The Dead Don't Dance by Charles Martin Page A

how she got out in the first place, but I bet the answer will require new lumber.
    I lifted myself off the sand and brushed off my face and clothes. They were cold and damp.
    In the barn, Pinky huddled her little ones around her, although they weren’t all that little anymore, and she made sure to keep me at a good distance. I threw some corn and tried to step closer, but she got her body in between me and them and then crapped on my foot. So I dumped the corn in a pile, hung up my bucket, locked the barn door, and headed for the porch. “Pigs!”
    Back in the house, I made myself a pot of coffee and spent thirty minutes studying my classroom seating chart, trying to memorize appearance and characteristics with name. It would only work if the kids sat in the same place each class, but most kids do because people are creatures of habit. Take church, for example. Ever visited a new church and sat in somebody else’s pew? Try it sometime. Whoever owns that pew will let you know.
    I HAD BEEN IN MY CLASSROOM ONLY A FEW MINUTES WHEN Amanda walked in and smiled. Then she took one look at my forearm and raised an eyebrow. “Professor, what happened to your arm?”
    I quickly pulled my pushed-up sleeve back down over the scabs and pus on my left forearm, cursing myself for letting it show. “Little run-in with a big pig,” I lied.
    She could tell I was covering up more than my arm. “You make sure you let me clean that for you at the hospital. You don’t want it infected. I’ve seen that. And you don’t want it.”
    Amanda sat down, and I stuffed my hand into my pocket. The midmorning sun was streaming through the magnolia and heating the classroom up pretty good. I had the fans set on “breeze,” but the sun convinced me to crank them over to “hurricane” and really get the air flowing.
    Marvin walked in, and I greeted him.
    â€œMorning,” he replied. Apparently not a good one. Under his breath, I heard him mutter, “It’s hotter than a snake’s butt in a wagon rut in here.”
    Russell followed, said “Mornin’, Professuh,” sat down, rubbed his eyes, wiped his forehead with a towel, and looked out the window.
    Koy slipped in and sat silently in her chair near the back. So far, everyone was true to form.
    I walked down the far-right aisle and stood next to an empty desk, just smiling. “Good morning, Sunglasses.”
    Koy half smiled, looked over the rim of her glasses, showed me the whites of her eyes, and said with a whisper, “Morning.” Then she ducked her eyes, placed her hand on her forehead, and continued reading.
    I counted heads, checked my chart, faced the class, and sat on the top of my desk with my legs dangling off the end. Noticing this as an address posture, everyone quieted and looked at me with suspicion. “Would you please take out a piece of paper and—”
    The class groaned.
    â€œWhat are you moaning for? I told you there would be a quiz.”
    Russell turned to Amanda, who already had paper and pencil on her desk, and said, “Could I have a piece of papuh?” Marvin did likewise. Eugene and Alan had their own.
    All my quizzes were ten questions. All of them together, which after a semester could total more than twenty, only counted for 10 percent of the grade, so fretting over one or two scores wasn’t worth it. In addition, if a student was present for every quiz, I’d tack on 10 percent to the final grade anyway. None of my students ever knew this, but it worked. The process of knowing they were going to get a quiz, and not wanting to fail another one, had a way of causing people like Marvin to read and at least familiarize themselves with something they might not otherwise bother with.
    â€œQuestion number one,” I said, as my students leaned over their desks and placed pen to the paper. “What is your name?”
    Everybody laughed, and Marvin said, “I