don’t want you to die.”
Charlie felt his own anger build up, but he fought it. “I know.”
Annie composed herself and said, “Okay. Can we talk about this later when I call you tonight?”
“Tonight?” Charlie said.
“Yes, tonight,” Annie said, grinning. “Did you forget that I’m going to see my grandmother right after school?”
Charlie groaned and then he said, “Yeah. I did.”
She stood up on her tiptoes, gave him a quick, chaste kiss on the lips and said, “Talk to you tonight, handsome. Go to class.”
“Okay,” Charlie said, grinning. He watched her go up the next flight of stairs, waved to her, and then went to Mr. White’s class.
The classroom was small, and seemed to be more of an afterthought than part of any actual floorplan. Mr. White, his long brown hair pulled back into a ponytail was standing at the head of the room. He nodded hello to Charlie. Charlie returned the nod, dropped down into his seat and dug his copy of Hammett’s book out of his backpack. The cover of his copy was missing, which was alright. Mr. White had given it to him, telling Charlie how someone would have thrown it out anyway.
Charlie glanced around the room and didn’t see Phil Roth.
Phil was the only student Charlie liked to talk to in this class. Phil was a little eccentric, his clothes were always dirty and his hair was never washed. It was because Phil’s mom had tried to kill him when he was a toddler, right before she killed herself. Some of the other seniors gave Phil a hard time. Harassed him about his hygiene, called him ‘Filthy Phil’.
“Charlie,” Mr. White said, “everything okay?”
“Ah, yeah,” Charlie said, facing his teacher. “Sorry. I was just wondering where Phil was.”
“Phil had a difficult morning,” Mr. White said. Some of the other kids in the class snickered, and Mr. White gave them a harsh look. They went silent.
“What happened?” Charlie asked. He had come in late and then spent the rest of the morning hanging out in the shop class with Mr. Osterman. The remainder of his time had been spent with Annie, and she hadn’t passed any rumors or stories along.
“Phil evidently got in a fight with Ian Potter,” Mark Ayotte said.
“What?” Charlie said, surprised. “Phil never fights.”
“No,” Mr. White said harshly, “that’s not the truth, Mark.”
“What happened?” Charlie asked, looking to Mr. White.
“Ian Potter punched Phil in the back of the head while he was walking to Deer Stag,” Mr. White said. “And when he fell down, Ian poured shampoo over him.”
Dan Little chuckled, among others.
“Other seniors joined in,” Mr. White continued, a deep anger in his voice silenced the class. “No one said any names, but it is being investigated further.”
Charlie looked at Dan and saw the smug expression on the blonde boy’s face. Dan and Ian were best friends, and Charlie knew, without a doubt, that Dan had been one to dump shampoo out, too.
Anger flooded into Charlie, and he stood up, fists clenched as he stared down at Dan. Dan’s blue eyes widened.
“Charlie,” Mr. White said, stepping towards him.
A sharp clack cut off the rest of Mr. White’s sentence.
Charlie turned to face the door, as did Mr. White and the rest of the class.
Phil Roth stood in the doorway. His hair was matted with shampoo, his blue dress shirt stained with the same. In his long-fingered hands, he held a .45 caliber pistol. The weapon was steady, the dark metal gleaming obscenely in the fluorescent light. Phil stared at Dan Little and pulled the trigger.
The sound was louder than anything Charlie had ever heard. Flames shot from the end of the weapon. Someone screamed, and then another person shrieked.
Something heavy and powerful punched Charlie in the chest, spun him backward while a second blow hit him in the lower back. He felt his knees loosen, and Charlie fell, striking his head on a desk before he slid down to rest his face on Dan’s bloody chest.
Charlie felt his own anger build up, but he fought it. “I know.”
Annie composed herself and said, “Okay. Can we talk about this later when I call you tonight?”
“Tonight?” Charlie said.
“Yes, tonight,” Annie said, grinning. “Did you forget that I’m going to see my grandmother right after school?”
Charlie groaned and then he said, “Yeah. I did.”
She stood up on her tiptoes, gave him a quick, chaste kiss on the lips and said, “Talk to you tonight, handsome. Go to class.”
“Okay,” Charlie said, grinning. He watched her go up the next flight of stairs, waved to her, and then went to Mr. White’s class.
The classroom was small, and seemed to be more of an afterthought than part of any actual floorplan. Mr. White, his long brown hair pulled back into a ponytail was standing at the head of the room. He nodded hello to Charlie. Charlie returned the nod, dropped down into his seat and dug his copy of Hammett’s book out of his backpack. The cover of his copy was missing, which was alright. Mr. White had given it to him, telling Charlie how someone would have thrown it out anyway.
Charlie glanced around the room and didn’t see Phil Roth.
Phil was the only student Charlie liked to talk to in this class. Phil was a little eccentric, his clothes were always dirty and his hair was never washed. It was because Phil’s mom had tried to kill him when he was a toddler, right before she killed herself. Some of the other seniors gave Phil a hard time. Harassed him about his hygiene, called him ‘Filthy Phil’.
“Charlie,” Mr. White said, “everything okay?”
“Ah, yeah,” Charlie said, facing his teacher. “Sorry. I was just wondering where Phil was.”
“Phil had a difficult morning,” Mr. White said. Some of the other kids in the class snickered, and Mr. White gave them a harsh look. They went silent.
“What happened?” Charlie asked. He had come in late and then spent the rest of the morning hanging out in the shop class with Mr. Osterman. The remainder of his time had been spent with Annie, and she hadn’t passed any rumors or stories along.
“Phil evidently got in a fight with Ian Potter,” Mark Ayotte said.
“What?” Charlie said, surprised. “Phil never fights.”
“No,” Mr. White said harshly, “that’s not the truth, Mark.”
“What happened?” Charlie asked, looking to Mr. White.
“Ian Potter punched Phil in the back of the head while he was walking to Deer Stag,” Mr. White said. “And when he fell down, Ian poured shampoo over him.”
Dan Little chuckled, among others.
“Other seniors joined in,” Mr. White continued, a deep anger in his voice silenced the class. “No one said any names, but it is being investigated further.”
Charlie looked at Dan and saw the smug expression on the blonde boy’s face. Dan and Ian were best friends, and Charlie knew, without a doubt, that Dan had been one to dump shampoo out, too.
Anger flooded into Charlie, and he stood up, fists clenched as he stared down at Dan. Dan’s blue eyes widened.
“Charlie,” Mr. White said, stepping towards him.
A sharp clack cut off the rest of Mr. White’s sentence.
Charlie turned to face the door, as did Mr. White and the rest of the class.
Phil Roth stood in the doorway. His hair was matted with shampoo, his blue dress shirt stained with the same. In his long-fingered hands, he held a .45 caliber pistol. The weapon was steady, the dark metal gleaming obscenely in the fluorescent light. Phil stared at Dan Little and pulled the trigger.
The sound was louder than anything Charlie had ever heard. Flames shot from the end of the weapon. Someone screamed, and then another person shrieked.
Something heavy and powerful punched Charlie in the chest, spun him backward while a second blow hit him in the lower back. He felt his knees loosen, and Charlie fell, striking his head on a desk before he slid down to rest his face on Dan’s bloody chest.
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