desk where Riley sat.

“Hey, man, you better not touch me!”

The teacher leaned over the desk, clutched the long hair on top of Riley’s head, and jerked him into the other aisle. His right fist smashed Riley’s face. The boy’s head snapped sideways. Lane saw spit fly from his mouth. Mr. Kramer released the hair, and Riley slumped to his knees.

“Apologize to Miss Dunbar.”

“Eat shit, fag.”

“Cream him!” a guy advised from the rear of the room.

Riley looked up at Mr. Kramer. The way the boy’s face was red and contorted, Lane thought he might start to cry. In a shaky voice he said, “You’re gonna get it. You hit me, you fag bastard. I’m gonna have your job.”

Mr. Kramer picked him up by his shirtfront, glared in his face and shook him. “Apologize to my student.”

“It’s all right,” Lane said, getting to her feet. “Please. Can’t we just forget it?”

“Say you’re sorry, Benson.”

“Okay okay, I’m sorry.”

“Tell her.”

Riley turned his face toward Lane. He said, “Sorry.” He looked as if he wanted to kill her.

“Very good,” Mr. Kramer muttered. “Now get the hell out of here.” He shoved the kid backward and let go. Riley stumbled, tripped over his own motorcycle boots and fell sprawling.

A few kids laughed, but most watched in silence.

Riley scurried to his feet and ran for the rear door. “You’re gonna be sorry!” he shouted back, his voice high-pitched and trembling. “Both of you! Just wait!” Then he darted into the hallway.

When he was gone, Heidi began to clap. The rest of the class joined in, and in seconds the room was thundering with applause.

“Stop it,” Mr. Kramer said. “Everybody settle down.” He stepped over to Lane. “Are you all right?” he asked.

She nodded. “I’d like to wash my face.”

“Maybe you should see the nurse.”