“It’s just another damn excuse for them to take away some of our freedom,” said Staines. “I should have gone to Exeter or Andover.”
Why not just straight to Harvard, Thomas thought. Staines had never earned over a C in any course since he had been here.
Back on the dorm they split up. “Good practice,” said Staines.
“Yeah, good practice,” said Thomas. Staines was actually behaving like a human being.
The room was empty. It was 5:45. At the same moment he realized Greg must still be at play practice, Thomas remembered his appointment with Mr. Farnham. If Coach McPhee had not just lectured them, he would have ignored the new rule and walked over to Bradley Hall by himself. That story about his little brother was horrifying. Maybe Staines would go with him. He hurried next door to Staines’s room, where Tracy Chapman was blasting on the stereo.
Staines was getting high.
He had taken a can of Right Guard and put a towel over the nozzle. When Thomas walked in, Staines was huffing the aerosol spray coming through the towel as the deodorant liquid got filtered out by the terry cloth. Supposedly the chemicals in the aerosol spray got you stoned; Thomas had heard about the procedure but had never seen it before. He knew only that it was illegal at school. He turned around immediately to leave, but not before Staines grabbed him and pulled him back into the room.
“Hey,” Staines said. “You’re going to be cool about this, aren’t you?” He was swaying as he held Thomas’s arm. He held it hard, and he shouted because of the volume of the music.
“If you want to rot your brain, that’s your problem,” Thomas shouted back. There weren’t all that many drugs at Montpelier, not at least in comparison with a lot of schools, because Dr. Lane was so strict about kicking you out even for possession. But some people tried getting off on “legal” substances like aerosol sprays, glue, and record cleaners. Carella had told them in biology class that such stuff could eat your brain cells, and Thomas had believed him. Hell, Thomas had never even smoked pot before.
“You want to try it?” said Staines.
“How could such a good athlete—” Thomas started.
Then Mr. Carella was in the room. He was still wearing his sweats from wrestling practice. At the sight of him Thomas nearly hyperventilated. Staines let go of Thomas’s arm and casually tossed the towel with the Right Guard can onto the bed.
Carella turned down the volume to nothing. Then he looked at them both. He said he could hear the noise all the way downstairs in the lobby. He looked at them hard. “Anything going on here?” he asked.
“Nothing,” said Staines.
“Thomas?” said Mr. Carella.
What could he say? Mr. Carella was a cool young teacher, but he was still a teacher, and he was fanatic about eliminating drug abuse.
“I’m just talking to Robert,” said Thomas.
“Nothing illegal going on here?”
“No sir,” said Staines.
Thomas thought carefully. “Talking’s all right, isn’t it?” he said.
Carella looked at them in silence for several seconds. “Fine,” he said. “Just remember the rules about noise.”
He left. Thomas started to follow him out the door.
Staines grabbed him by the arm again. “Where are you going?” he said.
“Back to my room.”
“Back to nark to Carella, you mean.”
That wasn’t true. “Let me go, Staines,” said Thomas.
Staines said they needed to talk. “Look,” he told Thomas, “this is the first time I’ve ever done anything like this. I was depressed after McPhee jumped all over me before practice. I was trying to cheer myself up.”
It was all bull. But so what? If only Thomas were better at making quick decisions. He was not sure of what to do.
Staines was encouraged by the silence. “Be cool,” he said. “I promise you it will never happen again.” He released Thomas’s arm and picked up the towel and the can from his bed.
He put the Right Guard into his top dresser drawer and tossed the towel into his open closet. “Now let’s think about this,” said Staines. “There’s nothing illegal about spraying a can of deodorant. Remember that. There’s no rule against it.”
Thomas knew the rules. There was a rule against getting high.
“Everything’s fine,” said Staines. “I learned my lesson. Boy, what a stupid stunt for me to pull.”
“Are you talking about discipline or honor?” said Thomas. Honor violations were different from disciplinary infractions. You lied, cheated, or stole, and that was an honor violation. Then you had to appear in front of the honor council. Convicted, you could get one of two punishments: immediate dismissal or honor probation. People on honor probation could remain at Montpelier, but they were automatically dismissed if they were ever found guilty of a second honor violation. If, on the other hand, you broke a regular old school rule—like a rule about drinking or going off dorm or staying up after hours—that was a disciplinary matter. Breaking a rule in the disciplinary code could get you kicked out of school too, if it was serious enough, but it would not be considered a moral blemish, the way an honor violation would be.
The distinction in this case was moot. As Thomas saw it, Staines had violated both codes: the disciplinary rule about intoxication, the honor rule about lying.
“What about honor?” said Staines.
“What you told Mr. Carella. That wasn’t true.”
Staines hit him hard on the shoulder with his open palm. It was a half punch half slap that forced Thomas back a step and rattled him.
“I don’t remember what I told Mr. Carella,” Staines said. “You can’t remember either, can you?”
Thomas had never seen Staines so angry. His shoulder hurt. “It all happened fast,” said Thomas.
Staines relaxed a little. “That’s right,” he said. “It all happened so fast, none of us can remember what we said.”
But Thomas could remember plenty. “I think it was deception,” he said. “You lied to him.”
Staines hit him again the same way. “Be careful about bringing
