Brutal Youth (39 page)

CARMEL APPLE PIE TODAY

MORTGAGE! 5 PRECENT DOWN!

The rapidly approaching traffic light hanging over the road did not stay green, and Davidek noticed the red too late, holding tight to the wheel and flattening his foot on the brakes, unleashing a hideous squeal. The minivan blasted out peals of blue smoke, and Davidek imagined the tires stretching backwards on the road like soft butter as the car jerked to a stop.

Davidek tapped his fingers on the wheel, trying not to look at the other drivers, and after several decades, the traffic light finally turned green again. He pressed his foot softly on the gas and crept past the Giant Eagle grocery store, rolling out onto the great steel and concrete tongue of the Tarentum Bridge.

The long, straight blue band, shining off the surface of the river below, yawned out ahead of him—four lanes of sheer terror, leading to infinite plunges into watery oblivion. The traffic here was more reckless—cars, buses, and trucks weaving around him like a slalom. Blasting their horns at his slow-pokery.

As he drove above it, he wondered absently if any couples were necking in their cars in that hidden spot below the bridge, where Hannah had once tempted him so coldly, so deliciously.

*   *   *

Hannah fixed her makeup.

She peered into the rearview mirror of her Jeep and cracked open the door so the dome light would come on. Hannah didn’t wear makeup very often, so she hoped it looked all right. When she was finished, the Jeep door swung open, hatching the pink chiffon Hannah into the world like a fuzzy Easter Peep. The crumbling asphalt made it hard to walk in her high heels. She balanced awkwardly, fingers tracing the red hair that fell in curls across her shoulders. She tossed her jean jacket inside the Jeep and slammed the door, then smoothed down the ruffles of her pink-puff dress and composed herself.

The crowd of family and friends had put away their flashing cameras and were beginning to depart. Mr. Mankowski hadn’t yet coiled his microphone cord when he spotted Hannah. The bald man cleared his throat and announced: “Here is Hannah Kraut, looking lovely in a light-colored dress.” He smiled at her, and didn’t point out to those still around to hear that she was alone, which made her smile back.

The thrum of music from inside bulged against the walls of Veltri’s Restaurant, like the pulsing of a giant heart, clarifying instantly as the glass doors swung open, revealing a black-tie crowd of teenagers meandering about a semi-elegant habitat of ferns and mirrored columns, more ready to eat than dance, despite the best intentions (and frenetic light display) of the DJ. There were already kids sitting at Hannah’s table, watching some freshman volunteers help the restaurant staff deliver plates of food.

Against the far back wall was the long table for teachers and chaperones, but Hannah didn’t see Mr. Zimmer. Then she heard his voice behind her. “I thought you skipped on me!” he said, surprising her with a tap on the shoulder. He grinned at her in his pale gray suit.

“Very stylish for a guy who prides himself on being unfashionable,” she said.

He frowned playfully. “I don’t take pride in
that.
”

Tears were gathering in the corner of her eyes as he linked his arm with hers and escorted her into the dance. “Thank you,” she said softly, but he didn’t know for what. Then, trying to seem casual, she nudged his shoulder with her small fist. “Dance with me later, all right?”

“Right,” he said, hands in his pockets.

“You promise?”

Mr. Zimmer smiled and nodded more dramatically, the way students do when they’re promising after three warnings not to turn in their papers late anymore. She could tell he was uncomfortable. “You don’t want to…,” she said.

Zimmer laughed, “Uh, it’ll look
strange,
” he said, flattening his hands together. “But, no funny business, okay?” He figured he could make it look benign to the others—like she was dancing with him as a joke, because who would ever want to dance with a mug like him. He wanted to say no, but was overwhelmed by sorrow for Hannah, who was so friendless and needy. He’d been there himself. He wanted her to be happy.

“Wait until you see my moves,” Zimmer said, ratcheting his arms in exaggerated robotic gestures. “You’ll live to regret cutting a rug with me.”

Hannah’s eyes began to tear again, and she lowered her head against his chest as she hugged him. Mr. Zimmer raised her chin. “I’m kidding, Hannah,” he said, trying to get her to smile. “I’m not
that
bad.”

*   *   *

Davidek’s van was parked crooked on the street in front of the convent. The engine was was ticking as Davidek walked across the lawn.

He decided not to go to Stein’s house first. Maybe he was afraid. Anyway, he only knew how to get there by starting from the school, and before he did anything, Davidek wanted to see Sister Maria. She should have told him if Stein was out of the hospital. She could tell him now if Stein was better, or … He didn’t want to think about the alternative. Stein
had
to be better.

Davidek pounded on the convent door. He kept expecting police sirens to race after him. His mom would certainly be willing to turn him in. His father probably just wanted to go back to watching TV. Davidek felt a thrill at the thought that his parents had no clue where he was or why he had gone—or how to get him back. Let
them
feel helpless now.

He knocked on the convent door again and a tiny head appeared in the cross-shaped window. The prunelike face of Sister Antonia demanded to know who he was.

“Sister, it’s … Peter Davidek, I’m a student at the school—”

“Who?”

“Peter Davidek … I’m a student.” He said it louder:
“I’m a student.”

The nun’s eyes regarded him without recognition. “This is a nun’s convent,” she said.

“I’m looking for Sister Maria,” Davidek said. “I have something to ask her. It’s something important. I’ve come a long way and I need her to talk to h—”

The wrinkled face disappeared. Davidek considered knocking again, but Sister Antonia returned again. “I have a piece of paper and a pencil,” she said through the glass. “Tell me your name again and spell it. Spell it
right.
”

“I’m looking for Sister Maria,” he said.

“I
told
you,” the nun insisted, even though she hadn’t. “Sister Maria’s
not here.
”

The prom,
Davidek thought
. Of course.

He spelled his name, but had to repeat himself three times before Sister Antonia could finish scrawling it. Then she tapped the pencil against the glass and said, “Now I have your
name.
If you bother me again, I’m going to tell the police!”

“Just call Sister Maria. It’s an emergency!” Davidek said, and hurried back to the minivan. The old nun’s eyes watched through the cross as he drove away.

At the corner beside the school, along the edge of the field where the church once stood, Davidek stopped to think. Turning left would take him back the way he’d come. The other way led to Stein’s house.

Davidek sat there several minutes, then spun the wheel. He even remembered to use his turn signal.

THIRTY-NINE

Ms. Bromine was not an official Parish Monitor, but she volunteered her observational services on prom night nonetheless. Note-taking was a job that delighted her. When she had been a student at St. Mike’s, she had always been excellent at writing down exactly what was said to her, and as a teacher, she’d been waiting years for the chance to speak her own mind. Now she’d get to do both.

The guidance counselor had never liked proms, even when she was a girl. Her senior year date, Billy Fredickson, had tried to put a hand up her dress on the way home. She hadn’t let him. Now she wondered which boys would be trying that tonight, and which girls might let them. The proms she attended as a chaperone seemed to grow more debased every year. Once the meal ended, it was disgusting how quickly bow ties sprang off, shirttails came untucked, and cummerbunds went askew. Girls kicked their high heels under the table and danced with grubby feet. She wondered what else they’d be taking off when they left the prom.

As the other Monitors patrolled the dance, making the occasional note, Ms. Bromine sat alone at one of the abandoned tables and filled the pages of her stenographer’s pad while trying to block out the deafening music.

Many of her observations were petty:

7 p.m.—Male student (JAY FRAMALSKI) steps on hem of skirt of female (short black hair, green dress—possible outsider date) while entering prom. She shouts S-word loud enough for everyone to hear.

And

7:35 p.m.—Dinner served buffet style. DJ (professional?) announces order of tables to be served. Sez, “Enjoy your meal, then get your BUTTS on the dance floor.” “Butts”
=
inappropriate language.

Other things weren’t wrongdoing at all, though she tried to make them seem that way:

8:01 p.m.—Principal (SISTER MARIA HEST) standing near food, observing crowd, has exchange with students. Senior student MICHAEL CRAWFORD proceeds to touch principal inappropriately
=
grabs her hands, mockingly dances with her, releases her. Principal laughs (Reinforces LACK of authority!!!)

Bromine noticed Hannah (marked in the notebook as “well-known problem student”) approach Mr. Zimmer at 8:10, 9:15, and 9:55
P.M.
and wrote “UNUSUAL” in all capital letters beside each instance.

In between were several other low-grade concerns:

8:35 p.m.—Meal is free for monitors, but chicken is undercooked.

AND

9:08 p.m.—Fellow Monitor Mr. August Shristmeyer (spell??) informs me that underclassmen volunteers were seen behind restaurant—SMOKING CIGARETTES.

After Bromine observed a fourth “suspicious” interaction between Hannah and Zimmer, the guidance counselor approached the girl directly and asked if she might be of assistance:

10:00 p.m.—Kraut girl is VERY rude. Approached to ask about nature of conversation with Zimmer. Told to “F- myself.”!!!!!!

10:10 p.m.—Approach fellow teacher (Zimmer) to inquire about behavior of Kraut girl. He sez it’s “nothing.” Keeps blowing me off. NOTE: This is why Zimmer is problematic for school. Proving it tonight again—NOT COOPERATIVE.

10:18 p.m.—Zimmer approaches and apologizes. (SAW me writing in notebook I’ll bet!) Sez Kraut girl is having troubles, nothing serious. Sez graduation “weighing heavily” on her. Asks NOT TO WRITE THIS DOWN!! (Too bad!!!)

Around 10:30
P.M.
, she noticed Sister Maria missing from her seat at the chaperone table. Mrs. Tunns said the principal was called away by a waiter to a phone call. “Who?” Bromine asked.

The Spanish teacher shrugged. She took a sip from a glass of red wine.

“Eleanor, is that alcohol?”
Bromine was horrified.

Mrs. Tunns fluttered her eyes. “Do you want to card me?”

Bromine huffed away and immediately wrote about the incident in her notepad, followed by the words: “BAD EXAMPLE.”

*   *   *

The call Sister Maria received came from Sister Antonia. “Sorry to bother you, but it’s an emergency,” the ancient French teacher said after one of the waiters asked Sister Maria to come to the phone in the manager’s office. “There was a boy here looking for you.”

Sister Maria couldn’t imagine who it might be. The elderly nun recited the name as she’d written it: Peter Daffodil.

“What did he want?” the principal asked, but Sister Antonia didn’t know.

“The boy said you’d know what it was about.”

“Can you put him on?” But Sister Antonia said he had gone away more than an hour ago.

“Then why call me?” the principal asked.

Sister Antonia said, “Because the convent received another telephone call concerning this boy, from an—” a piece of notepaper crinkled beside the receiver “—from a Margie Stein. She said to call you because a boy is outside, bothering their household. I said, ‘Who?’ And she said this same name—
Daffodil
something.”

Sister Maria closed her eyes. Sister Antonia said, “The woman wanted you to come right away. She said the same thing the boy said, ‘She’ll know why.’ Do you understand any of this?”

Sister Maria did not like to tell lies, even little ones, but she had been accumulating a lot of them lately. “No,” she said. “I have no idea.”

*   *   *

“Who was on the phone?” asked Ms. Bromine as Sister Maria approached the restaurant’s cloakroom.

The nun smiled sweetly. “Nothing important, Ms. Bromine. Just Sister Antonia … we’re out of milk and I’ll pick some up on my way home.” Ms. Bromine wrote something in her notebook. Sister Maria glanced over the woman’s thick arm to peek at it. “You just wrote ‘REFUSES TO EXPLAIN ABSENCE,’” the principal said. “But I just
did.
”

The guidance counselor clicked her pen. “I know a lie when I hear one.”

Sister Maria sighed. “Have a good evening, Ms. Bromine,” she said, and turned toward the cloakroom, only to face another Parish Monitor, Mr. Harrison Bellamy—a slight, balding man with rimless glasses and a neat gray suit. He was one of the Valley’s top divorce attorneys. “Are you leaving us?” he asked Sister Maria.

The nun smiled at him. She repeated her lie about picking up milk for Sister Antonia. “Poor dear has trouble sleeping without a warm cup before bed,” she explained. “I was just telling Ms. Bromine, as a matter of fact.…”

Mr. Bellamy nodded. His rimless glasses became white orbs, then human eyes again as they caught and then lost the light overhead. “So the principal is leaving the school’s prom—” he checked his watch “—an
hour and a half
before it actually ends?”

“For milk…,” Ms. Bromine added.

Sister Maria could see her navy peacoat and crimson scarf on the hangers inside the room behind the two Monitors. “I think these young men and women will survive without me here in the treacherous no-man’s-land of Veltri’s family restaurant, Mr. Bellamy,” she said.