The Dead Don't Dance by Charles Martin Page B

always knew I liked you, Professuh.”
    â€œQuestion number two. Where are you from?”
    Marvin smiled and licked his lips. Amanda quickly wrote her answer and looked back at me. Koy wrote without looking up or expression. Russell propped his feet up on the desk next to him.
    â€œQuestion number three. What is your favorite color?”
    Marvin, starting to take me seriously because he was looking at the possibility of acing my quiz, said, “You go, Professuh.”
    â€œQuestion number four. Why?”
    â€œWhat?” Marvin’s face was suddenly real tense. “Wha’ you mean ‘why?’”
    Half the class wrote without comment. Marvin waited for my explanation, so I repeated the question. “Why is your favorite color, your favorite color?”
    Marvin shook his head. “But there ain’t no right answer. How you gonna grade it?”
    Russell, Eugene, Alan, B.B., M & M, and Jimbo all waited for my answer. Everybody else wrote furiously.
    â€œTake as long as you need,” I said.
    Marvin dropped his head and said beneath his breath, “How do I know why my color is my favorite color? It just is.”
    â€œQuestion number five.”
    Marvin’s hand shot up. “Wait, I ain’t finished.”
    â€œYou can come back to it.” Looking back at the class, I said. “What is your major?”
    â€œQuestion number six. Why?”
    Marvin dropped his pencil and looked at me with disgust. “Come on, Professuh.”
    â€œQuestion number seven. How many brothers and/or sisters do you have?” The room was really starting to heat up. The morning sun was turning into midday sun, and the fans were now blowing hot air. “Eight. How old are you?”
    Marvin said, “You ain’t allowed to ask that.”
    â€œMarvin,” I said, smiling, “this is not a job interview. Just answer the question.”
    A few kids laughed. Marvin huffed.
    â€œNine and ten. Tell me your story. You have the rest of the period to do so.”
    Marvin raised his hand.
    â€œYes, Marvin?”
    â€œWhat you mean, ‘Tell you my story’? That could take a long time.”
    â€œWrite what you can. Tell me what you would like me to know about you.”
    He raised his hand again.
    â€œMarvin, get to writing.”
    â€œBut Professuh,” Marvin objected.
    I looked at him. Tall. Trim. Fit looking. Probably pretty fast. I had heard he was a cornerback on the football team. “Marvin, how fast are you?”
    â€œWha’ you mean?”
    â€œI mean how fast do you run the forty?”
    He tilted his head and rolled his eyes around as if he were trying to figure out whether or not this was a trick question. Then he said, “Fo-fo.”
    â€œGood,” I said. “Then how about getting your mind and hand to work as fast as your feet?”
    Marvin relaxed, smiled, and began to write.

chapter ten
    I WAS STANDING IN THE SHOWER, BREATHING THE steam, when Amos climbed the porch steps. I had just finished cleaning in the barn and stank something fierce. I heard the creak of the springs, the slam of the screen door, and then, “D.S., you ready?”
    â€œReady?” I asked, poking my head around the corner.
    â€œIvory. Man, put a filter on that thing.” Amos saw me walk past the door wearing my towel and put his sunglasses back on. “The UV is killing me. You need to get out more. A little tan here and there wouldn’t hurt you.”
    My ancestors were Scottish. They came in through South Carolina, then through Tennessee, and ended up in Texas. You’d think that hot Texas sun would have brought out some tan, but it didn’t. Too many years in the highlands, I suppose. I’ve never had a tan, but I’ve been burnt a thousand times.
    Amos covered his eyes, then made himself at home with my refrigerator, which was empty. “Don’t you ever buy anything to eat? You’re gonna wither