 
# That'll Be The Day

Mark Edward Caudel

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This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, either living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.

Copyright © 2016 Mark Edward Caudel

That'll Be The Day

Smashwords Second Edition

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For Ingrid

# Chapter 1—WEDNESDAY

Chris Perry stood in the hallway looking at the new display on the history board. _Days of Remembrance_ was printed across the top of the board, and there were many pictures. Chris stared at the photograph of a little Polish boy who was holding his arms up. There were other children, some women, and a few men in the picture as well. The picture was subtitled "Roundup of Jews in the Warsaw ghetto (1943)." The guards in the picture, Germans, pointed their weapons at the women and children. Though the guards looked like ordinary young men, Chris hated them.

He studied the faces of the women and children. There were small children and older kids, young women and old ladies. They were afraid. Chris thought they looked like anyone he might know. They were real people and they were beautiful. Sadness came over him like cold evening shadows replacing the sun's warmth.

Chris reached up and touched the picture. _How could those men with rifles and machine guns carry out orders to do something like that? Why didn't they turn on their superiors and assassinate them?_ He wanted to go back in time and talk to those soldiers. _What's the matter with you guys? How can you do this? What kind of sick childhood did you have? You bastards!_

"What's up, Chris? You're gonna be late."

Chris flinched as he came back to the present. "What?" He turned and saw that it was Blaise.

"What are you doing, man? The bell's about to ring."

"I was just checking out these pictures." Chris started walking with Blaise, glancing back for one more look.

"Pretty outta hand, huh?" Blaise said. They walked into the classroom just as the bell rang.

Mr. Crumel looked over the top of his glasses as they entered the classroom. "Take your seats, gentlemen. We have a lot of material to cover this hour."

Blaise whispered, "Take cover gentlemen, we have a lot of material to seat."

Chris laughed.

Crumel continued with his lecture on the Great Depression, but Chris was already depressed. He could not stop thinking about the picture. He knew that terrible things had happened. He had seen the movies and read about it, but nothing had ever made him feel so sad and angry. The scene in the picture, however, was real, and there was no denying it. It really happened. Chris closed his eyes. _Why didn't anyone stop it?_ Then he looked at Blaise who was following the lecture and taking notes. Blaise Bizet was a born leader. He was the Associated Student Body President, and he was very popular. Chris wondered what Blaise would have done if he were there when that picture was taken.

The bell rang. Chris was totally unaware of what was happening in class and asked Blaise, "What's the assignment?"

"Weren't you listening?"

"Not really. I guess I was daydreaming."

"There is no assignment, buddy. The old man let us off easy today, which is great, ya know, 'cause Algebra is kicking my ass! I could use a little extra time to study."

"Cool," Chris said. He stopped and leaned against the wall in the hallway. Closing his eyes, he put his hand to his forehead and scrunched his eyebrows together. "We also need to work on your speech."

"Are you okay, Chris? You look wiped."

"I'm all right; I was just up a little late last night."

Blaise put his arm around Chris. "Fear not, my friend. Matters are well in hand. The only two things we have to worry about are my passing Algebra, and your staying awake in class. I can give a speech standing on my head."

"Sounds good to me. See you at lunch?"

"What's on the menu?"

"Spaghetti, and something resembling meat balls."

"Oh, my god!" Blaise said heading in the opposite direction.

Chris thought about the picture of the deportations throughout English class. He was glad to get out of there and into his science class. Science was one of his favorite subjects, and he thought it might help get his mind off the picture and the troubling thoughts that came with it. He really enjoyed the experiments and the way Brother James taught the class.

Everyone liked Brother James. He taught science with a passion. The young men attending his classes appreciated his love for the subject and enjoyed his style. While other teachers would not tolerate whispering or note passing, it never even fazed Brother James. He told the students at the beginning of each term, "If you pay attention you will learn—learn and you will pass! If you don't pay attention in class, your grade will, no doubt, reflect your effort."

"Today," Brother James said, "we will discuss in further detail scientific method. Can anyone tell me, based on your knowledge of what we have learned so far, how scientific method differs from philosophy?" Several hands went up.

"Michael?"

"Scientific method is purely concerned with how things work, while philosophy is concerned with why."

"All right then. We know that scientific method is all about how. That is, by way of careful and objective observation of, say, experiments and research data, in view of accepted scientific hypothesis relating to any given subject, we can arrive at a conclusive, scientific fact, thus answering the question of how."

Brother James continued, his hands waving about as if tossing out ideas to his students. "Give us an example of how the philosopher and the scientist look at something differently."

Michael Boyd did not answer this time, and no one else volunteered a hand.

"John, perhaps you can think of something."

Johnny Monroe was in the tenth grade, a sophomore. He was not all that unique, but he was above average in his studies, and that put him in several eleventh grade classes. He was advanced in math and science and not even the eleventh grade classes were a challenge. Other than being shy, a little uncoordinated, and uninterested in sports or social events, Johnny was a pretty ordinary guy.

The one thing about him that did make him totally different from everyone else, not that you could tell by looking at him, was that he was the only Protestant at Holy Cross, a Catholic High School.

"Well," Johnny said, "it's like you've got these two guys sitting under a tree. It's an apple tree, and all of a sudden a couple of apples fall from the tree, and each guy gets nailed on the head. One of the guys, the scientist, says, 'Hey, gravity is at work here: the Earth's gravitational force has drawn this apple downward and I happened to be in the way.' The other guy, the philosopher, asks the question, 'Why? What does it all mean?' He wants to know if there is some larger purpose. He wants to know why trees grow only to drop their apples and eventually die. He probably accepts his buddy's scientific explanation of how he got hit on the head by an apple, but still, he wants to know if there is some larger meaning to it."

"Very good, John," Brother James said cheerfully. "As usual you seem to have a grasp of the concepts we are working with."

Vince Januzi, sitting behind Johnny, leaned forward and said, "As usual you have a grasp of kissing butt." Vince was a jock who did not excel in the sciences, or any other subject besides football. He had it in for Johnny Monroe since the first day of class. Vince did not mind not being the smartest guy, even if he was the only senior in the class, but it was too much for him to be outdone by a tenth grader, and he hated the way the teachers went on about Johnny.

After class Vince stopped Johnny in the hallway. "You think you're pretty smart, don't ya, kid."

Johnny just stood there looking at the ground.

"Well?" Vince was right up on him.

"No," Johnny said, still not looking at Vince.

"You think you're pretty smart, but I could teach you a thing or two."

Chris saw what was happening and jumped in. "Cool your jets, Vince. You've gotta have something better to do than pick on someone half your size."

"So why can't you ever mind your own business, Chrissie?"

"I am minding my own business." Chris moved between Johnny and the big guy.

Vince turned and started walking away. "I guess you go for Protestant boys. I might have known." Chris did not respond. He just grinned and looked at Johnny.

"Don't mind him," Chris said. "He's been hit in the head too many times is all."

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it. Let's get lunch."

"For a while there I thought _I_ was lunch."

"Nah. Vince is pretty tough, but he normally doesn't hunt without the pack. He likes to make a scene, though, know what I mean? He growls and snarls and shows his teeth. Graaaaw!" Chris made a face to go with it causing Johnny to crack up laughing.

"I'm supposed to meet Blaise for lunch, too. You like spaghetti?"

"I guess so."

"Well, Miss Mackey's cafeteria spaghetti isn't anything like Mom's, but what the hey, huh? I'll tell you what's good; fettuccini with clam sauce. Now that's pasta!" Chris brought his fingers to his lips and kissed them. "So what's your favorite food, Johnny? You like Italian?"

"I like Italian. I really like Mexican, though. My mom makes great enchiladas."

"Is your mother Mexican? You don't look Mexican."

"No, we're just white. You know, a little bit of this and a little bit of that; some Irish, some German, some kind of Swedish Norwegian something or other. I think one of my father's great grandfathers or somebody was an Indian."

"That sounds like my father's side of the family," Chris said. "But my mother is Italian one hundred percent, and let me tell you, she can cook some food. Hey, there's Blaise."

Blaise was talking to Joey Trevino. They were keeping their voices low. Chris waited for Blaise and Joey to finish talking.

"Okay, Blazer. You got it," Joey said, shaking Blaise's hand. "I'll let you know what I find out right away."

"You're the man, Joey. I can always count on you. Thanks a lot."

"Don't mention it." Joey was on his way.

"Everything cool, Blaise?" Chris asked.

"So cool I can't stand it. Look at you, Chris-Dog; you've come back to life. What did you do, sleep through English again? Let's get some food." Blaise moved toward the food line.

"Blaise, this is Johnny. We've got science together. He's like this young Einstein."

Blaise stopped and turned to Johnny. "Hi Johnny. Glad to know you." Blaise shook Johnny's hand firmly saying, "Johnny, you've got to have lunch with me and Chris here."

"Sure," Johnny said thinking Blaise was never going to let go of his hand.

"Excellent," Blaise said, finally letting go.

As they approached the line Blaise motioned for Johnny and Chris to go ahead of him. Johnny stood there holding his tray wondering why the student body president was being so nice to him. He did not even know him. He could not help but feel like he was being set up for something.

Chris said, "Come on," leading the way to a table at the far end of the cafeteria.

"Hey you guys," Blaise said to three boys who were already seated. Blaise sat down at the head of the table. Chris pulled out the chair to the right of Blaise and motioned for Johnny to sit opposite. "This is Johnny." Blaise motioned to the others and said, "Barry Watson, Marty Hinton, and Jeff Barnes."

"Nice to meet you," Barry said.

With a mouthful of spaghetti, Jeff just nodded and waved.

Marty said, "We know each other. How's it going, Johnny?"

"All right. Thanks."

Blaise said, "Good. Now everybody knows everybody. Chris, you're eating like a German Shepherd. What's with you?"

"I'm hungry."

"Just don't get any on me."

Blaise looked at Johnny. "You're the Protestant kid I've heard so much about."

"I'm a Presbyterian, actually," Johnny said.

Blaise shrugged, spaghetti noodles hanging from his mouth.

"I never even heard the word "Protestant" before coming here. I had to look it up in the encyclopedia to find out what everybody was talking about. Anyway, I wasn't in on that reformation thing, okay. I was just raised Presbyterian."

"It's cool, man. I didn't mean to get you going. I guess we Catholics sometimes forget that other folks got their own thing going on. You just happen to be in a Catholic school is all, but it's cool with me." Blaise looked at Chris, "Cool with you?"

"Cool with me," Chris said turning to Barry. "Watson?"

"Cool with me all day long. What about you, Martini Man?"

Marty looked at Johnny, smiling. "It's cool. Johnny's all right. I never told you guys how John-Boy here helped me pass my last geometry test."

"Is that right?" Blaise said looking at Johnny, "So what's the deal? Are you like some kinda whiz bang math guy?"

"I do all right, I guess."

"That's good to know, Johnny. Maybe you could help me out. Math isn't one of my strong areas. Know what I mean?"

"Sure," Johnny said, shrugging his shoulders.

"Speaking of needing help, where's Vargas?" Blaise was looking around the cafeteria.

"Not my day to watch him," Barry said.

"He said he's got some errands to run," Chris said with a knowing grin.

"Running errands? More like running after Julie McPherson," Jeff said, shaking his head.

After his last class, Chris headed for the journalism classroom where the _Crusader_ and the school annual were published. The classroom, known simply as "The Paper," was the only one in the basement among the storage and maintenance rooms. When Chris walked into the room he noticed the red light on over the photo lab door indicating film processing. Blaise was sitting on a desk reading the latest edition of the _Crusader_.

"What's going on?" Chris asked.

"Not sure. Joey's got some shots that might fill us in."

"Fill us in on what?"

"Your cousin, Sammy White."

"Is he in trouble again? I know his grades have been going to the dogs and he's not into things around here anymore."

"Maybe he needs some help. Sometimes you can help a guy," Blaise said, folding the newspaper, "and sometimes there's nothing you can do."

Chris could see that Blaise was really upset about something. He could hear it in his voice and see it on his face. "What's the matter, Blaise?"

The red light went off and the door opened. Joey Trevino stuck his head out and cautiously peered around the room. "Hey, Chris. How ya doin' man? Come in here and have a look at these prints, you guys. I got some really good shots if I do say so myself."

The black and white prints were still wet and hanging on a line over the developing table. The pictures were very clear. Each print was an unmistakable photo of Sammy White.

"That's good shootin' Joey," Blaise said. "What do you think, Chris?"

"I think my cousin's keeping some bad company. What's this here, a drug deal?" Chris looked at Joey, "Was he buying or selling?"

"I didn't see any money," Joey said. "He was definitely taking possession, though."

Blaise said, "I want to know about these guys he's with."

Chris studied the images for moment. "Holy shit, you guys. Is Sammy a gang banger?"

"Could be," Joey said.

Blaise sat down on the edge of a table. "Recognize any of 'em?"

Chris looked closely at the photographs. "I'm pretty sure this guy here is one of Sammy's neighbors."

"I'm concerned about the way Sammy's been talking to some of the guys here."

"So what are we going to do?" Chris asked.

Blaise thought for a moment. "Well that's what I was going to ask you."

"Okay, let me talk to him. We've always been really close, but lately...well, I still think he'll talk to me. I'll let you know."

Blaise stood up and put his arms on Chris's shoulders. "You do that, Chris, and let me know what we can do to help. You tell Sammy that we want him back." He drew Chris in close and looked into his eyes for a moment. "Alright?"

Chris nodded. "Thanks."

Johnny was on his way to the bus stop when the red Dodge Colt skidded to a halt beside him. The window rolled down and Chris, the passenger, stuck his head out. "Hey, Johnny! You wanna ride, man?"

"My bus'll be here in a minute."

"I didn't ask you about the bus schedule. I asked if you want a ride. Hop in." Chris got out of the car, pulled the seat forward, and jumped in the back.

Johnny got in, closed the door, and pulled the seat belt around. "Thanks."

Blaise nodded and checked the traffic in the mirror.

Johnny turned to Chris. "You sure you don't mind sitting back there?"

"I don't mind," Chris said as he put his feet up, lying across the entire back seat. "Besides, I could use a nap right about now."

"So, where can I take you, Johnny?" Blaise asked.

"I was just going home. I live in River Park."

"Next stop: River Park," Blaise said as he turned onto Howe Avenue.

"What do you think of our school, Johnny?" Chris asked. "Do you like it?"

"Yeah, it's great. I really like it."

"I think it's a great school, too. It's just that this is your first year here and I was wondering' if you felt okay. Some of the guys can be real assholes, ya know. But, I guess you're gonna find that anywhere you go."

"Actually," said Johnny, "It's a lot worse elsewhere."

Blaise asked, "Where did you go last year?"

"Lincoln."

"Did you like it there?" Chris asked. "Do you miss it?"

"No, I didn't like it, and no, I sure don't miss it," Johnny answered.

Blaise turned into River Park. "What street am I looking for?"

"This is my street. I live up there just past the elementary school, on the left."

"Does Lincoln have trouble with gangs?" Blaise asked.

"It's getting pretty bad, I think. I never had any trouble, though. I think I was pretty invisible."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Well, I just went to school there. I was never involved in anything and I don't talk a lot and stuff, so I just don't think anyone ever really noticed me."

"I see. Which house is yours?"

Johnny pointed to a yellow house on the left. "That one there."

Blaise pulled onto the driveway. "You're not trying to be invisible at the Cross, are you?"

"I'm not trying to be. No."

"Good. We want you to like it and really have a good time. How 'bout I pick you up in the morning? We can talk some more."

"That'd be great, Blaise. Thanks a lot."

"I'll be here at seven forty-five. Don't make me blow the horn."

"I'll be ready. Thanks, Blaise. See ya, Chris."

Blaise turned toward the back seat. "Get your ass up here. What am I, your friggin' chauffeur?"

Inside his house, Johnny went to the refrigerator and took out a Pepsi. Joshua was sitting on the couch watching the television. Johnny joined him and said, "Hey, Buddy."

"Hey, Johnny. You're home early."

"I got a ride." Johnny took a swig of his soda. _Why was Blaise being so nice?_ _Where in the world did Chris come from, too? If it weren't for Vince Januzi, would Chris even have noticed me?_ "I'm not invisible anymore," he said.

"When were you invisible?" Joshua asked.

Johnny looked at his brother for a moment. "Never mind."

After dropping Chris off, Blaise went to see Kathleen. They had been going together for nearly two years, and Blaise always felt better about things if he could talk them over with her. She lived in a very old part of the city in a brick house that was built by her grandfather. Kathleen Knowles went to St. Elizabeth. They had met at a freshmen dance where they hit it off right away. Blaise had eyes for no one else after that, and he would get a chill down his back just thinking about her.

Chris said Blaise was a different person around Kathleen, and Blaise could not deny it. At school he was like this incredible student executive, handling a dozen problems at once. When he was with Kathleen, all he could do was give her every bit of his attention. There was no doubt about it: he was in love.

Whenever Blaise went to Kathleen's house he would park his car at the far end of the block, sometimes all the way around the corner. He liked to come walking down the street, see the house, and sometimes he would see Kathleen looking out her window, waiting for him. He would pause on the sidewalk and look at her in the window. He thought she was the most beautiful creature on Earth.

Kathleen opened the door to greet Blaise. She threw her arms around him and he kissed her on the lips. She pulled him by his neck into the house and closed the door. "You're so late, Blaise. We're about to eat dinner."

"Sorry, Babe. I had a lot of things to do after school."

"You always have so much going on. You didn't eat yet, did you?"

"No."

"Good. I'll set a place for you." Kathleen left Blaise alone in the living room. He sat down on the couch and picked up the newspaper. When Kathleen returned she sat down next to him. Blaise was reading the letters to the editor when Kathleen said, "Let's go to the movies Friday night."

"Okay. What's playing?"

"I don't care. I just want to be with you in the dark." She began stroking his hair.

"Sounds good to me." Blaise was trying to not look distracted, but he had just read the same sentence for the third time and still did not know what it said. He set the paper back on the coffee table and looked at his girlfriend. "What are your parents doing right now?"

"Daddy's out back working in his shed, and Mom is making the gravy. I think. Why?"

"Good." Blaise wrapped his arms around her and pulled her over on the couch, kissing her. Kathleen responded by sucking his tongue into her mouth while running her hands over his body. The necking continued for a full two minutes before Blaise said, "I'm never happier than when I'm with you."

"You mean horny, don't you?" Kathleen said as she drew her hand across the front of his trousers.

Blaise looked down at her hand, and then closed his eyes saying, "I'm happiest, and horniest, when I'm with you, Kathleen." He opened his eyes and looked at her. They both laughed. Kathleen gave Blaise a shove and he toppled over, laughing, falling off the couch. Kathleen was laughing to the point of tears, and Blaise rolled onto his back, laughing uncontrollably. "Oh, thank God! I needed a good laugh," he said while trying to catch his breath.

Chris was studying when his phone rang.

"Chris-Dog! How's it going?"

"Blaise, hey. I'm just doing my science homework. This stuff is so cool. What are you doing?"

"I just got back from seeing my sweet baby."

"How is she?"

"She's fine. Real fine."

"She still love you?"

"With all her heart. What's not to love?"

"I don't know, the way you smell, maybe?" Chris laughed teasingly.

"I only smell when I'm teaching you how to fish."

"No. I taught you how to fish, Blaise. At least so you'd catch something. If it wasn't for me you'd still be using a bobber."

"Hey, man. Don't talk about my bobber like that."

"I'm just saying you ain't gonna catch any steelhead using a bobber."

"Maybe not, but, it's still a nice bobber."

"Yeah, man, it's a beauty." Chris could hear Blaise moving around, doing something. "Hey, Blazer. You still there?"

"Yeah."

"What are you doing? Talk to me."

"I can't find anything in this room." There were more thrashing noises. "I gotta clean this place up."

"Yeah, why don't you clean your room? I can't believe your mom lets you be such a pig."

"It's not dirty, just messy. You talk to Sammy yet?"

"I called but he was out. I asked my aunt to tell him to meet me after school."

"You want me to pick you up in the morning?"

"No thanks. My sister's gonna drop me off. You got any homework?

"No. I did it all at school. I'm gonna go to bed and dream of Kathleen."

"You'll end up back in the confessional."

"Right behind you."

"You just went last Friday."

"Yeah, so maybe I need to go again. Maybe you should go more often."

Chris sang, "Never been a sinner—I never sinnned—I got a friend in Je-sus..."

"That'll be the day."

"I know, Blaise. I sin just like you. I'll let you go to sleep now."

"See you in the morning."

"I can't wait." Chris hung up the phone and leaned back in his chair. He tried to remember if he had any more homework, but closing his eyes, he could think only of the little Polish boy. Then there was another picture in his mind. Another face, though more familiar. Sammy.

# Chapter 2—THURSDAY

Megan was twenty-one years old and very pretty. Chris loved his sister. He often compared other girls to her, which made things even more difficult for him when it came to relationships since she was a tough standard for most girls to measure up against. What he liked about her most, though, was how easily he could talk to her. He could talk to her about anything, and she always gave him a point of view well worth listening to. Her woman's perspective was sometimes just what he needed to make sense out of his life at an all-male school. The fact that she was in her senior year of psychology seemed to help, too. Chris always asked her for a ride to school when he wanted to talk to her about something.

"We've got this guy who's mixed up in a gang or something." Chris did not want to tell her it was Sammy.

"So what makes you think he's in a gang?"

"Well, he's been seen with some pretty serious gang member types. There's not much doubt." Chris did not bother to explain the tactics Blaise and Joey often used to gather information.

"People usually get involved in gangs because they have a need to belong to something. Maybe he feels important there. You have to ask yourself what are the perceived advantages to being in a gang, and then try to figure out what caused him to choose that over what he had before. Do you have any idea what this guy was like before? Why do people do what they do? We think what others do is foolish, but people make choices based on their own personal evaluations of what they believe to be their only or best option. I guess the next question is what can you do to help? People don't always want your help, but hell, it's worth a shot."

Chris was pretty deep in thought about what Megan was saying. He stared out the window without really looking at anything. He turned his head back toward his sister saying, "I think he'll talk to me."

Megan nodded her head. "If you get anywhere with this guy, if you manage to talk him into leaving the gang, remember that it could mean real trouble for him. It could get pretty dangerous. Whatever you do, don't you and your buddies try to intervene. If you have to, call the police."

They pulled into the parking lot at Holy Cross. Megan smiled as she watched her brother get out of the car.

Chris walked around the car. "Thanks for the ride, Sis, and thanks for talking." He leaned in and kissed the top of her head.

"Any time, Chris. Have a good day, and say hi to Blaise for me."

"Will do." Chris waved as Megan drove away, beeping the horn.

Blaise pulled up in front of Johnny's house at seven forty-five. Johnny was waiting on the front porch with his backpack hanging on his right shoulder, holding his navy blue school blazer in his left hand. He got in the car and placed his backpack on the floorboard between his feet. "Good morning, Blaise."

"And a good morning it is! It's a beautiful morning, Johnny. I'm happy to be alive, and I'm happy to see you. Damn, it's a great day to be alive!" Blaise was driving and talking and moving his head to the music on the radio. "How are you, man?"

"I'm okay."

"Just okay?"

"I think so. I mean, well—okay is good. I'm good."

"Johnny, you can be okay if you want. Or, you can be great, or amazing! You can be happy, pumped, ready for anything. You can be sad, or you can be glad. The question is what do you want to be?"

"Glad, I guess. How come you're so happy?"

"I told you, man."

"You told me?"

"Yeah! I said it was a great day to be alive. I said I was happy to see you. Did I forget to mention that I'm in love?" Blaise was playing the steering wheel like a drum. "I'm in love with a beautiful girl, and she loves me, Johnny, and I've got good friends, and I've got a good family, and I had a good breakfast." Blaise leaned to one side. "Dang! I've got some gas, though."

"Jeez!" Johnny said, rolling down the window.

"What's in the bag, Johnny?"

"What bag?"

"The bag between your legs, and I don't mean your scrotum."

"Oh. You know. Books and stuff."

"What kind of stuff?"

"Why do you want to know what's in my backpack?"

"I'm not trying to be nosy or anything, but you can tell a lot about a guy by what he carries around in a backpack."

"Well, I don't have any explosives, if that's what you're worried about."

"I'm not worried. I just want to know you better."

Johnny looked at Blaise. He narrowed his stare and said, "Really?"

Blaise looked at Johnny again. "What?"

"I just can't help but feel like you're up to something. I mean, two days ago you didn't even know who I was. Now you want to know all about me, and you're like being really nice to me and giving me a ride to school and all. A guy's gotta wonder a little, ya know?"

"I see your point, but you're wrong. Two days ago I _did_ know who you were, just like I know everyone else in our school. It's true; I never spoke to you before yesterday, and sure, there's still a few guys at school that I haven't gotten to know real well, but it's not like I _tried_ to not speak to you. Believe me, Johnny, I know everyone. I know what grade they're in. I know what they do and with whom they hang. I know who's making trouble and who doesn't like me. I know just about everything that's going on." Blaise paused for a moment and sighed. "All right, I'll admit that when Chris showed up with you at lunch I took advantage of the opportunity to become friends with you, and part of my reason for wanting you to be my friend is so that, hopefully, you could help me with my algebra, but what's wrong with that?"

"Nothing, I guess."

"And even if you can't, I'd still like for us to be friends. Everyone needs friends."

"So what's the deal? You really having trouble with algebra?"

Blaise gasped. "No, I just think you're cute, and I want to spend my nights with you, pretending I need help." He gripped the steering wheel like he was trying to pull it out off the column. "Yes, I'm having trouble! I was doing okay for a while, but then it started going fast. And those friggin' linear equations! And what's up with Mr. J. wanting us to graph everything? I'm all right with completing the square and even the quadratic formula, but then he wants us to graph everything. Graph this, pal."

"It's cool, Blaise. I can help you. I've actually helped some people before. I think I'm pretty good at it, helping people understand it, I mean. I've noticed that Mr. Johnson has a hard time getting it across sometimes. His problem is that he doesn't have patience for guys that don't get it the first time. I think a good teacher should be able to go about explaining things a different way if it doesn't register the first time around."

"Exactly," Blaise agreed.

Johnny was starting to feel comfortable around Blaise. "So, what's in it for me?" he said grinning.

Blaise gave Johnny a serious look and said, "You get to hang out with me, smart-ass."

"Wow! I must be the luckiest guy in the world."

"Damn near. And if you're really lucky, I'll teach you a few things, too."

Johnny laughed. "Oh yeah, like what?"

Blaise steered his car into the parking lot at Holy Cross High and whipped around into a space. He turned around, leaning over the back of his seat and reached into a gym bag. After fumbling around inside it for a moment, he pulled out a necktie. "For starters," he said as his fingers quickly manipulated the tie around his neck, "I'm going to teach you how to dress. Take off that lousy clip-on PIECE OF CRAP!" Blaise carefully ducked out from under the perfectly tied half-Windsor and handed it to Johnny.

"What's wrong with my tie?"

"It's fake," Blaise said shaking his head. "We don't do fake. Okay?"

"Okay." Johnny finished synching up the tie.

"All right, then. You look good." Blaise gave Johnny a slap on the back saying, "Let's go."

Walking toward the entrance to Holy Cross Blaise said, "Can we get started today? Right after school if that's okay with you. I'll drive you home."

"You mean for math?"

"Yeah. Is that cool?"

"Yeah, that's cool. You wanna do it at my house?"

"You got snacks?"

"I'm sure we've got something."

They walked into the school's main hallway. Guys were moving all around them, heading for class. Several of them greeted Blaise: What's up, Blaise? How's it going Blazer? Morning Blaise-man. No one said anything to Johnny. He started to wonder if maybe he was still invisible to some people. That was all right with him, though, as long as the people who could see him were kind.

As Blaise started heading toward his first class Johnny stopped. His class was in the other direction. Blaise turned while continuing to walk. "Meet me at the car after school."

Johnny, feeling free to go, said, "All Right," and stepped away.

"Thanks Bud." Blaise took off at a full pace. He would get to class with a few minutes before the bell and talk to Chris. Brother Bead's English Literature class was not a worry: Blaise had read the entire anthology early in the year. He was coasting, relying on his memory when quizzed.

Chris was sitting at his desk writing in his notebook as Blaise took a seat next to him. "Good morning Christopher. How's it going?"

"It's going," Chris replied, not looking up. "You?"

"Super."

"I saw Sammy on the way in. He's going to meet me after school."

"Good deal. Johnny's gonna help me find my vertex later. Remind me to get his phone number for you so you can get a hold of me."

"I've already got it."

"You're always one step ahead, Chris."

Chris finally looked up. "Gotta be."

Sammy White could not concentrate. Earth Science with Brother James was not his favorite way to start the day. Chris wanted to see him at the end of the day. He had called the house the night before and caught up with him in the morning. The night before, Sammy was over at Jeff's and they had smoked some pot and talked for a long time, about what he could not remember. They had recently joined an organization that promised them a steady supply of marijuana: all they had to do was sell a certain amount of it. It was too easy.

Jeff was a close neighbor who moved in just a couple years ago. He went to Lincoln and was no more involved there than Sammy was at Holy Cross. Sammy would rather go to Lincoln, too, but did not dare ask his parents: he already knew the answer to that question.

Brother James conducted class with his usual enthusiasm while Sammy tried to look like he was paying attention. He drew his fingers through his long blonde hair to get it out of his eyes, wondering what Chris wanted to talk to him about so badly. Chris was a model student, a model son, and too much for Sammy to put up with lately. They had grown up together and were quite close. They had celebrated their birthdays together, went on trips with each other's family, and each one practically living at the other's house half the time. But that was before. Chris became too serious for Sammy. He was all wrapped up in that student government thing. There were always important functions to be at or a meeting or he had to study. Sammy still loved his cousin, though. He did admire him, and he wished there was something he could do; something that could make it the way it used to be when they had fun together.

Jeff was a good friend. He was always up for anything. The problem, however, was that Jeff was stupid. Sammy hated to think that the only friend he could make since Chris became so busy was a guy who was ignorant on so many levels. It was not like he was retarded or something, but more than likely it was just the way he was raised. Jeff's father was one of those loud mouths who called everybody else an idiot. The man could not say anything without betraying his ignorance and bigotry. But Jeff was not so hard-headed, and Sammy could influence him. Sammy would try to argue a point when Jeff said something stupid, but Jeff would just roll over and immediately assume Sammy's point of view. He was too easy, and Sammy missed the critical thinking and sharp edges of a good argument with Chris. He would talk to Chris, and he just hoped that it was not going to be about participating in some dick-headed activity like the time he tried to rope him into working on the school spirit committee.

After school, Sammy met Chris by the main entrance. "Let's go for a walk."

They walked through the parking lot and onto the service road that led to the river bike trail. Chris removed two Tootsie Pops from his jacket and gave Sammy his choice of grape or cherry. After walking on the bike trail for a while Sammy followed Chris through the brush to a spot on the river where they sat down on the grassy bank close to the water, a place that Chris had previously determined to be better for private meetings than fishing. The rolling river and natural beauty of the surroundings provided a relaxing setting as well as privacy.

Sammy pulled the red candy out of his mouth. "I take it you didn't bring me out here to talk about the spirit committee."

"No, Sammy, nothing like that."

"What is it then?" Sammy revealed his uneasiness by crunching into the soft Tootsie Roll center before finishing the hard candy.

Rolling the stick between his thumb and finger to spin the candy in his mouth, Chris looked out over the river for a moment, then said, "Sam, what in the hell are you doing, man?"

"Wudda ya mean?"

"I mean I know you're not doing very well in your classes, and I know you're moving dope. What I don't know is why. What I want to know is what is it going to take to keep you from screwing up your whole life?"

"How come you know so much?"

"You made the ineligible list."

"Who says I'm moving dope?"

"Are you saying you're not? Because if you're not, man, I'd love to know that rather than what I've heard." Chris looked at Sammy like no one else in the whole world mattered more. "I'd like to think that the guy who saw you picking up more pot than you could smoke in a year doesn't know the whole story."

Sammy did not say anything for a moment. He stared at the river, and then turned to Chris. He could feel the emotion rising from his gut to his throat as if an immense pressure was causing his heart to become buoyant within his chest. His face warmed and water formed in his eyes to the point of blurring his vision. Through the mist he did not see the student body vice president who was too busy to hang out with him anymore, but rather, he saw his cousin whom he loved so much and missed. In that moment he recalled every time they had been together: every vacation trip and outing, every sleepover and prank, the pure magic of being boys when summer was one long holiday. Then, as the hot floodwaters in his eyes spilled over onto his crimson cheeks, Sammy said, "Oh god, Chris, I'm screwed! I am so screwed."

# Chapter 3—FRIDAY

Blaise and Johnny arrived at Chris's house at six-thirty on Friday morning. Chris stumbled out onto the porch, pulling his jacket on while eating a piece of toast and lugging his backpack in the bend of his left arm. His hair was still wet from the shower. He popped the hatch on the Colt and tried to toss the pack in, but got hung up and, somehow, lost his balance. He fell to the ground, but having his arm wrapped around the shoulder strap kept him from falling too hard. He did, however, lose his toast. The jolt caused it to flip out of his mouth, and it landed buttered side down on the top of his right shoe. Blaise looked in the rear-view mirror, but could not see Chris. Blaise and Johnny both turned to look just in time to see Chris stand up, his hair a wreck.

"What are you doing?" Blaise asked.

"I'm getting off to a really bad start today."

"You need any help?"

"No thanks, Blaise. I think I can screw the day up all by myself." Chris walked around the side of the house. A few moments later he was back with his fishing rod and tackle box. He sat in the front passenger seat and said, "Sorry guys. I had a real lousy night and this is too damn early."

"It's going to be all right," Blaise said. "It's Friday."

"How are ya," Chris said looking at Johnny.

"Fine." Johnny was not sure if he should say anything else.

Blaise gave his usual early morning motivational talk as he drove them to the river. Chris had calmed down by the time they were on the bank of the American River just above the Watt Avenue Bridge. He began expertly tying tackle onto his line.

"Johnny, you'd better watch Chris. Nobody's ever going to show you better how to catch a steelhead." Blaise really did admire the way Chris handled his gear.

"The trick here," Chris explained, "is to be able to feel the bottom of the river without getting caught on it. You need this break-a-way lead weight in case you get snagged, but the most important thing it does is keep the bait close to the bottom. It's gotta be heavy enough to do that, but light enough to drift with the current." Chris held up each piece of tackle for Johnny to inspect as he continued. "Put a three-way swivel on our line like so. Now I'll show you how to tie the sinker and leader on."

While Chris was teaching Johnny how to put the rig together, Blaise was busy threading the nightcraweler. Johnny watched as Blaise ran the huge steel needle through the length of the worm. "Oh my god!" he gasped, eyes wide at the gross sight.

"Don't be afraid to give yourself three feet of leader," Chris said as he finished tying the hook on. Blaise took the hook from Chris and set the point into the hollow tip of the worm threader. Chris held the leader taunt as Blaise slid the live bait off the needle and onto the hook.

"Now we're all set." Chris handed the rod to Johnny. "You want to cast straight out there," he said, pointing, "and then let it drift right down there by that pylon. That's where the big one is."

"How do you know?"

"He knows," Blaise confirmed.

Johnny was very careful. He did not want to mess up this opportunity. He had done some fishing before, but these guys were obviously very serious about it. He held the line with his index finger as he flipped the bailer back. As he made his overhead cast, he could feel the weight of the tackle and its force as it gained momentum. He let go with his finger and held his follow-through stance as the tackle sailed off in a perfect arch, the reel humming as it gave up line. Splash!

"Perfect," Chris said. "Now flip the bailer back and gently pull back until you can feel the weight bouncing on the river bed."

"I feel it. I feel it!" Johnny exclaimed.

Surprised but happy, Blaise said, "Nice cast John-John."

Chris stood right beside Johnny, but was careful to not interfere. "If he's going to hit, he's going to hit right...about...now. Hold it."

"Whoa! Oh jeez. I think I'm snagged."

Chris studied the action of the rod. "Blaise, we need the net!"

"Hey Johnny! You got one," Blaise called running for the net. "Play him out, man!"

Chris, satisfied with being the mentor, his work done, leaned against Blaise's car and watched the other two land a beautiful 18-inch steelhead.

"Smile!" Blaise took the picture. Johnny stood there holding the fish, still feeling the thrill of the catch.

"You caught him," Chris announced. "You clean him."

Johnny looked at Blaise for help.

"Hey, Miss Mackey doesn't mind cooking them for us," Blaise explained, "but she wants 'em cleaned first."

After delivering the fish to the kitchen, they went straight to the boys' room to wash their hands. Blaise and Chris had been careful to not come into contact with Johnny's catch any more than was absolutely necessary. It was obvious which one of them caught and cleaned the steelhead. "You keep on scrubbing," Blaise told Johnny. "That smell doesn't come off easily, and you'll probably notice it the rest of the day. You keep washing. Chris and I are going to step out in the hall for a minute."

"Yeah, okay." Johnny worked on cleaning under his nails.

Out in the hallway Blaise joined Chris in a slow walk. "So what are you guys going to do all weekend?"

"I'm not sure, but I'd like to keep away from here, and it would be good if you didn't call, about school stuff anyway. He's going to stay at my house. We might go to the movies or something. I'm hoping that if it can be like old times he might feel more like trusting me."

"All right, man. I hope you can get somewhere, though, because I want all the cards on the table by Monday. Okay?"

"Yeah, sure."

Late the night before, Chris had called Blaise with a report of his conversation with Sammy. Sammy admitted that his biggest problem was the commitment he and Jeff had to their newfound associates. He said, "If we try to back out now, I don't know what they'll do." Chris thought about what his sister had said and did not try to push Sammy into making any quick decisions. Instead, they talked about the way Sammy would like things to be if everything else could just go away—what his perfect world would be like. And all Sammy wanted was for things to be the way they were. His perfect world started falling apart when Chris, his best friend, became too busy for him. Confessing all of this to Chris was very painful, and he knew he sounded childish revealing his inability to change and grow up like other boys his age, but the sobbing and tears had already given him away. He did want to get on with his life, as Chris was doing, but what he had done so far was not only stupid and dangerous, it only made it more difficult to get back on the right track.

'That's our challenge then,' Chris told him. 'That will be our quest, and now all we have to do is figure out how to get there. We'll do it together.'

The steelhead was served at lunchtime and Johnny was given high honors. Blaise made a toast. "To Johnny, fisherman and friend." The others wrapped their knuckles on the table calling, "here, here," and drank milk to his health. Marty asked Johnny questions about every detail of the catch, saying over and over, "I wish I coulda been there."

Across the room at a table near the windows, a small group of big athletes were talking about football and beer and girls. Their volume increased as each one tried to be heard over the other, but Vince did not contribute to the noise. He did not join in the high fives that were being exchanged across the table or punch the guy next to him for being an idiot. He stared, indifferent to the camaraderie around him, across the room at the smart kid, and next to him, Blaise, and then Chris. _Bunch of faggots_. Then Vince settled his gaze upon Jeff Barnes, the one senior among them. Once again Jeff was getting too comfortable, too relaxed around Blaise and his ass-kissing followers. He would have to remind Jeff that his job as senior class prez was mainly to keep Blaise and the rest of them from thinking they can run things at the Cross.

"What's the matter with you, Vince?" Jason Arnold said. The other guys laughed.

Vince, wondering what he had missed, looked at Jason, and before anyone could make another comment, said, "Eat shit, Jason."

Johnny was enjoying the attention he received at the president's table. Johnny knew that he would not be invited to the table very often and it was really just a fluke that he was there in the first place. He would, however, continue to help Blaise with his algebra, and hopefully that would mean that they could continue being friends. Johnny thought it was strange how Blaise had taken to him, but decided it made sense.

Chris, on the other hand was harder to figure out. He was a cool guy, but he had a detached way about him. It seemed to Johnny that Chris was the kind of guy who always did the right thing. Everything he said was appropriate. He only seemed to have fun when it was time to have fun, and everything he did was calculated. He did not appreciate last minute changes, while Blaise could make a joke in any situation or call for a change of plans at a moment's notice. Nothing fazed him. Chris was easily frustrated when things did not go according to plan, but Blaise took it all in stride. They made a good team, though. Blaise was the salesman—the guy who could make everyone believe that it could work. Chris was all business—the guy who actually made it work.

After lunch, while Johnny was still reveling in the glory of his celebrated steelhead feast, Vince stopped him in the hallway. This time Vince did not use threatening body language. In fact, at first Johnny thought he sounded friendly. "Hi Johnny," he said smiling. "That looked like a nice lunch you guys had."

Johnny was taken completely by surprise and did not know how to respond but said, "It was good."

"Now Johnny, what's going on here? I thought you were Chris's boyfriend. You mean to tell me you're doing Blaise, too?"

Johnny could see that Vince was not being friendly at all. He was simply using another tactic to achieve his usual goal of instilling fear and intimidation. Johnny thought for a moment about his new friends. Then he gave Vince his best _do I know you_ look and said, "That's a good one. You should have your own late-night show." The friendliness on Vince's face vanished and was instantly replaced with what Johnny interpreted as anger and vengeance. "You tell Blaise," he hissed, "that some things never change no matter how hard he tries. You tell him."

"Okay," Johnny said calmly. "I'll tell him. Oh, what's your name again? Sorry."

Vince glared at Johnny for a moment, then turned abruptly and walked off. Watching Vince hurry away, Johnny realized that his heart was pounding. He looked around at all the other boys who were moving to class. None of them seemed to notice him and he wondered why Vince, of all people, had the power to see the invisible kid.

Johnny did not see Blaise or Chris after school. He thought about what Vince had said to him, but he decided to not let someone like that have any control over his life. He would mention it to Blaise, but he was not going to go out of his way to do so. He got on the bus, showed his pass, and sat down in the front seat. It had been a while since he had last ridden the bus home from school, and it was like returning to a familiar grind after a fun weeklong holiday that was over way too soon.

Kathleen stood at the window in her room and looked out onto the street. The leaves on the trees in the old neighborhood were turning orange and yellow and red. As long as she could remember the trees were always so big and she loved the way they changed color in autumn. Through a space between an oak and a fruitless mulberry she saw first his feet and legs. They were the legs of a man who was not in a hurry and could not pass anything beautiful without appreciating it. Their eyes met. They each felt that comfortable sense of fulfillment that one expects to have after seeing or touching or tasting something lovely. As sight of him was lost to the oak tree, her eyes followed the path where she envisioned him continuing along. When her line of sight cleared the colorful leaves of the old oak tree she blinked and refocused on the empty sidewalk. She smiled and laughed a little as she realized he was playing a game. She moved around in the window trying to see more ground under the tree. Still not seeing him, she decided to run down stairs and find out where he was hiding.

Turning from the window, Kathleen's entire body flinched and "Ohmygod" escaped her mouth just before her hands flew up to cover it. Blaise stood in the doorway holding a single red long-stemmed rose. "How did you do that?" she asked.

"The door was unlocked so I let myself in."

"No, I mean how did you get passed me down there?"

"Magic."

Kathleen smiled and took the rose from Blaise. Then she put her arms around his neck and kissed him. "What other tricks do you know?"

"That depends," Blaise said while holding her and closing the door with his foot.

"On what?"

"On where your parents are right now."

"They're meeting the Braxtons for dinner at the Espanol."

Blaise picked Kathleen up in his arms and moved toward the bed. "And for my next trick..." he said as they fell in a cascade of laughter and limbs.

Chris and Sammy left campus while the last bell was still ringing. Sammy did the driving in his 1978 Camero, and they went straight to Chris's house. It had been a while since they had done anything together, and though Sammy had not been at Chris's house for almost six months it was the same there and he made himself at home. It felt good to go back to a time before he had so many problems, but he knew that he would have to deal with the trouble he had created for himself and for Jeff, and now Chris. He wondered what Chris was really thinking, but it was nice to not have to worry about it. Chris had said they would just have fun this weekend, like old times, and they would figure something out by Monday.

Sammy knew where everything was in the kitchen and he had two glasses of milk and an open package of Oreos on the table by the time Chris came back from the bathroom. Chris sat down and unscrewed one of the cookies. He then scraped the cream filling off the chocolate cookie with his teeth. Sammy held a cookie under the milk for three seconds before popping the whole thing in his mouth, another three seconds and another cookie. With his mouth full he said, "Man, I can't b'wieve you still eatin' Oweos ike dat."

"Like what?"

"Unswooin' 'em." He swallowed. "Like a kid."

"Like a kid?" Chris said laughing and covering his mouth with his arm, conscious of the fact that he too had a mouth full of cookies. "Look at you! You still eat like a refugee."

Sammy had just taken a gulp of milk when Chris's last comment made him laugh so hard that milk came out of his mouth and his nose and he leaned over trying to not get any on himself or the floor. Chris almost choked at the sight and began cracking up so badly that his eyes started to water and he slid off his seat. Sammy, worried for a moment about the mess he was making, got up to get a towel. Then realizing that it was not too serious, he began to laugh again and the sight of Chris in tears made him double over in hysterics. He walked back to the table holding his gut like someone who has just been run through with a sword, each step taking a great deal of effort.

"Oreos make me sick," Chris said. "I don't know why I eat them. They're great at first, but then I get the O-R-E-O blues." After rinsing and filling his glass with water, Chris guzzled it down in hopes of feeling better. Sammy just took one more cookie and finished his milk.

In Chris's room the two cousins took off their clothes simultaneously, starting with neckties, then shirts, then shoes, and so on down to their briefs, throwing everything in a pile on the floor, and began flexing and posing. They compared biceps and quadriceps and each made comments about how the other needed to work out more.

"One on One?" Chris said pulling on white socks.

"Okay."

They dressed and went out on the driveway where an old basketball hoop and backboard was mounted on the roof over the garage. The hoop was slightly bent downward by Chris's taller friends who like to show off.

Sammy dribbled the ball and bounce-passed it to Chris. "I haven't played basketball since the last time I played here with you."

Chris shot the ball and scored—all net. "Sammy, you really gotta get out more."

"I don't need to get out more. I just need to get out to the right places." He faked left and drove around the right side of Chris and laid it in.

"Nice move," Chris said taking the ball out. "Check."

They played ball until Chris's mother came home. As she pulled onto the driveway, the garage door opened automatically. The window rolled down as the car moved up and she said, "Hi boys." When she was out of the garage there was a good deal of hugging and talk about how long it had been since Sammy was over and how glad she was to see him. She suggested going out for pizza for dinner and the boys were all for it. "It's just like old times," she said.

"Thanks Aunt Mary," Sammy said.

Chris's mom looked the boys over. As she walked toward the house she shook her head saying, "You boys are so big and tall and handsome. I must be getting so old, but pizza tonight does sound good."

Chris and Sammy looked at each other and burst out laughing.

Johnny's family had just finished eating dinner when the doorbell rang. Joshua jumped up and ran to the door yelling, "I'll get it." He came back to the kitchen table and announced, "There's a black guy at the door for you, Johnny."

Johnny's father gave the child a stern look. "You don't have to tell everyone what color the man is, Josh."

Johnny went to the door and found Terry Garland waiting on the porch. "Hi Terry. What's up?" Terry was a junior at Holy Cross. Johnny only knew him from Brother James' science class.

"Sorry about the surprise, man. I just need to talk to you about a few things. Blaise, you know, has got some ideas and he asked me to run them by you."

"Run them by me?" Johnny laughed. He stepped back in the house and said, "Come on in." After Terry walked in the house Johnny closed the door behind him and said, "That Blaise is a trip, isn't he?"

"Tell me about it. Sometimes I think he asks me to do these little favors for him just so I'll have to turn up in these kinds of neighborhoods."

"What's wrong with these kinds of neighborhoods?" Johnny asked, puzzled.

"I'm not saying anything's wrong with your neighborhood, chief. It's just that you don't see too many brothers around here."

"Yeah well, the Jesuits really don't have anything going on around here," Chris said grinning.

"Those weren't the kind of brothers I was referring to."

"I know, man. Come in here and meet my folks."

Johnny introduced Terry to his parents who shook his hand and offered him dinner. "I've already had dinner, but thank you. It's very nice to meet you." He was still wearing his school uniform.

Johnny led the way to his room and asked, "Where did you eat dinner?" He guessed Terry did not go home after school.

"Taco Bell. Where else?"

"I love Taco Bell. But you know what? I always order too much food and I eat it all and then I order one more burrito before vowing to never go back. But I always go back."

Terry nodded his head knowingly. "I have a Taco Bell dependency. I'll probably end up in a program."

In his room, Johnny pulled a chair around and then sat on the bed. The room was small and plain. There was a twin size bed, small table, lamp, folding chair, and a few notes taped to the wall over the table. Johnny spent very little time in his bedroom when he was not sleeping. He preferred the garage or back yard for homework, and he was more comfortable in other parts of the house. Privacy was seldom an issue since his parents were quiet people who spent a lot of time reading and writing in their own private areas of the home. Johnny thought Terry might be more comfortable in his room, though, and he asked, "So what's up with Blaise? Why's he asking you to talk to me about something?"

"Well, Johnny, it's like this: Blaise has a lot going on and he normally asks certain people to handle certain areas that he feels are important, but would go over better if they took place without his personal involvement. You know what I mean?"

Johnny thought for a moment. "I understand what you're saying, but I'm pretty sure I have no idea what you're talking about."

"It's like this," Terry began to explain. He moved his hands around in front of him as if to add dimension to his explanation. "Sometimes Blaise feels very strongly about a position he's taking, and sometimes there are problems that confront him as he deals with the issues; it might be a school rule or another student who opposes his efforts. Whatever it is, it's not always effective for Blaise to personally take action. There are some of us guys who support him by doing whatever we can to smooth the way or work out some of the details, anything to make his job a little easier."

Johnny raised his eyebrows and looked right at Terry. "You're not here to kick my ass are you? I've been doing everything I can to help him with his algebra."

"No, man. Nothing like that. Besides, Joey Trevino handles shit like that. Blaise thought you might be able to help me with something I'm working on."

"You're not having trouble with algebra, too?"

"No. I've got to ask you a favor, though: anything we talk about stays between us. Okay?"

"Yeah, sure." Johnny leaned closer expecting Terry to start whispering or something.

"In at least the past few months an undesirable element has penetrated our ranks." Terry's tone was serious.

"Wait a minute, Terry. You're sounding like we're at war, and I'm getting some kind of an intelligence briefing."

"Look, man, I don't want to sound like a Saturday morning TV public service message, but we are at war. One of our guys has gotten involved in a gang or something and he's been selling dope to other guys. Now, the problem isn't so much that guys are buying and smokin' weed; but, this is the first time that we know of that one of our own guys is involved in the distribution of it and at school to boot. That's what I mean by an undesirable element. Anyway, our concern is foremost for the student himself. It appears that he wants to stop and get out of the gang, but that's really the hard part, isn't it, Johnny?"

"Getting out of the gang? Yeah," Johnny said nodding his head. "Oh yeah. Getting out of a gang can be a delicate matter. It doesn't look good for the home team."

"Blaise wants us to get this guy out, and do it without ruining his life by involving the school, the police, or his parents."

"And without getting this guy or anyone else killed, I suppose," Johnny added.

"That would be a plus." Terry looked at Johnny like he expected more.

"So why are you guys letting me in on this?"

"You're the idea man," Terry told him like he was supposed to know already.

"Idea man? What's that?"

"You're the guy who's going to figure out how we're going to do it."

Johnny laughed. "Why am I the idea man?"

"It does sound kinda funny, doesn't it?" Terry was laughing, too. He paused and said, "Blaise says you're smart."

"Oh, he says I'm smart."

Terry started laughing again. "He also says you know something about gangs."

Johnny let out a gasp. "Oh yeah, I usually work with the FBI, though!"

Now Terry was really cracking up and said, "And get this, man. He said...he said that you know how...know how to be invisible."

Johnny, remembering the conversation he had with Blaise earlier in the week, could not believe that Blaise could take something he said so seriously. "You've got to be kidding."

"No lie. And he was so serious when he told me. It was all I could do to keep a straight face. So tell me, how do you become invisible?"

"I don't really become invisible. It's just an expression." Johnny stood up and began pacing the floor, his hands clenching his hair. "Okay. If you're serious, and Blaise is serious, we're going to need some help."

Terry stood up. "What ever you need, chief. What ever it takes. Just say the word and you got it."

# Chapter 4—SATURDAY

Sammy woke up first. He looked at Chris's digital clock. 5:14 was too early, so he rolled over thinking he would go back to sleep. The foam mattress on the floor of Chris's room was comfortable enough, but he could not go back to sleep. He had too much to think about. Even if he could get out of his association with the Mavericks, there was Jeff to think about.

Jeff and Sammy used to be customers. Occasionally they would buy marijuana from a guy named Seth who was a year out of Lincoln High. Seth was funny and well liked, and he drove a nice car. Everyone said it was a dope car. Everyone knew Seth was a guy you could get stuff from. Everyone knew he was a Maverick. When Seth learned that Sammy went to Holy Cross, the wheels started turning in his head: as far as he knew, Holy Cross was an open market. Having someone on the inside could be potentially profitable. Indeed, very profitable.

Membership in the Mavericks was offered to both Sammy and Jeff. They talked it over before joining. The Mavericks were known to be a gang, but they preferred the term "organization." It was also well known that they were not a warring gang, but rather one that belonged to a business class. Sammy and Jeff saw nothing but free grass and the opportunity to belong to the secret world of the Mavericks.

On the night of their induction into the organization, they were each given a handbook and instructions to memorize it, and guard it with their lives. They were sworn to secrecy regarding the contents of the book and anything relating to the Mavericks. After their swearing in, the other members beat the shit out of them. Sammy couldn't believe what was happening. He thought it was a double-cross or some kind of a sick joke or maybe even a murder ritual. Then, as suddenly as they started, they stopped. Seth helped them to their feet and told them that if they ever betrayed the Mavericks in any way, what they just experienced would be nothing compared to what they would be in for. Then he shook their hands and congratulated them. The others gathered around to do the same. They were Mavericks.

Sammy looked over to the bed where Chris was sleeping. There was just enough of dawn's early light to see his face mashed against the mattress, his lips and nose contorted. Sammy smiled at the sight. Chris was perfect. Well, as near perfect as any kid could be, and Sammy's problem was that he just could not keep up. It was easier to let Chris go on and do his thing, pretending they had different interests. Sammy would have given anything to be like Chris, though. He idolized him, but could not let on that he did. The last thing he ever wanted to do was cause trouble for his cousin. Joining the Mavericks might not have caused a conflict, but he realized that the only reason the Mavericks let him in was to get the dope market at the Cross. It was not a big market, but it was growing. He did not see a lot of money, either, but Seth had told him to be patient. Soon, after he established a steady clientele, he would be allowed to introduce the good stuff. Then he would see some big bucks.

Sammy knew that _he_ was the problem. He had become a disease and was deliberately injected into the young and healthy body of Holy Cross High. Chris knew it. Blaise knew it. Sammy's plan was to never let Chris know what he was doing. In some deals he even had other students make deliveries for him in an attempt to keep his exposure to a minimum. It was a difficult charade, but it seemed sound enough. It was fun, too, to be honest. It was a game of high stakes, every trade a thrill. Was he sorry for what he had done, or just sorry that he got caught? Was he ashamed of what he had done, or merely embarrassed at being found out?

Sammy had two big problems: what would Chris and Blaise do, and what would Seth and the Mavericks do? Chris was not talking about it. All day Friday Chris acted like he always did back when they spent a lot of time together. And why not? It was he who had changed. He was the one, not Chris, who had run amuck, screwing things up. Was Chris putting off the inevitable? Did he have a plan to remove this cancer from his school? Sammy closed his eyes and envisioned Chris walking up to him. Chris grabbed Sammy in a tight embrace saying, "Sammy. Sammy! My very own cousin, Sammy!" Then Chris kissed Sammy very hard on the mouth and pushed him away. Sammy was shocked and embarrassed. He looked around and saw Blaise and a lot of other students looking at him while whispering to one another. There were Jesuits in long robes pointing at him while two police officers came up from behind and placed handcuffs on his wrists. They led him out of the room, but instead of seeing daylight and a squad car, they entered another room—a very dark room. The police officers removed the cuffs and lifted Sammy onto a table, forcing him to lie down. Then, several Mavericks gathered around and began pulling his clothes off as the cops left the room. They held him down to where he could not move, and a strip of duct tape was placed across his mouth. Then Seth appeared, smiling. Seth looked up and down the length of Sammy's body. He reached out and touched him. His fingers walked like a spider across Sammy's chest and then over his face. Sammy tried to talk, but only a muffled noise and snot came out of his nose. He tried to wriggle free, but could not move an inch under the tight collective hold of the Mavericks. The spider hand walked across his chest and down the flank of his abdomen, causing his muscles to twitch. The fingers traced the curve of his pelvis, crossed over his thigh, and abruptly ceased his balls in violent grip. Sammy screamed through his nostrils as every muscle in his body strained. Seth's hand squeezed and twisted and pulled. Seth continued to smile as electricity ran through his hand into Sammy's testicles and up through his gut. When the current reached his heart, everyone in the room vanished, and Sammy sprang forward to an upright position, gasping for breath.

His eyes raced around the room as he struggled to get free of the sheets and blankets that were wrapped around him. The luminous red numbers, 5:58, came into focus. The room was lighter now. He looked at the bed where Chris was sleeping, but Chris was not there. His heart was still pounding, though he was getting his breath back. The door opened and Chris came into the room, closing the door gently behind him.

"Where were you?" Sammy asked, still breathing fast.

"I went to the bathroom."

"When?"

Chris looked closely at Sammy. "Just a minute ago. Are you alright?"

"Did you grab my nuts?"

"Your nuts?"

"My balls! Did you grab my balls a while ago?"

Chris started laughing. "I didn't touch your balls. Honest, man. What are you talking about?"

Chris tried to look concerned while Sammy explained, "God, Chris. I just had a mother dog of a nightmare!"

"You dreamed that someone grabbed your balls?" Chris started laughing again.

"It's not funny, Chris. I almost had a heart attack." Sammy reached into his briefs and started feeling around, checking each one.

Chris really started laughing, and trying to keep from making too much noise, he fell onto his bed and buried his face in his pillow. Finally, finding everything in order, Sammy started to laugh a little, too. The sight of Chris cracking up into his pillow while wearing nothing but his shorts made Sammy feel more at ease. This was not the Chris who came to him in a bad dream. Chris was more than just a cousin. He was a good friend, and he knew how to make things better. He did not know how, but Sammy figured everything would be all right if he just left it to Chris.

When Chris was able to stop laughing, he sat up and said, "Well, since we're up so early, you wanna go fishing?"

Kathleen's mother told her to be careful. The idea of two kids like them going to San Francisco for the day frightened her. Her father was encouraging, however, and told them to have a good time. They had each been to San Francisco several times, but this would be their first trip together.

Blaise felt like he had to get away. He knew that he needed to leave Chris alone with Sammy for the weekend, and he wanted to be alone with Kathleen. The ocean air would help clear his head, and the sights would take his mind off of things. He and Kathleen would have a good time, eat good food, and talk about the future.

As they crossed the Bay Bridge, Blaise could tell that Kathleen was having anxiety. "What are you worried about?" he asked.

"This is the bridge that collapsed during the earthquake."

"Well, it's not going to collapse today."

"How do you know?"

"I just know. It's going to be all right. Okay? And even if it does, we're together, and that's all that matters in the whole world. You and me."

They found a public garage to park in, and then walked to the tracks where they caught a cable car and rode to Fisherman's Wharf. They walked for miles with the wind in their faces while eating sour dough bread. They talked about school and friends. They looked at each other and took pictures. They asked strangers to take pictures of them together and they took pictures of strangers. The diversity of people in San Francisco was a delight for them to see. It was a bright variation from their routine days of school uniforms and conservative neighborhoods. Blaise loved what he saw. It was so different and made him think of life beyond high school.

"What do you want to do after you graduate?" Blaise asked.

"I want to go to college, but you know that. I'm not sure what I want to study, though." Kathleen looked at Blaise and smiled. "Why? What do you think I should do?"

"I think you should do whatever you want."

Kathleen looked out over the Bay. "I'd like to be a doctor."

"You'd be a good one."

"You really think so?"

"Yeah. A pretty one, too."

She giggled softly and pulled his head to her. She kissed him on the forehead and said, "What would you like to do?"

"I've thought about it a lot lately. I know exactly what I want to do." He paused for a moment. Then, as if exposing his most personal thoughts, he said, "I'm going to join the Army."

Kathleen tried to not let her surprise show. She could tell he was serious, but she also knew that it was not common for boys from Holy Cross to enlist in the Army. Most who wanted to go into the military went to one of the academies or a university with ROTC. She asked, "Why do you want to do that?"

"I want to be a soldier. I want to see the world. I want to do something on my own."

"But why the Army?"

"I'm tired of people telling me what to do." Blaise laughed and said, "Just kidding. No, seriously. I always wanted to be in the Army. And I've always wanted to enlist. It's like something I have to do. I know I could go to college and be anything, but whatever it is I become, I want to be able to say I was a soldier. One day I'd really like to be the governor of California, but when that day comes, I want to be able to say that I was in the Army. I joined up." Blaise looked into Kathleen's eyes hoping to find understanding.

"What about us?"

"I want us to get married."

"When?"

"When I finish Basic Training. I'll come home, we get married, and then we go where the Army sends us."

"What if you get killed in a war or something?"

"What if the Bay Bridge collapses on our way home?"

"Don't say that."

"Say you'll marry me."

"What if they send you to somewhere where I can't go?"

"Then you'll just have to wait for me. I'd still be your true loving husband."

"What if it doesn't work?"

"What if what doesn't work?"

"Our marriage."

"Why wouldn't it work? You planning on running off with a better looking guy already?"

"I couldn't find a better looking guy if I tried."

"Then say you'll marry me."

"I'll marry you, Blaise Bizet," Kathleen said. Her eyes filled with tears and she wrapped her arms around him.

Blaise held her tightly. He breathed a sigh of relief, as though he had wagered his whole future on a single bet, and won. He whispered in her ear, "I have something for you."

Kathleen let go of Blaise and her face brightened. "What is it?"

Blaise reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a small package. "A present."

She snatched it from his hand and looked it over while turning it around and shaking it. "Blaise, you're full of surprises today." She carefully removed the wrapping and opened the box. "Oh my god! Oh, Blaise, it's so beautiful."

"It'll be a reminder. So you'll never forget that my heart belongs to you. And every time you see it, remember this day. After we graduate, we can officially get engaged, and I'll buy you a ring, but until then, wear this necklace."

Blaise fastened the chain behind her neck. A single diamond, set within a heart of gold, sparkled in the sunlight. "Oh Blaise, it's lovely. Thank you."

They hugged and they kissed. They walked on Fisherman's Wharf and they held each other. They were happy. Blaise was very happy—not once, until the drive back to Sacramento, did he think about school.

#

# Chapter 5—SUNDAY

Johnny was sitting on the floor with Joshua, making robots out of Legos, when the phone rang. Joshua jumped up to get it, but Johnny said, "Oh no you don't," and jumped over the couch in front of his little brother. "Hello."

"Johnny! What's up?"

"Hi Blaise."

"Hey, can I give you a ride in the morning?"

"That'd be great. Thanks. What's going on?"

"I'm just kicking back. Went to San Francisco yesterday, though."

"Is that right?"

"Yeah. Lotta fun."

"So what else is going on? I had a visit from Agent Garland Friday night, Blaise."

"Oh yeah. How did that go?"

"How did it go? The dude comes over and tells me about this war we're about to get into, and he tells me I'm your idea man. You don't say anything to me, but then Terry tells me you've decided that I'm supposed to figure out how to get this guy out of a gang. Who is this guy anyway?"

"Oh, sorry about the surprise. I couldn't find you after school on Friday, but you need to get with Chris tomorrow. He'll fill in all the blanks. Johnny, you ever go to San Francisco?"

"I've been there a couple of times. What's Chris gonna tell me?"

"Kathleen and I went there for the day. It was great."

"Who's mixed up in the gang world?"

"You got a girlfriend, Johnny?"

"Blaise, I asked you a question?"

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Who's in a gang?"

"Please, Johnny. Just talk to Chris about it tomorrow. So you got a girlfriend, or not?"

"No. I don't. Why?"

"I'm just asking. Maybe you could double with Kathleen and me some time. How 'bout it?"

"I said I don't have a girlfriend."

"You don't need a girlfriend to go out on a date. You just have to ask someone out. Better yet, Kathleen has this friend..."

"Woa, woa, now wait a minute. You're not fixing me up with..."

"She's a nice girl, Johnny. Pretty."

"Yeah, she's so pretty her friends have to find people who've never seen her to go out with her. No thanks."

"I wouldn't do that to you. Okay, I'll show you a picture first, and then you can decide, okay?"

"That's fair enough."

"Then it's settled. How's Friday night?"

"You've gotta show me the picture first."

"I will. Believe me; you'll want to go out with her. Trust me."

"When am I supposed to talk to Chris?"

"Tomorrow. You ever had a girlfriend before?"

"When tomorrow? Not really."

"You guys work it out. Whaddaya mean, not really?"

"I've never really gone out with anyone before."

"But you think about it, right? I mean you like girls."

"That reminds me, I had another run in with Vince. He told me to tell you that some things never change. What's that supposed to mean?"

"Long story."

"I'm not going anywhere."

"Why does liking girls remind you of Vince?"

"He thinks I'm gay. Or at least that's what he says, and well, he made some comments about you and Chris and me going for each other, that's all."

"Don't worry about it. He's just bitter."

"What's he bitter about?"

"That's part of the long story."

"I said I've got time."

"You wanna grab a burger? I can pick you up in fifteen minutes."

"Sure. I'll be waiting. Bye." Johnny hung up the phone.

To Johnny, grabbing a burger meant going to McDonald's or Burger King. Blaise took him to an out-of-the-way diner called The Red Rose where a guy named Jack took your order and then went back in the kitchen to cook it. Jack spoke with a foreign accent that Johnny could not place. Jack gave them menus and said he would be right back. Blaise did not look at his. While Johnny was busy reading the one-page laminated menu, Blaise told him that his best bet would be the number four—a double cheeseburger with bacon and fried onions. Hamburgers were served with your choice of fries or onion rings. Johnny's suspicion was that in a place like The Red Rose a person could probably ask for anything, anyway.

When Jack returned, they each ordered the number four with fries. Johnny asked for a Coke with his, and Blaise ordered a strawberry milk shake. Jack collected the menus promising to have their food ready in just a few minutes.

"Last year," Blaise said, "you won't recall since you weren't around, we had our election for this year's student officers. Every year since anyone can remember, seniors have won the election for president and vice president. Last year, Chris and I won the election and it wasn't even close. We won by a landslide." Blaise paused while Jack brought his shake and Johnny's Coke. "You should have seen the place when it was announced. Guys were yelling and jumping and high-fivin' and hugging each other. Everyone was shaking our hands and telling us what a victory it was for the juniors and the lower grades. Man, it was wild. I knew we would win, though."

"How did you do it," Johnny asked.

"We had a number of things going for us from the beginning. First off, the only guy the seniors could come up with to run was Vince. I don't know why, except that by the time so many guys get to be seniors, they start thinking about getting out, and school isn't the number one thing anymore. Then, we came up with a platform—something the seniors never thought of, I guess. We wanted to push for a more unified school. We promised to do away with the hard class distinctions that have long been a way of life at the Cross. Just because a guy's a senior doesn't mean he's got a right to lord over everyone else on campus. You know what I mean?"

"I'm with you so far."

"We tackled the issues. We told the students that we would fight for their rights to have equal time, space, and resources. We proposed student activity committees that would represent the diverse members of the student population. Vince got up and basically just told everyone that he was a great leader and that, if elected, he would, well, put Coke and candy machines all over the place. I really think that he just thought people would vote for him because he's on the football team and he's big. Any way, we rocked the house, and we've been rocking it ever since."

"So, Vince is pissed off because you beat him in the student council election last year."

"Yep. Wounded his pride."

"Who ran for VP?"

"Chandler Cross. That's another thing. Vince and Chandler never worked together on their campaigns. They don't even like each other. Chandler's a great guy, really, but we ran like we were on a ticket. They didn't stand a chance against our combined efforts. The office of vice president was always kind of vague, too, and in our campaign, we made it clear that the vice president would play a serious role in student government. You see, the constitution never gave him any duties other than a vote on the council and filling the office of president in the event of his absence. Now he's an _ex-officio_ member of every committee, he chairs the Student Action Committee, and he represents the school at events around the city. He really does more work than I do."

Jack arrived with the burgers. They thanked him and Johnny looked at his plate with wide eyes. "Wow. This sure isn't McDonalds."

"Oh Johnny boy, this is the best hamburger you've ever had," Blaise said as he picked up the one in front of him. He took a bite and closed his eyes. After chewing it a while he said, "This is a heart attack waiting to happen."

Johnny laughed and said, "Mmm. It is good. You know how to pick 'em."

Blaise wiped some sauce off his chin. "Any way, like I was saying: Chris is really the man. I can't tell you how much he gets done. He's brilliant, really."

"So why isn't he president?"

"You don't get to be president by being the smartest guy."

"How do you get to be president?"

Blaise grinned. "You've got to be pretty smart, true enough, but you've also got to have a charismatic personality and be damn good looking."

"Chris is good looking, and he's got a pretty good personality."

"Yes sir, but he's too type A."

"What's that mean?"

"He's too neat. Too organized. His greatness shows, causing other people to feel inadequate. He doesn't mean to, of course. He cares a great deal. The way he cares is by dealing with what needs to be done. Myself, on the other hand, I take time out to comfort and reassure people. I worry about the details later, or better yet: let Chris take care of the details."

"So what you're saying is, while the proof is in the pudding, it's the packaging that actually sells the pudding."

"Exactly."

"And that's how you got to be president. You, a junior."

"That's how, but not why."

"There's more to this amazing story?"

"One day last year Chris comes up to me and says, 'you want to be president of the student body?' I tell him 'that'll be the day', and before I know it, he explains this brilliant strategy to me. Next thing ya know, there's a revolution. You see, Johnny, it wasn't my idea."

"But you wanted to be president. Right?"

"After Chris convinced me that we could pull it off. Yeah."

"So you guys pulled it off, and Vince has had a case of the ass ever since."

"That's about it. Too bad, though: it's a shame to see a guy waste so much energy on the past. This is his senior year—he ought to be enjoying it."

"You like it, too, don't you? Being president, I mean."

"I love it." Blaise looked out the window, off into the distance. "But, ya know, I wish I was able to do more. I see so many guys who just waste their lives. They could be so much more, do more with what they have. They don't see the future. Guys like Vince who can't get over things not turning out their way; guys that can't get past thinking with their dicks; guys that get caught up in drugs and booze. The worst thing I see is people who are ungrateful for what they have. They're unhappy. They don't see how easy it is to really enjoy life. The way I see it, high school should be fun. People get way too serious—in high school, for God's sake, Johnny!"

"How so?" Johnny said.

"By thinking that this is the world."

"Don't you think for a lot of kids this is the world? I mean, what else do they know?"

"I agree in as much as this is all that we have experienced, but we also know there is a bigger world beyond our lives at Holy Cross. Just think about it: how many people do you know who have graduated from high school and gone on to college, jobs, families of their own? Some of their stories are sad, but for the most part, they live their lives well. They find their place. We have to find our place, too. It's not that difficult to envision any kind of life you might want to pursue after high school."

"You mean a guy's got to think about his future and not be totally wrapped up in the here and now?"

"That's right. You've got to ask yourself where you want to be five years from now, ten years from now. What kind of life do you want to have? How do the things we do now effect our future?"

Johnny thought for a few seconds as he finished his last French fry. "Well, I think understanding that what you do now is going to have a bearing on your future, all right, but for most of us, I don't think we go about doing things with that in mind. It's just understood. Doing the right thing is just a way of life, and, well, doing the wrong thing can become just as habitual."

Blaise slurped the last of his milkshake, and then scraped the sides of the glass with the straw. He licked the pink foam off the straw with exaggerated tongue action.

Johnny said, "You're sick, Blaise."

Blaise just laughed and put the straw back in the glass. "At some point you've got to make up your mind, though. Do you want to make something of yourself, or do you just want to screw around?"

Johnny leaned on the counter and got comfortable. "If you do the right thing all the time, the future will take care of itself. If you do the wrong thing too much, you might not have a future."

"Well said."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome." Blaise reached in his shirt pocket and took out a photograph. "Now look here. This is a picture of my girlfriend, Kathleen, there on the left, and that's Lisa. Pretty, huh?"

Johnny looked closely at the photo. "Well, yeah." He nodded, but continued to scrutinize the picture for signs of trickery. "What makes you think she'd go out with me?"

"Johnny." Blaise leveled his eyes. "You underestimate my intuitive powers. I know what this girl is looking for in a guy."

"Uh huh. What's she looking for?"

"You, Johnny. She's looking for you."

Johnny almost laughed, but noticed that Blaise's answer was void of smack. He just looked at Blaise and again he wondered how he managed to have such a friend.

It was pretty late when Chris and Sammy finally decided to do their homework. It had been a fun weekend, but the feeling that it was all over had settled on them both. Chris was re-reading an essay while Sammy was solving some math problems.

Chris wrote some notes after reading. When he was finished he put his pen down and watched Sammy. He waited until it looked like his cousin was finished before he said, "What do we need to talk about before we go back to school tomorrow?"

Sammy closed his book and placed his papers inside a notebook. He looked at Chris, took a deep breath, exhaled, and said, "Chris, the Mavericks aren't a joke."

"Okay."

"I'm sorry I ever got mixed up with them, but the fact is I did. And the thing is, you don't just walk in and say, 'hey guys, I've decided your little group isn't for me—see ya!' If I were to do something like that, well, let's just say they might not take it too well. They could just say it's all right and warn me to keep secret everything I know, but on the other hand, they could kill me. I don't think they're into murder, though. They might just beat me within an inch of my life."

"Are you serious?"

"Yes, Christopher. I'm dead serious."

"How do you know this? Have you seen anyone try to get out before?"

"No. But look, man. There are rules. Okay, look. I'm having a hard time explaining this to you because, you see, I swore an oath. I promised to never reveal anything about the Mavericks. So, you know I'm in, and you know I want out. But I don't know how to tell you why that's such a hard thing to do."

"So what you're telling me is, even though you want out, you still feel bound to keep their code of silence."

"It's my word, Chris. I gave them my word."

"Okay," Chris said. He stood up and stretched. "You can't tell me anything to help me understand why you're stuck in this gang. You gave them your word. Your honor binds you to keep silent. I can understand that much. And you want out, but the only way out is to either get the crap knocked out of you or die?"

"That's about it," Sammy said. He raised his eyebrows and bit his lower lip for a second. "Got any ideas?"

"Sammy, I have no idea. I have no friggin' idea what you're gonna do. I have no idea what any of us can do for you, either. All I know is, you can't continue doing what you've been doing. That's all gotta stop. But I guess if you just stop it's the same as telling them you quit."

Sammy just nodded his head.

"No matter what happens, you know I love you, man."

"I know. Thanks. Sorry I made such a mess of things."

"Well, it's not a mess yet. Look, I've gotta talk to some guys tomorrow. If you can't just walk out, then I'm afraid we're gonna have to take you out. It could get pretty ugly, I suppose. But here's the deal: There's only a handful of us that know. We want you to stop. I want you to stop. Nobody's judging you, and you're not in any kind of trouble with the school or the police. We're keeping it all under wraps. The thing is, Sammy, for God's sake, you're one of us, not one of them."

"I thought I could be both."

"You can't be both. We're not like other schools. Besides, you're family. I don't want to lose you."

"Are you tryin' to make me cry?"

"Yeah, I am."

Sammy took a deep breath. "I hate it when you do that."

"That's not all you hate."

"What else do I hate?"

"When I do this!" Chris lunged at Sammy and grabbed his crotch.

"Jeez!" Sammy shouted. He tried to push Chris away, but Chris had plowed his shoulder into Sammy's chest, forcing him over backwards. Sammy brought his left leg up alongside Chris and flipped him over. Chris let go while in the air.

"Ouch." Chris landed hard on his right side.

"You did grab my balls yesterday morning," Sammy accused.

"No I didn't. I swear, man." Chris held his side, laughing hard. "You should have seen the look on your face. That must have been one hell of a dream you had."

"I wasn't expecting that."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Better be."

"I am." Chris crossed his heart.

"Okay then."

Chris burst out laughing again and Sammy knocked him over the head with a pillow.

# Chapter 6—MONDAY

"How was your weekend, Chris?"

"It was great. We had a good time. You?"

"Kathleen and I went to The City. It was really nice. I'll tell you all about it later." Blaise edged his desk closer to Chris. He looked back at the door to see if anyone was coming. They were fifteen minutes early for class, but Mr. Crumel sometimes showed up early. "So what's up with Sammy?"

"Well, it's all true—he's in the Mavericks. He knows he made a big mistake and he wants out. The problem with that is he could get killed in the process of canceling his membership."

"Not good." Blaise checked the door again, and then looked back at Chris for more.

"He's still Sammy, though. I mean we had a great time. I forgot about everything else and he was his old self and we had a blast. I've really missed him, Blaise. What in the hell are we gonna do? We can't just leave him hangin'."

"I don't know what were gonna do, either. Terry and Johnny are handling it. You need to get with Johnny today and tell him everything you know. All right?"

"Johnny Monroe?"

"Yeah."

"You're kidding."

"No. Johnny knows what to do."

"Where did this come from?"

"Look, Terry knows the deal and he's worked it all out with Johnny. They've got a plan or something; I don't know. I don't want to know. And you, my friend, need to be careful, too. You are predisposed to get too emotionally involved in this one. Let them handle it."

"Johnny, huh?"

"Trust me. Just tell him everything you know. We can trust him." Blaise scooted his desk back into his row.

Chris took a deep breath and let his head fall back. "Little Johnny."

"Don't underestimate our little friend. He's a genius."

Chris laughed in resignation. "Okay. Anyway, we had a great weekend. Caught some fish. Played ball. It was good."

"All right," Blaise said. "So you guys are gonna be okay?"

"I hope so."

Chris saw Johnny right before science class. "Hey, Johnny. Let's do lunch—we need to talk about some things"

"Yeah, sure," Johnny said. He sat down in his seat in front of Vince.

Vince was sitting back in his chair. He put his foot on one of the legs of Johnny's chair and gave it a push, turning it slightly. "Looks like Chris wants you back. Blaise'll be jealous. By the way, did you tell him what I said?"

Johnny turned all the way around in his chair and said, "Yes, Vince. I passed him your little message."

"So what'd he say?"

"He said you're bitter, Vince. Get over it. Move on, man. For God's sake, stop acting like a fifth grader." Johnny turned back around to his desk and straightened his chair.

Vince looked at the back of Johnny's head while giving thought to what he had just said. After it sunk in, Vince realized that Johnny had just humiliated him in front of anyone who might have been listening. He looked around to see who might have overheard.

The bell rang just as Brother James was entering the classroom. "Good morning students," he said as he rounded the table at the front of the room. Everyone said good morning. Everyone, except Vince Januzi.

After class, Chris and Johnny headed for the lunchroom. They sat at a table against the wall where they hoped for some privacy. Chris got right to the point and told Johnny everything he knew about Sammy and the Mavericks.

"He's right about one thing; the Mavericks are nothing to mess around with," Johnny said. So what's this Sammy guy like? How did he ever come across the Mavs?"

"He's a great guy," Chris said. He looked down at his tray and his voice quivered a little when he said, "He's one of the greatest guys you could ever meet. It's my fault."

"What's your fault?"

"Him being in the gang. Well, I didn't get him into the gang. What I mean is..." Chris looked up at Johnny. "Sammy's my cousin. We've always been best friends. I think what happened is, I got so busy with this place that we stopped hanging out together. He would just go home after school, or whatever, I don't know; and I'd be doing crap with Blaise all day long."

"That doesn't make it your fault."

"You do one thing and you can't do something else. I know it's not my fault, but it wouldn't have happened if I was there. That's what pisses me off."

"Well, the important thing now is to get him out. Unfortunately, that's the hard part. So I need to talk to Sammy, but I don't even know him. When's a good time for me to get with him."

"Right now's as good a time as any; he's sitting right over there. See the blonde guy? That's him."

"Okay. Fine. And Chris, it'd be better if you just stayed out of it from here on in. I'll let you know what's going on at all times. I swear. But please, just let Terry and me handle it, okay?"

"What are you guys gonna do?"

Johnny looked at Chris and half smiled. He raised his eyebrows and said, "I don't know."

"Oh thank God. I feel better now that I know you've got a plan."

"We've got a plan, Chris. I just don't know exactly how we're going to pull it off, but we'll figure it out. Sammy's got to give us some more details and then I'm sure it will all come together. I'll keep you posted."

"If you need anything you let me know."

"Yeah, sure."

"Okay. Thanks." Chris stood up. He reached across the table and shook Johnny's hand. "You be careful too, you hear?"

"I hear ya." Johnny picked up his tray and walked over to where Sammy was sitting with two other guys. On his way over, Johnny pondered the turn of events that had changed his life over the past two days. Terry and Blaise had caused him to recall everything he had ever learned about life in a dangerous world. He had given thought to many things he had previously hoped to forget. But it was different at Holy Cross; he felt protected. Maybe it was Blaise and some of the strong guys associated with him that made him feel safe. He felt like he could get away with things that would have been impossible at Lincoln. Besides, Blaise had called him in on this one.

Johnny placed his tray on the table and sat down next to Sammy. "Hi Sammy. Can we talk?" Johnny could feel the other guys looking at him.

Sammy did not know Johnny, but he had seen him having lunch with Chris. He guessed the ball was rolling and this guy had something to do with it. He turned to his two friends and asked if they were finished eating. They said they were, and then Sammy told them to beat it. The two boys just stood up with their trays and walked away.

Sammy looked Johnny over and said, "So, who are you?"

"I'm your coach."

"My coach?"

"I'm your acting coach. You've gotta learn some lines before we can get you back on the straight and narrow."

"I see. So what were you and Chris talking about?"

"You."

"I figured that. What did he say about me?"

Johnny took a deep breath, exhaled, and said, "He said you were a great guy, and that I should let him know if we need anything."

"Are you trying to be funny?" Sammy asked. He did not like being the subject of lunchtime discussions, and it embarrassed him to know that a network of guys was trying to undo his screw-ups.

Johnny looked at Sammy flatly. "No. I'm not. And look, Sammy; I'm doing this as a favor for Chris and Blaise. I don't have to tell you how serious it is, but you've gotta tell me one thing: do you really want out?"

Sammy looked away while he thought. Until just then he had not thought about it. He had only felt caught, cornered, and exposed. Like Chris had said, he had to stop. Defying their commitment to getting him out would not be a smart move, and he could not stay in the Mavs without continuing business on campus.

He looked back at Johnny. "Do I have a choice?"

"No. You really don't. Not the way I see it. But still, you've got to want out to make this thing work."

"What thing?"

"We're gonna bust you out."

"I don't follow. What are you talking about, a rumble or something?"

"No. Not a fight. Murder. Cold blooded murder."

They met down in The Paper after school. Blaise handed Chris several sheets of notebook paper that looked like something he had picked up off the ground in the parking lot. "Here's my speech, baby. Tell me what you think."

Chris looked at the pages of handwritten copy. Many of the words had been crossed out and new ones squeezed in between the lines. Whole paragraphs were circled and connected to arrows to indicate where they would go better. The paper was mutilated. Chris said, "This is a pretty rough draft. How long's it been in your back pocket?"

"You can read it can't you?"

"I'm givin' it a shot." Chris sat down at one of the electric typewriters and started hammering away at the keys. At the top of the page he typed ADDRESS TO ASSEMBLY-2ND DRAFT. Chris typed somewhere around seventy-five words a minute while making spelling corrections in his head. He did not look up when Terry and Johnny entered the room.

Blaise said, "Hey what's up, you guys?" Good to see you, man." He and Terry embraced. Johnny looked on thinking that Blaise sure hugs people a lot. Blaise sat down and said, "Okay now. Where are we at with Sammy?" Chris continued typing as if he were in the room alone.

"Johnny's got it all worked out," Terry said. "Sammy gave us the information we need, and we've got Joey and Brian. It looks like we're gonna wrap it up Wednesday night. If everything goes according to plan, Sammy'll have a brand new life."

Blaise looked at Johnny. "So what's going down Wednesday night?"

"Well..." Johnny started to say something.

Terry cut in. "Let's just say our man Sammy will have an excuse to not show up at any more of the Maverick's after school activities."

"There is one other thing, though," Johnny said.

"What's that?" Blaise asked.

"Sammy's worried about his friend, Jeff."

Chris stopped typing. He ripped the last page out of the machine and pushed himself in the swivel chair away from the desk. As he rolled across the room he handed the draft to Blaise and turned to Johnny. "What about Jeff?"

"Sammy's afraid that if he leaves the Mavericks, Jeff will be left high and dry. From what I can tell, the only reason they took Jeff was because he's Sammy's friend. We thought about handling him the same way, but it gets a little too complicated, especially since Jeff goes to Lincoln. Now, were not worrying about Jeff. I mean he's not one of ours, but he could pose a problem for Sammy if he stays in and they remain friends. The way this is gonna go down is going to make it impossible for Sammy to have any contact whatsoever with the Mavericks."

"Damn it, Johnny. Sammy and Jeff are neighbors. What are you going to do about that?"

"Okay. I don't know. I'll work on it." Johnny stood up and headed for the door. "Come on Terry. We've got work to do."

Blaise said, "They make a good team, don't you think?"

Chris just looked at Blaise. Too many things were going through his mind to say anything.

Sammy rang the doorbell at Jeff's house and waited on the porch. He turned and looked up and down the street. Leaves were blowing in the wind as they fell from the trees. Everything was changing. Soon, Sammy thought, big changes would take place in his life, and it was only right that he give Jeff a heads up. He turned around as the door opened.

"Sammy! Long time no see." Jeff stepped away from the door to allow Sammy to come in. "What's going on, man?"

"Same ol' thing." They walked into the kitchen and Sammy sat down at the table. "You home alone?"

"Yep. You want something to drink?"

"Yeah, I'll have a Pepsi if you got one."

Jeff handed Sammy a cold can and said, "Whadja do all weekend? It was a bummer without you."

"I stayed over at my cousin's house. We did some fishing, played some ball. Had a pretty good time, really. You?"

"I just pretty much hung around here; nothin' else to do with you gone. Didn't feel like doing much. You guys get stoned or what?"

Sammy decided this was the best time to tell Jeff. "No man. Chris ain't like that. Anyway, bro, I'm leaving the Mavericks. I can't hang with them guys anymore."

"Dude. What are you saying? You know you can't just leave the Mavs."

"I know. It's going to be a little tricky, but I'm gonna let'm know Wednesday night at the usual pick-up. Jeff, I don't want you to go, either. You can make up your mind about what you want to do, but I'd really like for you to not be there Wednesday."

"Sammy. Do you know what they're gonna do to you?"

"They're not going to do anything to me."

"What makes you think that?"

"I can't tell you now, but you gotta trust me, man. Stay away Wednesday, and I'll fill you in on all the details after that. I promise. If you wanna stay in that's your business, but if you want out, I'll take care of it."

Jeff took a drink and sat down. He looked right at Sammy, the worry apparent on his face. "I don't know. I'm telling ya, man; we can't just up and quit these guys. Hell, if you leave, what am I gonna do? I can't stay in if you're not there. But then, I don't wanna get the shit beat out of me either. How are you gonna take care of it?"

"I've got some help, Jeff. Don't worry about it. I'll get with you Wednesday night and let you know what's going on."

"Don't worry, huh? Sure Sammy, whatever you say."

Blaise and Kathleen sat on the porch swing outside his back door. The sun had gone down and it was getting cool, so Blaise put his arms around her to help keep her warm as she leaned against him. He kept the swing moving by pushing off the ground with his left foot. Kathleen sang softly a song that Blaise did not know and they looked at the night sky. They stayed like that for a long time and when Kathleen finished the song, she started another one.

Blaise was content to hold her in his arms and listen to her singing while he secretly thought about other things. He shared a lot with her, but only the things that were his to share. He sometimes told her about Chris; like the time he switched combination padlocks on their gym lockers. He stayed in the shower extra long that day, until he heard the banging. Blaise said, "Let me try. What's your combination?" Then using his own combo, he opened it on the first try. Chris could not believe it, and Blaise told him he was just strung too tightly and needed to loosen up. Blaise switched the locks again without Chris's knowing in case he wanted to pull that one again.

He could not tell her about Sammy, though, and he held back a lot of the trouble he had with Vince. When Blaise was with Kathleen he wanted the world to be a perfect place.

She told him just about everything. Her concerns were real and he always tried to take them seriously. He used to try to help solve her problems, but quickly learned that she prefers that he just listen. There were times, though, when they did not say much at all. Those were moments they both cherished and quietly feeling the other person close by said more than words ever could. In the coolness of the night breeze their soft touching communicated perfectly the love they shared for each other.

Blaise knew Kathleen would have to be going home soon. "You wanna spend the night?"

"I thought you'd never ask."

"We'll make love into the morning hours and sleep in each other's arms until the birds wake us with their song to more love making. We can skip school and eat a late breakfast off each other's naked body, and then gently wash each other with soapy fingers in the shower."

Kathleen laughed and hugged Blaise. "I just remembered something: my daddy needs his car pretty early."

"Oh." Blaise slumped. "Leave it to your daddy to save me from the fires of hell."

He saw her to her father's car and kissed her and told her that he loved her. "Drive carefully," he said.

"I always do. Bye."

Blaise watched longingly as she drove away and did not turn to head back into the house until he saw the taillights disappear around the corner.

# Chapter 7—TUESDAY

Terry found Johnny in the cafeteria. Johnny was sitting alone. He had been sitting there for a while eating his lunch and wondering what he had gotten himself into. He looked around the room and wondered why he didn't have any normal friends. Why was he always alone when Blaise and Chris didn't need him for something? Maybe that was just how it was going to be at this school. At least the food was pretty good, he thought, and if he was going to be alone, he might as well enjoy it. He opened a textbook and was about to start reading when Terry sat down across from him.

"Caughtcha!" Terry said.

"Caught me?" Johnny looked around. "Caught me at what?"

"Caughtcha reading a school book during lunch."

"What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing's wrong with it. In fact, if you want everyone to think you're a geek, or a nerd, it's perfect."

"What do I care what people think?"

"You obviously care about what people think." Terry looked at Johnny and smiled. "Don't you? I mean, you don't care about what I think, or what that guy over there thinks, but you care about what Brother James thinks. That's cool. The thing is, Johnny, nobody cares what you do. You sit here reading your science book and nobody gives a rip."

Johnny knew there was more. "You just said if I want people to think I'm a nerd I should read my school books at lunch. Then you said nobody cares what I do. I don't get it; do people think I'm a nerd, or do they not think anything? What do you think?"

"Johnny, most of the guys here already think you're a nerd. They don't care if you stay that way. That's all I mean. If you don't care what they think, well that's that. If you want to change your image, though, you've got to do something different. Read a sports magazine or something. Make a bold statement: read a James Bond novel."

Johnny laughed like that was the stupidest thing he had heard in a while. "I could sit here and read Playboy! I could read Playboy and smoke a pack of Camels, and then the guys would think I was really cool. Thanks, Terry. I'll have to try that tomorrow."

Terry was laughing, too. "Yeah, that'd do it. Johnny, I don't think you're a nerd. I think you're awesome. People just don't know you. What I'm saying is, you could help people to know you like I do. Make those preconceived ideas they have about you go away. Open yourself up a little."

Johnny looked around the lunch hall. "I know, Terry. It's just that I still don't feel like I'm a part of things here. It seems like the only friendships I have here are the result of someone wanting something from me."

"That's how friendships get started. They're the result of opportunities. I wouldn't have gotten to know you if, like you said, there weren't something that I needed from you. But then you proved yourself. You showed that you care, and you're not in it just for what you can get out of it. I admire you and appreciate you. And, hopefully, you can see me as more than just someone who wants something from you. We develop a common ground and a mutual trust; then, before you know it, we're friends."

Johnny nodded his head in agreement. "You're absolutely right, Terry, as usual. Now tell me: what is it you want this time?"

Terry gasped in shock. "Johnny, you cut me to the quick! How could you even think that I would only come over here to ask you for something?"

"Okay, I'm sorry. What I mean to say is, if there's anything you need, just let me know."

Relieved, Terry said, "Well, there is one thing."

"Of course. What is it?"

"I need you to come to a meeting at my house tonight."

"I'm working on algebra with Blaise tonight."

"I know. Blaise is coming to the meeting, too. He'll give you a ride."

"You guys are amazing."

"Aren't we though?"

"So what's this meeting about? If it's Amway you're selling, count me out."

"No, nothing like that. It's just a Contingency Plans Committee meeting. I guess Blaise wants you on the committee."

"Well, I guess that settles it then."

"I guess it does."

"You got snacks?"

"Snacks?"

"At the meeting tonight. Are you gonna have snacks? You know, chips and Cokes and stuff."

"Oh, yeah. Sure. And for you, Johnny, Playboys and Camels."

"All right, man. See you then."

It was Johnny's first time going to Blaise's house. Blaise said they could eat dinner there before going to the meeting at Terry's. Blaise was not his usual talkative self. He seemed happy enough, though, smiling a lot and tapping to the beat of the music on the radio. Johnny thought about the first time he helped Blaise with his algebra, and how Blaise asked if he would have snacks. That was so much like Blaise, it seemed, to make himself at home in any situation. He could not resist asking the same of Terry thinking that it was in line with what he had talked about in the cafeteria. Terry had some pretty good things to say. Johnny knew he would have to appear to be more confident if he were going to fit in with the likes of Blaise and Chris and Terry. He could try anyway.

"So how's Kathleen?"

Blaise smiled. "She's fine."

"You see her every day?"

"No. I wish. She came over last night."

"You talk to her on the phone every day, though. Right?"

"Of course." Blaise looked at Johnny suspiciously, then back at the road, and then back at Johnny again. "Why all the questions about Kathleen?"

"I was just wondering. That's all." Johnny looked out the window and sighed. "It must be nice having a girlfriend like her."

"It's very nice."

Johnny looked at his friend and saw a happy man. He wondered what Blaise would be like if he did not have Kathleen for a girlfriend. Without thinking he asked, "Are you guys doing it?"

Blaise looked at Johnny and the car swerved. "What did you say?"

"I said are you guys doing it?"

"What the hell kind of question is that?"

"Sorry, man. If you don't want to say anything, that's cool."

"I'll say something," Blaise said. There was irritation in his voice, but more on his face. "No. We're not doing it, and I can't believe you would think such a thing about my girlfriend. I thought you knew me better than that."

"You're right. I'm sorry. I never should have even thought that."

Blaise suddenly looked disarmed. "Kathleen's a classy girl and I love her. Now Johnny, don't tell anyone this, okay. Kathleen and I are planning on getting married. When we get married, we don't want each other to have been used, even by each other. Anyway, we've decided to wait until then. I think that's one of the reasons we're so happy together. There's no pressure between us. She's something special and I know it."

"That's awesome, Blaise. You're a great guy."

"Of course I'm a great guy. I can't believe you thought I was such a slut."

"I never thought that." Johnny thought for a moment and grinned. "I was just asking. Ya know, a lot of guys aren't as strong as you in that respect."

"Like who, you? Are you screwing someone, Johnny?"

"I can't even find a girl to go out with."

"I told you I'm working on that, but you gotta promise me you'll be a gentleman."

"I promise. But if she's all over me, man, I might not be able to control myself. I might give in to the desires of the flesh."

"I don't think you'll have to worry about that on the first date."

"I'm sure you're right."

"Just don't worry about it. It'll be fun."

"Isn't it hard sometimes?"

"Man, I'm hard all the time. All I have to do is think about her."

"That's not what I mean. I mean is it difficult to have a close relationship with her and not think about having sex."

"I think about having sex all the time. Every instinct in my body tells me to go for it. My very soul yearns for the time when I can give my naked self to her completely."

Johnny took a deep breath. "Damn."

"Exactly"

"You must jack off a lot."

"I do. But I don't know if it really helps, though. Does it relieve the pressure or just make me want it more; ya know what I mean, Johnny? One time I decided to not do it for a long time, ya know, to see what kind of effect it would have on me. Well, I was so full of it that when Kathleen and I were making out I started oozing all over myself in my pants."

Johnny burst out laughing. "What'd you do?"

"I finally couldn't take it anymore. So, I was lying in my bed that night, right?"

"Yeah."

"And I could tell I was overloaded. I just barely started rubbing myself, right?"

"Yeah."

"But I knew it was gonna be a gusher and I wanted to see how much and how far it would fly and all that, so I looked down and damn if it didn't come out and hit me right in the left eye."

Johnny laughed so hard he stopped breathing.

"So there I was. Still pulling and still coming and blind in my left eye, but hell, I didn't even care. I swear, Johnny, I had blurred vision in my left eye for several hours after that."

"You see, it does cause blindness!"

Blaise laughed at that, but Johnny was still laughing uncontrollably as Blaise pulled up on the parking brake in front of his house. They sat there for a while to let Johnny catch his breath.

As they walked toward the house Johnny said, "You got snacks?"

Blaise threw his arm around Johnny's neck and cinched him up in a headlock as they shuffled along the footpath to the front door. "Of course I got snacks. What kind of a place do you think this is?"

The house was much bigger than Johnny's home, and the yard was enormous. The neighboring houses were also situated on large lots; the spaces between them reminded Johnny of the park in his neighborhood. Blaise led Johnny through the spacious interior of the house to his bedroom where he dropped his pack on the floor next to a wooden desk that was as big as the dining room table at Johnny's house. There were two twin-size beds against separate walls. He had his own bathroom, telephone, and entertainment center. Johnny stepped up to a sliding glass window that led to the back yard. The back yard looked like a national forest.

"This place is huge," Johnny said, still gazing out back. "How many people live here?"

"Just me and my parents now. My brother and my sister have long since moved out."

"Well, it's a great house."

"Thanks. Here, have a seat. Kick your shoes off. Make yourself at home. I'll get us some snacks." Blaise pulled his tie off and left the room.

Johnny walked all around the room looking at the pictures on the walls and the items on the shelves. He was careful to step around the obstacles—stacks of books on the floor, a bench press and weights, a couple of boxes. He went into the bathroom and pulled the door closed. When he came back out, Blaise was sitting at the desk with his algebra book open and enough food for five guys in front of him. He was reading a problem while opening a bag of chips. He read the problem out loud and Johnny started gently kicking a soccer ball around the room. Blaise asked questions and Johnny guided him through the process of solving problems. Johnny continued playing with the ball. He did not have to look at the problems to know what Blaise was talking about. The following hour was all about math.

Blaise looked at his watch. "It's a quarter to five." He stood up and walked over to the closet where he started taking out clothes. "Here, man. Put these on. You'll be more comfortable."

"Thanks." Johnny looked at the T-shirt and sweats. He knew they would be a little too big for him, but they would definitely be more comfortable. Blaise changed into the same kind of thing, and then he laid himself down on his bed and closed his eyes. Johnny changed and sat down on the floor with the soccer ball.

Blaise finally opened his eyes and looked over at Johnny. "Dude," he said slowly. "I'm about to fall asleep. We'll have dinner around six. You can lie down on the other bed if you want. I just need to drift for a while."

Johnny looked at the other bed and then back at Blaise. "Yeah, okay, but remind me to call my parents later. I told them I was coming over here, but I didn't tell them about Terry's meeting tonight."

"Okay. Why don't you see if it's alright if you just spend the night here?"

Johnny sat down on the other bed. "I could ask."

Blaise did not say anything. Johnny studied him for a minute and decided that he had fallen asleep. Johnny stretched out on the other bed and stared at the ceiling. He thought about what it would be like to live in such a big house. He closed his eyes. He liked it there. He realized that outside of his own home, it was the most comfortable place he had ever been.

Chris had a meeting to go to. Actually, he had two; but the meeting at Terry's house would not be until seven o'clock. He looked at the note he had written to himself: meet Tracy Miller at Friday's—4pm. Tracy was the vice president of the student council at St. Elizabeth. They were meeting to discuss the upcoming annual Harvest Dance. Traditionally, the dance was a joint endeavor held at the two schools alternately. The next one was to be held at the girls' school so Chris figured he would just let Tracy call the shots. He had never met her before, but he knew she was a senior and would probably take charge anyway. Chris just wanted to get the meeting out of the way. He had too much going on already.

Chris walked into the restaurant and the hostess met him right away. She asked him if he was the preppie who was supposed to meet a young lady. He told her that he was, and she led him to the table where Tracy was sitting, reading some pages in a notebook. When she saw Chris, she reached across the table and shook his hand. Chris thought that was very professional and he also thought that she was very pretty. She had long brown hair and she was wearing jeans, not her school uniform. She smiled and thanked him for meeting her.

"It's my pleasure," he said.

"I know it's a pain in the ass, but I guess somebody has to make sure it gets done."

Chris concealed his shock at her abrasiveness. Her smile, however, made him feel at ease. "Just let me know what we need to do." He hoped he sounded confident. Chris seldom found himself conducting business with women. He suddenly realized that he was conscious of every move he made.

"There are just a few things that you guys will have to do. I have them listed on this sheet." She handed Chris a piece of paper. "We're not planning on reinventing the wheel this year. Aside from the music and decorations, it's virtually the same thing as two years ago. I wasn't there, but they left me a good AAR."

"AAR?" Chris said it too fast. Just then he remembered that he knew what it meant. He felt like a buffoon.

"After Action Report."

"Oh, that's right." Chris tried to act like he was not all that interested. However, he was very interested. He wanted to know what Tracy's plans were for the dance. "You say you weren't around two years ago?"

"That's right. My family moved here from Washington. My dad's in the Air Force."

"What about last year's dance at the Cross? Were you there?"

"No. It was my first year and I really wasn't involved in things yet. And besides, nobody asked me."

Chris had a single hope, even if it was a long shot. "Has anyone asked you to go to this year's dance?"

"Not yet, but it's still early." She smiled and tried to keep eye contact, but then looked away.

"Nobody's asked me either. I mean I haven't asked anyone. Yet."

"What's taking you so long?"

"Well I've. I haven't been actually, uh." Chris thought he should just stop talking before he really looked stupid. He took a breath and smiled. "Would you like to go with me? To the dance I mean."

"Chris, we've only just met."

That was not a No. He was still in the game. "And I thank God. If we had never met, then I wouldn't be able to ask you at all. There's still time, too. We could get to know each other before then, and if you decide you'd rather not go with me to the dance, well then, you could tell me to take a hike. Whatta ya say?"

"Alright. Sounds like fun. But remember, you don't know anything about me, either."

"I'll have to have my people check you out." Chris smiled in victory.

"Why not? I've already had mine check _you_ out."

"Are you serious?"

"Of course I'm serious. You think I'd just agree to come out here alone to meet some guy I know nothing about?"

"Of course not. Good for you. Well, you're here, so I guess you didn't hear anything too bad. How about Friday night?"

"Friday's good. I'd like that. Thanks for asking."

"Thank you." Chris had to think for a minute. Everything had changed. His meeting was turning into a first date. "I forgot what we came here for."

"Don't worry about it. You just make sure your guys take care of everything on that list. We'll handle the rest. It's a cinch."

"Okay, great." Chris looked at the waiter who showed up to take their order. "Oh, I haven't even looked at the menu."

Tracy ordered a BLT and an ice tea. It sounded good to Chris. Rather than checking out the menu, he told the waiter he would have the same, but with a Coke.

With business out of the way and the food ordered, there was nothing to do except talk about each other. Chris was mindful of an important rule about dating and getting to know a girl: do not bore her by only talking about yourself. He asked her questions about her classes and how she like living in Sacramento. Whenever Tracy asked about him, Chris answered her question happily, but then turned the subject back to her. He enjoyed the conversation and found Tracy to be a very interesting girl. They talked about what kinds of things they liked, disliked, and hoped to do in the future.

They finished eating and Chris felt like they were off to a good start. "So, you had me checked out, huh?"

"I asked around. You know, to see if anyone knew you."

"Anyone know me?"

"Kathleen Knowles."

"What'd she say?"

"I'm not going to tell you what we girls talk about."

"Well, she's a sweet girl. Kathleen and Blaise are a pretty serious item, I think."

"I guess you and Blaise are pretty good friends, huh?"

"Yes. We're very good friends. I'm glad to see him and Kathleen so happy together."

"How did you and Blaise manage to take student government away from the seniors at Holy Cross?"

"I don't know. I guess the seniors just didn't want to deal with it this year."

"That's not how I heard it."

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah. I understand you guys ran a smart campaign. In fact, some people are still calling it a revolution."

Chris thought for a moment. "There was no bloodshed, and it was a legal election, so in that sense, it wasn't a revolution. I guess the fact that the seniors totally lost out, and Blaise has led the student body in a totally different direction is what made it seem so radical. People need a revolution every now and then, don't we? I mean sometimes you've just got to look at where you are and the way things are and then you realize that something needs to change."

"Yes, you do."

Chris could tell that Tracy was drawn in to his reactionary philosophy. "If you see something important that's being neglected, you have to do something."

"I agree."

"If a guy sees a pretty girl who doesn't have a date to the Harvest Dance, he has to do something about it."

"Absolutely. You can't just sit there and not do anything."

Terry had everyone sitting down in the family room. He had brought in a couple of extra chairs from the kitchen to accommodate the group. Johnny sat on the piano bench. He watched the others as they joked and punched each other's arms. Joey sat on the couch between Cory Smith and Brian West. On the other side of the room, Kevin Riley and Bobby Seins sat in armchairs. Terry walked into the room passing out cans of soda followed by Blaise with bags of chips and a plate of sandwiches. Blaise set the food down on the coffee table and picked up a Pepsi. He sat down on the piano bench next to Johnny while Terry looked around the room to make sure everyone had what they needed.

Johnny tilted his head toward Blaise and whispered, "What's the Contingency Plans Committee do, anyway?"

Blaise whispered back, "They mostly make lists of alternate plans for different activities. You know, in case something doesn't work out, or if someone gets sick, that kind of thing."

Terry, satisfied that everyone was comfortable, said, "I guess we can get started. All the members are present, though I thought Chris was going to be here, too." He looked at Blaise who shrugged his shoulders. "Okay. Our meeting of the Contingency Plans Committee will now come to order. We begin with a prayer to St. Michael."

Johnny bowed his head out of respect and listened carefully to the unfamiliar prayer.

The other guys joined in forcefully, "St. Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle. Be our protection against the wickedness and snares of the devil. May God rebuke him, we humbly pray, and do thou, O Prince of the heavenly host, by the power of God, cast into hell Satan and all the other evil spirits, who prowl through the world, seeking the ruin of souls. Amen."

"Amen," Johnny said as he lifted his head, thinking that was weird.

"I'd like to welcome the newest member of the committee, Johnny Monroe." Terry pointed to Johnny as if the others did not know who he was. They welcomed Johnny with applause and shouts. Blaise patted Johnny on the back.

"Thanks," Johnny said.

"Is there any old business?" Terry continued.

"None," Brian said. There was a knock at the front door. Brian got up and answered it.

"Sorry I'm so late." Chris sat down quietly on the floor.

Terry passed around some copies. "Here's the A list. We'll just start at the top like always. The first item is the assembly this Friday. Do we have a contingency? Do we need one?"

"None," Blaise said.

Terry checked off the item on his list. "No contingency. Okay, if we lose the gym, we'll just cancel the rally. Next item..."

Terry continued down the list while the guys fed him information about different activities and events. They discussed alternate plans for each one in case of bad weather, arson, epidemic, anything they could think of that would encumber the original set of plans.

Johnny thought the whole thing was kind of funny. He asked Blaise, "What's the point of this committee. If it's going to rain on the Booster Club's car wash, why not just cross that bridge when you come to it?"

"It's a front, Johnny. You'll see in a minute. Keep your shirt on."

"That's it for the A list," Terry said. "Let's take a break now and we'll continue with the B list downstairs in a few minutes." Terry and Brian disappeared through a doorway that led to the basement.

The guys were moving around and talking and eating. Chris helped himself to a sandwich and soda while trying to explain his tardiness. "It started out as just a meeting," he said. "Next thing I knew, we were sitting in her car showing each other family pictures and looking in the newspaper trying to decide what movie we're going to see Friday night."

"Sounds like you've been mixing business with pleasure, Chris," Joey said, patting him on the back. The others made similar comments. Blaise just grinned.

Chris stood beside Johnny and asked him how he was getting along. Johnny said he was having a good time and could hardly wait to hear what was on the B list. Chris laughed and said, "I know it seems a little ridiculous, but we've really got some good reasons. You'll see. Anyway, the A list is just the official list of contingencies that gets sent to the student council. All we do there is file it away. The B list deals with things that we really don't want to become part of the official record."

"What kind of things?"

"We'll get to that."

"So why bother to have a committee if it's all a secret?"

"It looks good on college applications. You know, extra curricular activities."

"I see."

Terry returned and told everyone that they were ready. Chris picked up another sandwich. "Nobody cares about contingency plans. What's important takes place downstairs."

They filed down the stairs into a room where everyone gathered around a table. A large drawing of the entire floor plan of Holy Cross High School was unrolled onto the table's surface. There were arrows and X's and various markings all over the paper. Johnny looked at it, orienting himself to the representation of the buildings he had only recently come to know.

"I'd like to talk about the fire alarms a little more," Terry began. He pointed to small, red squares that were drawn in each room and at various intervals in the hallways. "Our current plan suggests setting off the fire alarm in the event of a code five or code six."

"Excuse me," Johnny interrupted. "Code five?"

"Oh, sorry, Johnny. A code five is when someone comes busting into our school and starts shooting people. A code six is essentially the same, but happening from within, such as a student going off the deep end, bringing a gun to school, and then shooting up everything."

"Like that Columbine thing?"

"Exactly. It's not likely to ever happen, but if it does, we want to be ready. Anyway, our current plan says to pull a fire alarm if something like that goes down. Brian and I have been going through the scenarios, and look: if there's a situation in, say, room fourteen here, and someone pulls the fire alarm, what's going to happen?"

"Everyone starts evacuating the building," Blaise said.

Terry motioned with his hand to indicate the evacuation rout. "Everyone in rooms eight through thirteen will have to go right past room fourteen. That could be a bigger problem if we've got a crackpot who's just looking for random targets."

Brian said, "The best possible reaction would be a 9-1-1 call. Then the badge would be on his way, and unaffected areas can remain safe. Most guys have cell phones now. It should be easy enough to get a 9-1-1 call off unless your phone is in your gym locker. "

Terry flipped through the pages in his notebook. "That sounds good. And I think it only makes sense that, if possible, anyone who could make it to one of the pay phones or office phones could get a call off pretty fast." Everyone nodded approval. "All in favor of scrapping the fire alarm for the emergency phone call?"

Everyone said, "Aye".

"The ayes have it." Terry wrote in his notebook.

Johnny was genuinely interested in all that followed. They discussed several different scenarios in different parts of the various school buildings. Their list of defensive procedures was extensive. For example, in the cafeteria, a number of guys could pick up a table by the legs and charge a would-be attacker, knocking him over and potentially smashing in his skull. There was an inventory of every room, closet, and hallway, with suggestions for using items as defensive weapons. Fire extinguishers, mop handles, desk chairs, flagstaffs, electrical cords, everything imaginable was on each list. Johnny let out a gasp when he saw the detailed instructions for electrocuting a perpetrator with a pitcher of water and an overhead projector.

"How is this supposed to work?" Johnny asked. "I mean if you don't publish this, how is anyone going to know what to do?"

"You're right about not publishing it," Terry said. "But believe me, there are a lot of people who are well aware of these plans. The way it works is like this: everyone here, including you now, is responsible for disseminating the information in a deliberate manner. Here's a list of everyone in the school. You'll put your initials next to everyone you brief. The idea isn't to sell the information; you want to pass it on to those guys you determine to be up to the challenge. You can see that about eighty guys have been briefed and given copies of the plans. Whenever we have a meeting like this and make changes, I prepare an update that you can pass on to all the people on your list. It's really pretty simple. The idea is to have several guys in any given place at any given time that will react quickly to any given situation."

"So why not just print up a manual and give it to everyone?"

"That would be too overt. The administration would never approve of such a thing."

"Why not?"

"Liability. If you get hurt as a result of taking action based on a school manual, your family would have serious grounds for a lawsuit; especially when the official advice of law enforcement agencies is to drop to the ground and do nothing."

"I see your point. This is a pretty good thing you've got here."

"Thanks. I know we can count on you to be a part of it, Johnny."

Johnny was continually amazed at his new schoolmates. Their level of involvement in the real world was far above anything he had expected. The meeting was over, but Terry asked Johnny, Brian, and Joey to stay behind to go over the plan for Wednesday night. Blaise told Johnny that he would wait upstairs for him.

Blaise and Chris said goodbye to Cory, Kevin, and Bobby and closed the door behind them as they left. They picked up the leftovers in the family room and took them to the kitchen table where they sat down and started eating again. Mr. Garland walked into the kitchen and leaned against the counter top. "How are you boys doing tonight," he said.

"Very well, thank you, Mr. Garland," Chris said.

"Where's Terry?"

Blaise said, "Downstairs. Top-secret conference. They booted us out."

"Yeah, Terry likes all that under cover stuff." Mr. Garland poured a glass of water and sat down at the table. "How's school going?"

"It's going all right," Blaise said. "But Mr. G, check out Chris; he goes to this meeting today to plan the Harvest Dance, and winds up getting a date for Friday night with Tracy Miller."

"Must have been some meeting," Mr. Garland said, eyebrows raised.

Chris was blushing. "I couldn't help myself. She's just so beautiful and smart and everything."

"She is very pretty," Blaise said.

Johnny, Joey, Brian and Terry emerged from the basement. "We're done," Terry said.

"All right then. We're outta here." Blaise stood up and shook Mr. Garland's hand. "Thanks for letting us come over, sir."

"Anything to keep you boys off the streets."

Chris followed Blaise home. He did not feel like being alone. There was too much to think about, and the only thing he wanted to think about was Tracy. He had her phone number, but was it too soon to call her? That was something he would have to think about. Chris always liked having things in order. He preferred knowing what was happening next, and he liked being in control.

Dating a pretty girl like Tracy would be a new experience. He had seen how Blaise was a different person when it came to Kathleen, and he wondered what effect a girl would have on him. He definitely admired Tracy, though; she appeared to be very organized and in control. It was too soon to tell and he knew it, but he could not help but hope.

Chris and Johnny went to Blaise's room while Blaise had a conversation with his parents. Chris spun around toward Johnny and drew his imaginary six-gun with lightning speed, but he was too slow. He clutched at his wounded chest, staggered, and then fell backwards onto the beanbag chair. Johnny looked on with amazement. Chris coughed, sputtered, twitched, and finally, played dead. Johnny clapped his hands and said, "Bravo!"

Chris came back to life smiling. "This is a great house, don't you think?"

"It's big enough."

"We've had a lot of good times here." Chris gazed around the room while he loosened his tie and unbuttoned his collar. "I can't believe I've been wearing this tie all day."

"I still haven't gotten used to just wearing it at school."

"So you guys are all set for tomorrow, huh?"

"Yeah. It'll be alright." Johnny tried to not look too concerned. He knew that Chris was already worried about his cousin. "Terry, Joey, Brian: they know what they're doing. There's nothing to worry about—at least not tomorrow. I can't make any promises about the following day, though."

"You think those guys might come back on us."

"No. I don't think so. But like I said, there are no guarantees. If they do; well, we've got the B list."

"I'd hate to see that."

Johnny thought for a moment. "Yeah, I'd hate for you to have to see it, too."

Blaise came into the room. When he saw Chris lying on his beanbag chair, he dove into a handstand, took two steps with his arms and fell flat on top of him. Chris gasped and tried to roll out, but was hopelessly pinned. Blaise was laughing and showing no mercy.

"Get off, you're killing me."

"Say it."

"No way." Chris made another effort to get free, but Blaise held him down.

"Say it."

"Okay."

"Say it."

"Blaise is all-powerful."

"I didn't hear you."

"Blaise is ALL-POWERFUL!"

Blaise rolled off and sprung to his feet. He threw his fists in the air and said, "Yes!"

Johnny was sitting on the bed and grateful that he had not been the one on the beanbag.

Blaise gave Chris a hand up. "Let's go sit in the hot tub and you can tell us all about your meeting with Tracy." He opened the closet and took out three towels and tossed one to Johnny and one to Chris.

Chris and Blaise began stripping. Johnny said, "I don't have a swimsuit."

"I don't have one either," Blaise said wrapping his towel around his naked waist.

Johnny got the picture and started undressing. Chris threw his towel over his shoulder and went into the bathroom. Blaise turned the lights out in the room and called to Chris to leave the bathroom light on. He picked up his phone on the way out.

They walked down the moonlit footpath to the pool and hot tub, secluded by trees and bushes. Blaise and Chris lifted the cover and set it off to the side. Steam arose in the night air and swirled in the breeze until it vanished. They cast off their towels and slowly lowered their bodies into the hot water.

"I feel like a lobster," Johnny said.

"This is great," Chris said. He and Blaise were sitting with the water up to their necks.

Johnny was only halfway in and said, "I should have gone pee, too."

"Pick a tree," Blaise said.

Johnny climbed out of the tub and stepped carefully across the lawn. He could barely see where he was going.

"Don't get lost," Chris said.

When Johnny came back, Blaise was talking on the phone. "Yeah, they're going out this Friday. Really? What'd she say? Should I tell Chris? I'd better let you tell him. Okay. Johnny's here too. We're in the hot tub. Yeah. I wish you were too. I'd have to send these guys home." Eventually, Blaise handed the phone to Chris. "Kathleen wants to talk to you."

"Hello? Hi Kathleen. She called you? Is that good? She does? Should I call her tomorrow? I thought tonight would be too soon. I didn't want her to think I was crazy or something. Really? Yeah, well, thanks a lot, Kathleen. Okay. You, too. Bye." Chris handed the phone to Johnny. "She wants Johnny now."

"Hi. Nice to meet you, or talk to you anyway. I've heard a lot about you. Thanks. Uhuh. Uhuh. Lisa? Friday night sounds great. Sure. Thanks, Kathleen. Okay, here's Blaise."

"Hi, Babe..."

Chris moved closer to Johnny. "So you've got a date Friday night, too, huh?"

"I guess so. Do you know her?"

"Lisa? Yeah, man, you're really gonna like her. You'll have a lot of fun."

"God, I'm a bit nervous, though."

Chris leaned his head back and looked at the stars. "So am I, Johnny. So am I."

Blaise carried on for a while talking to Kathleen while Chris and Johnny sat back looking at the sky, acting like they did not notice the smoochy context of his conversation. He told her that he loved her about three times before finally saying goodbye. He switched the phone off and set it down. "Damn, I'm a lucky man."

"Yes, you are," Chris said.

"Well, she's lucky, too," Blaise reminded them.

"She certainly is," Johnny said.

"You guys are damn lucky, too," Blaise said.

"Why's that?" Chris asked.

"Because you get to hang out with me, what else?"

Johnny laughed and said, "That's my dream come true. Especially sitting in the hot tub with you naked."

"Oh, a wise guy, huh? Chris, I think Johnny needs to cool off."

"I think you're right." They each grabbed Johnny under the arms and pulled him up out of the hot water and headed for the pool.

Johnny came up sputtering and shouting, "Jeez this water's cold. Oh, jeez you guys I'm gonna have a heart attack."

Blaise and Chris jumped in the pool and started splashing Johnny and each other. Johnny climbed out and back into the hot tub as Blaise and Chris swam laps. The hot water felt like needles.

"That was great," Chris said, a little short of breath.

"Sorry, Johnny. Had to do it, though. It's good for the pores," Blaise said.

"Did either one of you happen to see my balls while you were swimming back and forth? I'm sure I left them over there."

"You're a good sport, Johnny," Chris said.

"Oh yeah, well I kinda have to be if I want to survive hanging out with you guys."

"At least you get to have your wildest dreams come true," Blaise said.

"That was supposed to be a joke," Johnny explained.

"That's okay, Johnny," Chris said. "Everybody wants to get naked with Blaise."

"All right, Chris. Tell us about your meeting-slash-date with Tracy Miller."

"Oh, man. She is so hot. It's the funniest thing, really. I go to meet her at Friday's, and we're supposed to go over stuff for the Harvest Dance. Well, we're finished in ten minutes. I mean, she basically just gave me a list—handle it. And that was that. So I started asking her questions, ya know, about last year's dance and stuff, but in such a way as to find out about her. Then I asked her if she had plans for going to this year's dance. Know what she said?"

"What'd she say?" Johnny asked impatiently.

"She said, 'nobody's asked me yet.' Well, I took that like maybe she wanted me to ask her, right?"

Blaise said, "Sounds like an invitation to me."

"That's what I'm thinking, but then she starts acting all hard-to-get when I do ask her. She starts saying how we've only just met and I'm starting to think maybe I blew it."

"Wait a minute," Johnny said. "You asked her to go with you to the dance next month as well as this Friday?"

"First I asked her to the dance next month. Then, because she was wavering, I asked her out this Friday and said that she could decide about the dance later, after she gets to know me better."

"I see," Blaise said. "She's taking you out for a test drive."

"I guess so. But, anyway, we spent another hour and a half sitting in her car talking. I think we're gonna get along just fine."

"Did you kiss her?" Johnny asked.

"No I didn't kiss her."

Blaise just laughed.

"What's so funny? It wasn't a real date. If I would have tried to kiss her it might have made her think I was thoughtless."

"I'm not laughing at you. I'm laughing at Johnny."

"Why are you laughing at me?"

"Because you ask so many personal questions. But that's all right, man. I like that about you. So, Chris, have you had sex with her yet?" Blaise was laughing again.

"Yeah. I just skipped the kiss. Seriously, you guys. This girl's really something. I wanna make sure I do everything right."

"You just take it slow, Chris. You'll be okay. That goes for you, too, Johnny. This Friday's a big night for all of us."

Johnny moved his hands back and forth in the water. "A while back I never would have imagined everything that's happened in the past week." He paused briefly. Blaise and Chris were silent. "You guys are some good friends. Thanks."

Chris thought about Sammy and the Mavericks. "You're a good friend, too, Johnny. I just hope you don't regret falling into our world."

"I hope you don't regret me falling into your world either."

"That'll be the day," Blaise said. "We have more control over our destiny than that, don't we, Johnny? We won't have anything to worry about tomorrow night will we? I trust Joey and Terry and Brian with my life; they seem to trust you with theirs. Is it going to be okay?"

Johnny did not answer right away. He had tried to keep Chris's fears at bay, but it was getting close to show time. "Everything we're gonna do tomorrow has been carefully thought out, planned, and rehearsed. There are risks, but we've calculated the likelihood of every possible outcome. You don't need to worry, but you will, so I'll just tell you: the worst thing that could happen is Sammy, Terry, Joey, Brian, and I get killed, but that's not likely. Joey and Brian, as you might guess, are in charge of keeping us all alive. They're impressive to say the least. The next worst thing that could happen is all of the Mavericks get killed. That's not likely either, but I'm happy to tell you that it's more likely them than us. Feel any better?"

Chris put his hands behind his head and stretched out in the tub. "Oh yeah. I can sleep now. Thanks, Johnny."

Blaise stood up. "I'll be over at Chris's house tomorrow night. As soon as you guys are clear, you call us." He got out of the hot tub and began drying off. "You guys are welcome to stay in there if you want. I'm a done Tom turkey."

"How 'bout one more dip in the big pool, Johnny?"

"I'm game if you are."

Blaise walked back to the house while Chris and Johnny tortured themselves in the cold water. He took a shower to get the chlorine out of his hair and then watched TV in the dark. It had been a long day, and he did not care to think any more.

Chris and Johnny were shivering and jumped back in the hot tub. Each one could feel his blood warming on its way back to his heart. Chris held his breath and submerged. He came up holding his head back, forcing the water out of his hair with his hands. "I guess I'd better go home now," he said. "Big day tomorrow."

"I suppose you're right. What time is it, anyway?"

"Beats me. I don't care. I'm usually up half the night, but I don't want my mother to worry about me."

"What do you do staying up half the night?"

"I read. Write. Watch late night TV. Whatever I feel like I guess."

"I'm usually in bed by ten."

"If I went to bed at ten, I'd lay awake till midnight. No I wouldn't. I wouldn't be able to stand it; I'd at least turn the TV on or grab a book to read."

"Well, my life hasn't been as stimulating as yours."

"That's all changing, isn't it?"

"Looks like it."

"Good. You're a great guy, Johnny. I think Lisa's gonna like you, if you don't blow it that is."

"What makes you think I'm gonna blow it?"

"I don't think you'll blow it, Johnny. You know the basics, right? I mean, don't sit there being afraid to talk, and don't just talk about yourself. Don't bore her with your life story, and don't be insensitive."

"Is there anything I should be?"

"Be charming. Complement her a lot, but not too much. Ask her about her interests and family, and be interested in what she tells you, but without patronizing her. She'll ask you a lot of questions, too. Be natural when you answer, and don't take it as an invitation to tell her everything. Be a little mysterious, but not scary. Know what I mean?"

"I'll probably stutter and drool and there'll be a green booger hanging out of my nose and she'll jump up and run out of there screaming."

Chris watched as the scene played out in his imagination, making him laugh. "Don't worry about it. Just think of her as a new friend. Be just like you are now with me."

"Oh sure, we might just end up sitting next to each other, naked in the hot tub."

"That's not gonna happen going double with Blaise."

"You're not kidding. Blaise is very serious about protecting a girl's virtue."

"Oh, you've had the talk?"

"Yep."

"What brought that on?"

"Well, we were talking. He was telling me how happy he was and all that. You know how he goes on about Kathleen. So anyway, I just thought they were, you know..."

"You didn't ask him if they were..."

"I asked."

Chris busted up laughing, slapping the water. "Oh my god. Oh my god. I would love to have seen that. Wooh-wee, Johnny! I've seen him go off on someone before like that. Oh, that's great. I love it."

"All right. I'm in check now—don't ask Blaise if he's been getting any. Well, I should be as virtuous, but if you'll notice, nobody's asking me how much I've been getting lately."

"Nobody's asking me, either. What's up with that? Would it be so hard to believe?"

"No, Chris. But then you don't walk around with that 'I just got laid' look on your face."

"Is that how it works? So what look have I been going around with?"

"You've got this business kind of look. All business. Except when you're having fun, which is often enough, but still, you're mostly business."

"Do you interpret faces all the time?"

"No."

"What look do you wear?"

"I wear a thousand different faces."

"What face will you be wearing Friday night?"

"Charming, I guess. Thanks for the advice."

"Don't mention it."

Brian stepped out on the back porch and lit a cigarette. He listened carefully to the sounds of the night: wind, leaves, nothing unusual. He walked out to the shop situated in the far corner of the back yard. They called it a shop, anyway. It was really a large shed with workbenches and tools, his mother's gardening supplies, his father's table saw, and his brothers' bicycle parts. Brian had his own section of the shop. He had set up a stereo system and brought in some old bar stools and a fridge. The whole family used it, but Brian thought of it as his.

He pulled a wood frame canvas off the shelf and set it on the easel. He smoked his cigarette while flipping through a 1996 National Parks calendar. Yosemite was his favorite, but he had done them all. He studied the April print: Yellowstone, Wyoming. Smoke drifted into his eyes and he squinted while holding the picture up in the light. He said out loud, "Old Faithful." He dropped the butt on the floor and stepped on it and turned the stereo on. Brian always waited until he selected a subject before turning on the music. Each picture determined the type of music he would listen to while he worked. This one called for classical.

He reached under the bench and picked up his paint box by the handle, set it on the bench, and brought the key out of his pocket. Brian kept his paints and brushes, like everything he valued, in good condition and under lock and key.

The music became colors in his mind as he listened and squeezed the tubes. Cerulean blue, white, burnt umber, forest green; each color had a sound. With a pencil and ruler, he divided the calendar picture into four equal sections. He stood with the palette on his left hand and a brush in his right hand, took a breath and said, "In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth."

Blaise was sitting in the beanbag chair in his bathrobe when Chris and Johnny came in. "Bout time. Thought I was going to have to fish you guys out."

"We were talking about you, Blaise," Chris said. "That takes time you know." He threw his towel at Blaise who managed to catch it.

"You cover the hot tub?"

"Yes boss." Chris pulled his pants on.

Johnny looked around the room for his clothes, but did not see them.

Chris tied his shoes. "See you guys in the morning. Don't stay up all night telling spooky stories."

"We're gonna talk about you all night."

Chris took the moisturizing lotion tube off the shelf and tossed it to Blaise. "Well then you'll be needing this. You better keep my towel close by, too."

Blaise laughed. "Drive safe, Chris."

"I always do. See ya, Johnny."

"Yeah, see ya tomorrow." Johnny gave up looking for his clothes.

"I put your clothes in the washing machine so you'll have a clean shirt and underwear in the morning. Just remind me to put 'em in the dryer. Your pants and jacket are in the closet."

"Thanks, Blaise. You think of everything."

"Go ahead and take a shower—get that pool water out of your hair."

"Okay. Thanks."

Blaise opened his closet. "Here's a robe you can wear."

Johnny looked into the walk-in closet. "Dang. You think you've got enough clothes?"

"My mom doesn't think so. She's always adding to it."

After Johnny's shower, they watched The Tonight Show and played chess on the floor while eating Pop-Tarts and drinking milk.

"So when are you guys getting married?"

Blaise remembered their talk on the way home and chuckled. "When I get back from basic training."

"Basic training? What, you're gonna join the Army?"

"Soon as I graduate."

"You're joining the Army?"

"That's what I said. Isn't that what I said?"

"Yeah, but why are you joining the Army?"

"Why does anyone join the Army?"

"I don't know: Because they can't find a job; because they don't want to go to college? Because they want to give up their constitutional rights and get yelled at all day long? You tell me."

"You're being narrow-minded."

"Narrow-minded? You're the one joining the Army."

"Yeah, well maybe I've got bigger plans than just going to college and getting a job."

"Sorry, I tend to jump to conclusions. What's your bigger plan?"

"I'm gonna get married. Serve my country. Go to college. Become governor of the Great State of California. That's just the short version, of course. We'll be having babies and I'll be writing and stuff, too. Life's too short to just go to college, get a job, and die."

"Wow. That's so cool. I never would have imagined something like that. When I think about the future, I just think I'll go to college. I don't really know what to think about life after that. I guess if you love someone, your plans change, too."

"They do. But mostly, you have to figure out what you want. I don't see how you can be happy with your life if you just take it as it comes. You've got to make your life what you want it to be. I've always wanted to be a soldier. I love Kathleen. There are a lot of variables in my life, but still, I've got to work things out so that it's my life. You can't just take life as it comes. You have to get out there and get the life you want. Understand?"

"You're the deepest guy I've ever met, Blaise."

"Ah shucks, Johnny." Blaise got up and rustled Johnny's hair. "I'm ready to crash, but I better get your drawers in the dryer. You don't want to go to school with wet under shorts."

Brian sat on the bar stool looking at his painting. He lit another cigarette and thought about adding some things that were not in the calendar picture. It was his picture now, but it could wait until next time.

He switched the radio to AM and turned the dial to 114—country music came out of the speakers. Brian locked the paint box and returned it to its place under the bench beside another one just like it. He picked up the second box and set it on the bench and unlocked it. He slowly lifted the lid and picked up the nickel-plated .38, a Smith and Wesson. He checked the safety, popped open the cylinder and gave it a spin. After loading the weapon, he snapped the cylinder back and returned the gun to its place in the custom-cut foam padding. The Browning 9mm felt good in his hand. He checked the safety and locked the bolt to the rear. After inserting a magazine, he rode the bolt forward with a flick of his thumb. He carefully placed it back in the case and took out his favorite, a Ruger Black Hawk .44 magnum. He held the massive six-shooter in his hand and said, "Old Faithful." After loading the Black Hawk, he locked it up again with the others. He carried the case as he turned off the stereo and the lights and closed the door behind him. Brian walked slowly and quietly out to the front of the house where he placed the gun case behind the seat in his pickup truck. He set the alarm, flicked his cigarette out into the street and walked went back in the house.

"Hey Blaise."

"Yeah."

"Thanks for being such a good friend. I had a really good time tonight."

"Sure thing, Johnny."

"Well, good night."

"Good night. Sleep well."

Just enough light came from somewhere through the window to make the ceiling and walls visible. Johnny turned onto his right side and lay there in thought. It was a strange feeling. The bed was softer than his, and he was not used to sleeping without underwear. It seemed to him that there was a lot that he was not used to lately. Blaise lived in a world that was different than his. He was not used to it, but he liked it. Blaise knew a freedom that Johnny had not experienced before. The way Blaise spoke, the way he lived was so bold and sure, and Johnny wondered if he could live that way, too.

# Chapter 8—WEDNESDAY

"It's time to get up, Blaise. Honey, you've got to get ready for school."

Johnny opened his eyes. He had not forgotten that he spent the night at Blaise's house, but waking up there gave him a feeling of not knowing what to do. Blaise's mother telling them to wake up and Johnny lifted his head to look at her with dry morning eyes.

"I'll have breakfast ready in about twenty minutes."

"Okay, Mom." Blaise did not move. He did not open his eyes.

"Did you sleep well?" She was looking at Johnny.

"Very well. Thank you." Johnny wondered if she knew he was naked under the covers. He pulled the blankets up over his chest.

"I'll just set your clothes over here." She put the neatly folded clothing on the dresser and hung his pressed shirt on one of the drawer handles.

"Thanks." Johnny was sure she knew he was in the buff.

"Johnny."

"Yeah, Blaise?"

"Wake me up when you're out of the shower."

Chris and Sammy had lunch together. They sat off by themselves in the cafeteria and talked about how their classes were going. Sammy told Chris that he was doing better and that he was trying to get his head back in the game. It was small talk compared to what they were really thinking. In fact, Chris thought Sammy looked different, but he could not put his finger on it. It was not his hair or physical appearance, but maybe just the way Chris was seeing his cousin. He felt a subtle lump of emotion rise in his chest as he pretended to be interested in the conversation they were making for each other. Chris was ashamed of himself for playing this game. He wanted to tell Sammy what he was really thinking; that he loved him and did not want him to do anything that might get him hurt or even killed. It was stupid to think that Sammy would even let him go there. There was a line drawn between those who were in on the plan and those who were not. It had to be that way, though, and Chris hated it.

What he really hated and what made him see Sammy differently was the uncertainty of ever seeing him again. He did not want to lay that trip on Sammy, however, and chitchat was not doing the job, so he changed the subject: "I've got a date this Friday night."

"You've got a date? With whom?"

"Tracy Miller."

Sammy thought about the name. "Don't know her."

"She goes to St. Elizabeth."

Sammy saw the look in Chris's eyes. "Dude, what's she like?"

"She's really hot." Chris smiled, finally.

"Where'd you meet her?"

"We're working together on the Harvest Dance."

"So what are you gonna do Friday?"

"Dinner and a movie. You know, first date stuff."

"Well, have a good time, man."

"Thanks. I'll try. I just hope she does."

"She will. Just tell her about me if she starts to lose interest in you."

"If I tell her about you, I'd probably see the two of you together at the Harvest Dance. No thanks."

"I wouldn't steal your girl."

"You wouldn't have to—she'd dump me."

"Why do you say that?"

"Look at you, Sammy. You're like the most handsome guy I know. You're funny, athletic, talented, smart. When it comes to chicks, man; you're the competition."

"Don't underestimate yourself. Besides, you're the smart one. You're what a girl wants."

"Is that right?"

"Yeah. You might try relaxing, though. You're too uptight sometimes."

"You think?"

"Yeah. You need to live in every moment, Chris. When you're with a girl, don't ever think about what comes next. Enjoy what you have right then. What comes next is never what you plan anyway."

"Everybody wants to give me advice lately."

"Everybody loves you."

"Well, I'll take what I can get. Thanks."

Sammy reached into his coat pocket. "I've been writing the past couple of nights. Think you could read this and let me know what you think?"

Chris took the paper. "What's this—about a thousand words?" Chris leafed through the pages. "Yeah, of course I'll read it."

"It's just something I wrote. It's about fifteen hundred, actually. I've been in a writing kind of mood lately."

Chris folded the pages and put them in his pocket. He kept his hand there for a moment feeling the paper, this paper that had become part of Sammy and was now being passed on to him—just in case. He took his hand back out and reached across the table to Sammy. "I'll be waiting for you to call me tonight. You take care now."

Sammy took Chris's hand and grasped it firmly. "I will."

As Blaise and Chris were leaving the building, Chris noticed Mr. Crumel taking down the pictures from the display board. Chris said to Blaise, "Hold up. I want to talk to Mr. C." He walked over to Mr. Crumel and said, "Hi Mr. C."

"Hello there, Chris. How are you?"

"Fine, Sir. This was a powerful display. I hate to see it go."

"Yes. It is certainly very moving."

Chris sorted through the pictures on the cart where Mr. Crumel had set them. He found the Polish boy and held the print up. Mr. Crumel watched Chris standing there, gazing. He saw the faraway look on his face. "Does that one mean something to you?"

"This one, yes."

"What about it?" Mr. Crumel spoke softly, not wanting to risk interrupting Chris's apparent connection with the picture.

Chris sort of smiled with embarrassment. "This one has been haunting me for a week now."

The history teacher smiled and nodded his head. "Then you must take it. It's yours now. Find out what it is about this picture that haunts you. Then figure out what to do about it, Chris. Don't try to forget about it: take it on. Wrestle with it where it hurts."

Chris looked at Mr. Crumel and said, "Thank you." He looked at the picture again and walked away.

Blaise was waiting by the front doors. They got in his car and went to Chris's house where they did homework and watched after-school cartoons. Blaise called Kathleen and talked for quite a while. Chris kicked back on his bed and did nothing. After dinner, they sat in the bedroom and waited without saying very much. Chris thought about his cousin and the Polish boy. There was no relationship between the two thoughts, but they were both real and made him feel helpless.

Chris suddenly remembered Sammy's essay. He took it out of his school blazer pocket and sat down on the floor to read it.

The Substance of Pain and Sorrow

By Samuel White

We started playing chess when we were in the fifth grade. It all began one day when my father came home with a new chess set and told me it was mine. He set it up and taught me how all the pieces moved. I stayed awake late that night with a flashlight in my room, and I played out several games that were written up in a book called How to Play Chess and Win. As the games played out, I could see that there was more to the game than just moving pieces or even capturing opponents: the idea was to think ahead.

My cousin, Chris, knew how to play already, though he had never played much. We started playing a lot after school, and we actually got pretty good. By the time we were in the eighth grade, we couldn't find anyone good enough to beat us, so we continued to play each other. We were pretty much dead even. I would have to beat him after suffering a bloody defeat on the checkered battlefield, but only to fall again to his wrath in the next round. Some of my favorite memories are of games that ended in a draw.

Things are different in high school. It is more important to do other things after school. Sure, we play the occasional game when there is nothing going on, and we are still pretty good.

We taught ourselves, and each other, to play the game well. And the game taught us something, too: life, like chess, is a series of moves. Every move is an advance, an attack, or a retreat. Take, for example, asking a girl out. The advance is taking that first step, talking to her or even just sitting next to her in church. Advances are not made without at least some planning. One has to be sure the move is safe—if she has a boyfriend, it's a dangerous move.

The attack is likely to have more risks and will certainly bring on some kind of a reaction. That is when you actually ask her out or kiss her for the first time. It is important to think of every possible reaction to a move. The counter attack that you do not see is the one that gets you. Any unforeseen move might call for a retreat. Just when everything seems to be going well with the girl, first date, first kiss—something happens: maybe she's a two-timer or she wants out of the relationship; she moves too fast, talks about marriage; she turns out to be a freak. Anything.

Life is filled with victories and defeats. When we forget to learn from them, we end up with more losses than wins. A triumph will bring happiness even if the process of achieving it is painful, but a loss is always sad.

There are many kinds of loss. Anything held in value, whether that value is real or imagined, will be missed if it is lost. The degree of regret or sadness is relative to the degree of value. People and relationships, of course, are the most precious. When they are lost the pain goes very deep.

I had a very dear friend whose name was Annie. We had gone out a few times, and I liked her. I liked her a lot. She had to go to the hospital one day because her doctor said tests were needed after she went to see him about headaches and dizziness. At the hospital, they determined that she had a brain tumor. I went to see her every day, but she only got worse. It never occurred to me that she might die, and one day I went to see her and her bed was empty. By then all the nurses knew me, and when one of them saw me standing in the doorway, frozen, she came over, put her arm around me and said, "Annie passed away this morning. I'm so sorry." I went into the empty room and sat down, and there I cried like I've never cried before.

One thing the game of chess never taught me was that we are only one piece in the game. There are rules that apply to the way we are allowed to move. Beyond those moves that we can make, everything is out of our control. In chess, the players control all the pieces. Every move, every kill, every sacrifice is determined by the player. In life, the players are just pieces in a great on-going game where they have little control.

I had made my move with Annie. The future I saw for us was not the future that was to be. Since then, I have been in a perpetual state of retreat. Until now, I have never shared my loss with anyone—I have simply kept the pain and sorrow to myself. It is that pain and that sorrow that has taught me something else about life: sadness is a real and quantifiable substance.

Sadness brought on by personal loss is different than pain resulting from physical injury. When we were children, we cried when we fell down and scraped a knee, but not because it hurt. We cried because we did not understand. What we do not understand frightens us. Long after we have learned why a scraped knee hurts, we still get that lump in the chest, that feeling of despair, when something happens that we do not understand, whether it involves physical pain or not.

The hardest thing to accept is the fact that you have no control over certain things that affect you. We spend a great deal of time making moves that will increase our ability to control our own lives.

To acknowledge a personal loss, one must admit a certain degree of loss of control. The degree of that loss of control depends on 1.) the importance of that which was lost and 2.) the level of responsibility that you understand to be yours. Who would not do everything within his power to keep from losing someone he loves, and to what lengths would he go to preserve his cherished possessions?

We can actually understand a lot, though. If your friend was run over by a bus and killed, your loss would be great, and you would feel a lot of pain. You might have a lot of questions, too; like why did this happen? If your friend had been drinking and then stepped out into traffic without looking, your questions would be different than if he died because you invited him to dinner, asked him to meet you at five o'clock, and a bus came crashing through the wall of the restaurant where he was waiting for you. Understanding how much control you are actually responsible for will contribute toward dealing with the loss.

When I first had to confront my loss, I could not see beyond myself. The pain and suffering was mine, all mine. I could not see that what happened was inevitable, and I did not know that there was nothing I could have done about it. I had forgotten the fact that Annie had a type of cancer that would have killed her whether I knew her or not, and I was unable to see that my friendship was an important part of her last days. She died knowing that she was loved. If I had not known her, I never would have suffered losing her, but her own suffering would have been greater.

It took me a long time to realize this, and my loss was compounded by my desire to remain in self-pity. I decided to shut out everyone who wanted to be close to me. I turned to people, and things, that could gratify me without being important enough to cause pain should I lose them. What I ended up with was an empty, lonely existence.

They say it is better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all. I guess that's true. I should have realized it sooner. I could not see it until someone came looking for me. He found me living in the midst of death, and invited me to return to the living. At first I did not want to go. I wanted to stay where it was safe, in that place where nothing anyone does matters. But then I saw the truth about pain and suffering: it is a quantifiable substance that can be cast off by one person and assumed by another, but it never goes away. I had learned to avoid sorrow by allowing my suffering to be transferred to others. I had avoided the risk of loss by eliminating the possibility of personal relationships. My potential suffering became the suffering of those whom I had forsaken.

Pain and suffering never go away, but they can be transformed. When we allow our sorrows to take us to the place where memories are kept, lessons are learned, and the will to live wells up from a deep spring of life; pain and suffering can be transformed into joy and laughter. Memories of past loves give us hope for better days to come. The will to live combined with that which we have learned makes loving again possible, and loving again is living.

Sammy went home, changed his clothes and sat down with some milk and cookies. It was quiet in the house. He usually did not enjoy a quiet, empty house; it made him feel alone. He dealt with it by turning on music or the TV, sometimes both, and calling friends on the phone or just getting in his car and going somewhere. As he finished his glass of milk he noticed how peaceful it was there. It was a new experience for him to sit quietly and enjoy it. As he looked around the front room of the house he grew up in, he realized that he had been very fortunate. The fact that he was just figuring it out saddened him and made him feel a little ashamed.

Sitting in his father's big EZ chair, Sammy looked at the photographs on the wall. There was one of him and Chris together. The picture was about three years old, and it made him smile as he remembered the day it was taken. They were in the eighth grade then and had posed for the picture in their baseball uniforms. They had just won the league championship—jubilation was on their faces. Afterwards, the team went for pizza. Sammy thought about that; if they had lost, they would have gone for pizza anyway.

There were so many good things to think about, but it was too easy to get busy and not think about them. Chris, Sammy thought, was the smart one: he stayed out of trouble, got good grades, and he even managed to get a date with pretty girl. Sammy had blamed Chris for the way things had turned out, but after he thought about it long enough to be honest with himself he knew it was his own damn fault.

He sat alone in the quiet and contemplated the thing that he had to do before he could get his old life back. He looked at his watch and saw that he was running out of time. When he stood up, he looked out the window and saw Brian getting out of his pickup. It was time.

Sammy was a little behind schedule when he showed up at the Camellia Garden mini mall. The shops were all closed with the exception of a grocery store. They met on the backside of the mall where the parking lot was empty. Camellia Garden was made up of several five-sided units that were joined together by covered walkways. It was only one of many meeting places for the Wednesday night pickups. Seth never did business at the same place twice in a row. He was always a little nervous.

"Sorry I'm late." Sammy twirled his keys on his finger as he approached Seth and three other Mavericks.

They were gathered around a picnic table under the roof at the end of one of the walkways. Seth looked at his watch. "I was beginning to wonder if you were going to show, Sammy. Where's your side-kick?"

"Jeff couldn't make it. Some family thing." Sammy handed an envelope to a guy named Smitty. "I don't think we'll be seeing much of Jeff any more."

Seth looked puzzled. "And why's that?"

"They're moving. To Idaho, I think." Sammy knew some of the guys would see Jeff at Lincoln, but figured he would let Seth get used to the idea of him not being around.

"Well, good—the guy's a pain in the ass anyway." Seth looked up as a car pulled into the lot. It stopped in the middle with the headlights shining on the Mavericks.

"Just stay cool, boys," Seth said, lighting a cigarette.

Terry and Joey stepped out of the car on either side. They just stood there and watched the Mavericks while Johnny and Brian climbed out of the back. Brian, in a loud voice, continued telling Johnny a joke: "So the old lady in the wheelchair says to the bishop, 'I don't know, sir, but I'll bet if you ask the nurse, she'll tell you who you are.'"

They were laughing at the joke as they walked toward Sammy. Terry and Joey closed ranks on either side of them. When they stopped, Johnny said, "Hi ya Sammy."

Sammy looked annoyed. "Johnny."

"You know these guys, Sammy?" Seth actually looked relieved.

"Classmates."

"What can we do for you, gentlemen?" Seth sat down at the picnic table. He smiled and looked at ease.

"Well now, let me think," Johnny said. "For starters, you can stay the hell away from Sammy." Johnny walked over to Sammy. He put his hand on Sammy's shoulder and said, "Let's go, man. You're through with these guys."

Seth stood up again. "Wo, woa. Wait a minute. What the hell is this?"

Johnny paused, turned toward Seth, pointing his finger, and said, "This is where we take Sammy back. He's a Crusader, not a Maverick. I don't ever want to see you near him again, and I don't ever want to see your shit floating around Holy Cross. Got it?"

Anger and disbelief grew on Seth's face. He sized Johnny up—small, no threat. He moved forward, raising his hands. "Why you little..."

Johnny stood his ground. Seth froze as heard the metallic action of three weapons drawn, cocked, and leveled on him. The other Mavericks, right behind him, also froze. Terry took a few steps to the left while keeping them lined up in the sights of the 9mm. "Don't nobody move."

Sammy took several steps backward and said, "Oh shit, you guys!"

Seth lowered his arms and said, "This is a gun-free zone."

"I guess we missed the sign," Johnny said. "What's in the bag?"

"My underwear."

Johnny stepped over to the table and carefully picked up the gym bag. He unzipped it and dumped out its contents. Several zip-lock bags filled with marijuana and some smaller bags containing tablets spilled out onto the tabletop. "Well, well. And I thought this was a drug-free zone." Johnny tossed the empty bag back on the table. He looked at Sammy who had moved to the edge of a flowerbed. "Are you ready to go now?"

Sammy looked at Johnny and then the others. He shifted his weight from leg to leg and looked at Seth who drilled him with piercing eyes. He looked back at Johnny pleadingly and said, "I can't, Johnny. I'm a Maverick."

Johnny tilted his head back impatiently, clenching his fists. He took a deep breath and leveled a stern gaze at Sammy. He closed his eyes, turned his head as if to listen carefully and said, "You've got to be joking."

"No." Sammy held his chin up. "I'm not joking."

Johnny relaxed and looked sadly at Sammy. "Are you sure that's what you want?"

"Yeah."

Seth smiled.

Johnny's eyes turned cold. "Then, Sammy, you _are_ the weakest link. Good-bye." He turned around, walked back to the car and got in and closed the door.

Terry and Joey kept their guns trained on Seth and the others while Brian brought his aim around to Sammy. Before anyone realized what was happening, Brian's Black Hawk gave off a flash. The noise was deafening and echoed off the walls and rattling windows of the mini mall. The Mavericks saw Sammy just as he landed in the flowerbed, his white shirt a bloody mess. Seth stared at his lifeless face. Blood dripped from his mouth.

"What'd you do that for?" Seth yelled.

Brian leveled his aim on Seth's head and said, "Pick up your shit and get out of here."

Smitty frantically threw everything back in the gym bag while the other guys ran to their car. Seth, walking backwards, pointed at Brian and said, "You guys are crazy. You know it? You're crazy!" He got in on the passenger side. Smitty tossed the bag in and jumped behind the wheel. They sped off out of the parking lot, their tires squealing as they turned onto the road.

Terry opened the door of his car and looked in at Johnny. In the backseat, Johnny spoke into a handheld two-way radio. "Did you get all that?"

A voice crackled over the two-way. "That's affirmative."

"Okay. They just left."

"I see them. Looks like they're going to turn left on Folsom."

"Make the call."

"Oh yeah. They just ran a red light. This is going to be good. I'm dialing now. You guys better get out of there, too."

Johnny looked at Terry and grinned. "We better get outta here."

Cory Smith switched off the radio and put it in his coat pocket. He zipped his coat up around his neck and stepped up to the payphone and dialed 9-1-1. "Yes, uh, we just heard a gunshot. Well, I'm at the corner of Folsom and Fifty-seventh Street. No, I don't know, but a car just came flying by here from the general direction. They ran a red light heading downtown. That's right, west on Folsom. A blue Chevy Impala. 2-B-R-S, 3-3-2. My name? Justin Case. C-A-S-E. Hey, I gotta go. Thanks for your help."

Cory hung up. He turned around, listening carefully. He thought he could hear a siren in the distance. He said, "Oh yeah," with a giddy smile as he got in his car. Driving down Folsom Boulevard, Cory checked every direction for flashing lights. Spotting something down a side street, he made a right at the next corner. Two city units had responded to the call. As Cory drove up the cross street, he could see that everyone in the Mavericks' car was being arrested.

Brian stood over Sammy and said, "All clear, buddy."

Sammy sat up and rubbed the back of his head. "This shit tastes awful," he said, spitting. Brian helped him up, and they both ran to the car where the others were waiting with the engine running. Sammy tossed his car keys to Joey.

"I'll just follow you guys." Joey said getting into Sammy's Camero.

When they were all in the car, Johnny said, "Let's take the back way, Terry."

"Nice and easy like," Terry agreed. "You guys were brilliant. Damn, Sammy. I had to keep reminding myself that it was an act. Too bad we didn't get it on video."

In the backseat, Brian wadded Sammy's shirt and placed it in a plastic bag while Johnny used baby wipes to clean his face and chest.

"Did you see the look on Seth's face?" Terry said. "I'd have paid to see that. And Johnny, you had 'em going." Terry reached back and gave Johnny five. "The way you walked off like you were the godfather or something. That was beautiful."

Terry stuck his finger in his ear and wiggled it. "My ear's still ringing from that cannon of yours, Brian."

"It had to be loud," Brian explained. "The noise covers up any weaknesses in the illusion. You all right, Sammy?"

"I'm fine. For a dead guy."

Chris finished reading Sammy's essay and blinked his eyes. A teardrop fell on the last page. He wiped it off with his hand, then covered his eyes with his palms and leaned forward, elbows on knees.

Blaise looked at his watch. "Won't be long now, Chris."

Chris nodded. He stood up and left the room. A minute later he came back with two cans of Pepsi. The phone rang. Blaise answered it.

Johnny told Blaise just enough to know that the Mavericks would be dropping Sammy from their roster. "So everybody's okay? Great. Here's Chris."

Chris took the phone and spoke briefly with Johnny, then said, "Let me talk to Sammy. Hey...you doin' all right? Where are you now? I just read your piece...It's really good, man." Chris listened for a moment, and then started laughing. "I can't wait...Okay...Bye."

Chris hung up and said, "Well, it's been one hell of day."

"That it has," Blaise said. "And I'm going home."

"Thanks for coming over."

"Hey, I'll do anything for a free Pepsi." He held his can up. "And besides, what are friends for?"

Chris finally smiled. "Thanks. See you in the morning."

# Chapter 9—THURSDAY

Blaise looked over Chris's shoulder. "Looks like Sammy's got some new friends."

Chris turned around to see Sammy having lunch with Terry, Cory, Brian, and Joey. They were talking about the adventure they had the night before. Cory appeared to be holding their attention with a tale of his own. When he told them how he identified himself as Justin Case, they broke into hysterical laughter.

Chris went back to eating. "Well, I guess he's back."

"That's a good bunch of guys there, Chris. I'm glad it all worked out." Blaise finished his milk and crushed the box between his hands. "For Sammy, anyway; but, I hope this thing doesn't backfire."

"I wouldn't worry. If anything happens, I'm sure the guys can handle it."

"Wow. What's with you? I think that's the first time I've ever heard you say don't worry."

"I just figure there's more to life than worrying about everything. I've been missing too much. Jeez, Blaise; there's so much more to do than what I've been wrapped up in lately."

"Oh, I get it."

"You get it? You get what?"

"Tracy Miller. Yes, my friend, there's a whole other world out there."

Chris smiled. "Yeah well, I just need to lighten up, ya know. I'm not even seventeen yet. The way I see it, there's plenty of time to make the world a perfect place, and if I'm gonna do it right, I've got to start with myself."

"The man in the mirror."

"Exactly."

"Good," Blaise said, standing up to leave. "Chris, I'm glad to hear it. You're a good man, and I'm proud to have you for a friend."

"Thanks, Blaise. That really means a lot to me."

"I really mean it, too, Chris."

"I know you do. Thanks."

They dropped off their trays and made their way through the cafeteria, each one stopping to talk to somebody. Blaise made it a habit to talk to the freshmen. They looked up to him and talked to him like he was a celebrity. He liked being the big brother and role model. Chris tended to engage the older students and talk about school activities. When he came to the table where Sammy was sitting, the lunch hour was nearly over.

"Good job last night you guys." Chris shook hands with everyone. "You make a good team. Thanks for helping out."

"We had a blast doing it," Terry said. "Wish you were there."

"Wish I was, too."

After school, Chris left with Sammy. They sat in the living room at Sammy's house, and Sammy told Chris the whole story. Sammy was explaining how Brian had rigged him with exploding fake blood when the doorbell rang.

There were two well-dressed men at the door who flashed badges and introduced themselves as Detectives Orman and Bykowski.

"How can I help you, detectives?" Sammy tried to speak calmly, but his heart was pounding violently.

The older Detective Orman said, "Is this where Samuel White lives?"

"I'm Sammy White."

The detectives looked at each other and shrugged. Bykowski took out a notepad and asked, "Do you know a Seth Johnson?"

Sammy thought for a moment. He looked at Chris, then back and said, "I go to Holy Cross. I don't think I know anyone there named Seth."

"According to Mr. Johnson, you were murdered by your classmates last night for being a member of his gang," Bykowski said.

Sammy looked puzzled. "I don't get it."

"We have him in custody and he's looking at some real time. He's trying to cut himself a deal by trading information. Unless we've looked up the wrong Samuel White, well, there's obviously been some kind of misunderstanding. Sorry to bother you gentlemen."

"No bother, detective."

The detective put his notepad back in his pocket and started to leave, then said, "Just one more thing..."

"Yes?"

"There was a 9-1-1 call last night reporting gunfire. Would you know anything about that?"

"No sir."

"Does the name Justin Case mean anything to you?"

"No sir." Sammy laughed a little and said, "That can't really be someone's name, though, can it?"

The detective looked at Sammy as if he were trying to read his thoughts. "I'll bet you're right: there's a lot of wise cracks making 9-1-1 calls. Well, thank you. Have a good day."

"You, too." Sammy closed the door, leaned up against it, and slid to the floor.

Chris peered through the drapes and said, "They're leaving."

"Oh my god. Oh my god, Chris. I thought I was going to have a heart attack."

Blaise was down in The Paper finishing up some work. He looked at his watch and decided it was time to go rescue Johnny from Brother James's after-school experiment club. He placed his papers in his backpack, turned the lights out, and opened the door to leave. While his eyes were adjusting to the darkness, the first blow caught him on the left side of his head. A burst of fireworks sparkled before him as he tried to regain his sight and balance. Someone took him by the lapels of his blazer and pulled him out of the classroom, throwing him to the concrete floor of the basement hallway. Suddenly aware of the fact that someone was trying to kick his ass, Blaise lunged forward to retaliate. He took another hook on the side of his head, but managed to wrap his right arm around his assailant's neck and pull him down. Just as he was about to lay into the guy's face with his left fist, someone else was lifting his legs off the ground. He lost his grip and fell helplessly to the floor. While being kicked by a third attacker, Blaise rolled to his right and grabbed hold of two legs and wrenched them with everything he had until their owner toppled. The other two menaces wailed on him as he groped for something to hang on to. Blaise managed to get into a position where he could inflict some pretty good hits on the one he had brought down, but it was not long before the other two pulled him away. They suddenly stopped. They left him and ran down the hallway to the exit. Blaise could only see enough to confirm that there were three of them.

He sat up and leaned against the wall. The pain in his left side and head began to throb as he took a mental inventory of parts of his body that were hurt. He looked at his left hand and saw the blood, but the exit lamps did not put off enough light to determine if the blood was his own. He closed his eyes and could feel the swelling on the left side of his face, the sharp pain in his cheekbone, and stinging lip.

After catching his breath, Blaise stood up slowly. He used the wall for balance, and then leaned against it. He took a few steps and stopped. He felt nauseous and dizzy, so he sat down again and closed his eyes.

Johnny descended the stairs into the darkened hallway. He found the light switch at the bottom of the stairs and flipped it on. Blaise heard him coming and looked up, but what he saw was a clear Johnny standing next to a blurry twin. "Hi there Johnny. Sorry I'm late, but I got held up on my way to get you."

Johnny looked at Blaise more closely and said, "Good god, Blaise." He knelt down beside him and examined the swollen eye. "What happened?"

"I'm not sure. There were three of them."

"Three? Who?"

"I don't know. They jumped me when I came out of The Paper."

"Can you walk?" Johnny grabbed Blaise under the arms trying to help him up.

"Ouch-oh. Damn that hurts."

"Man, they worked you over good. We've got to get you some help. I'll call an ambulance. Stay right here."

"No. Don't call. I'll be fine."

"Blaise! You're not fine. Look at yourself."

"Yeah? Well what am I supposed to tell the police?"

"Tell them you got jumped in the hallway."

Blaise hobbled, his arm around Johnny for support. "Johnny, what if the guys who jumped me are your friends from last night? Then what do we tell the cops?"

"Wait a sec." Johnny bent down. "You must have dropped your wallet."

Blaise looked at the billfold in Johnny's hand. "That's not mine."

Johnny opened it and took out the California driver's license. "Jason David Arnold."

"That eliminates the Mavericks. If we find Jason with a fat lip tomorrow, we can safely assume he was one of the three."

"Who do you think the other two were?"

"Vince Januzi, no doubt, and one of his stupid friends. Hopefully they each have a fat lip."

"So you got some hits in?"

Blaise looked at his hand. "I hope so. I either got some teeth, or I was just hitting the wall. I spent most of the time trying to protect my face and my balls."

"I hope you did a better job of protecting your balls than you did your face."

"I think my balls are the only part of my body that doesn't hurt right now. Johnny, you have to drive us to Chris's house."

"You need to go to the hospital. Besides, I don't have a license."

"Sure you do, Jason."

"Oh thanks."

"I still can't go to the hospital, even if it wasn't the Mavs. I need to see Chris. I can't go home like this either. I'll have to spend the night at Chris's house, and I need your help, okay?"

"Okay. Let's go." Johnny helped Blaise get up the stairs and then to his car where he held the door open so Blaise could gingerly lower himself into the passenger seat. When Johnny reached in to fasten the seatbelt around Blaise, he got a good look at the extent of the injuries on his friend's face. As he strapped himself in the driver's seat, Johnny said, "I'm a really good driver, ya know. I've got my permit."

"I know."

"I still wish you'd let me take you to the hospital."

"Chris's, Johnny. Please."

"Hang on." Johnny drove cautiously knowing that any little bump would be painful for Blaise. He pulled into an ARCO station, parked, and started to get out.

"What are we doing here?" Blaise asked.

"I'm getting some ice for your head."

"Good idea. Thanks."

Sammy drove Chris home. They sat in the car for a while talking. "I wish I had a date Friday night," Sammy said. "I'm not gonna smoke pot anymore."

Chris looked puzzled and started laughing.

"What's so funny?"

"You kill me. You wish you had a date. You're not gonna smoke pot anymore. What are you talking about?"

"You know why I haven't asked a girl out for so long?"

"You're gay?"

Sammy laughed and slugged Chris in the arm. "Because I've been in love with smoking pot. I think it's diminished my sex drive."

"You still think about girls, don't you?"

"Not really."

"Cuz, you gotta fix that."

"I know."

"Here's what you gotta do: every time you feel like you want to fire one up, think of a girl you'd like to go out with. Then, call her up and ask her out. Or, before you call her, write a poem for her. A love poem. Then go see her and read her the poem."

"Poetry?"

"Poetry."

Sammy started laughing and said, "I could do that."

"There ya go. You'll be the ladies' man before you know it."

"Poetry. Why didn't I think of that? Sammy breathed a sigh. "Now I really want to find a date." He reached inside his pants to adjust himself. "I think it's working already."

"See, it's like magic."

"Or else it's just you. I don't know, maybe I am gay."

Chris got serious. "Sammy, if you weren't my cousin, I'd definitely be gay. I love you, man." He looked out the rear window and saw Blaise's car pull in behind them.

Johnny jumped out of the car and ran up to the house. He looked at Sammy's car and saw Chris getting out.

Chris called to him, "Were you driving the Blaise mobile?"

Johnny ran over to the Camero. "Blaise is hurt pretty bad, Chris. I tried to take him to the hospital, but he wouldn't let me."

Chris and Sammy hurried to Blaise's car. When Chris saw Blaise holding a bag of ice on his head he said, "Holy shit! What happened?"

"Just help me get in the house," Blaise said, unable to hide the pain as he twisted to get his feet out of the car. Johnny and Sammy helped him up. Chris closed the car door and ran ahead of them to unlock the house.

When they were inside Chris said, "Take him to my room. I'll get some towels."

"Get me some aspirin while you're at it."

Blaise sat on the bed, and Johnny and Sammy helped him get his jacket and shirt off. Chris handed Blaise a couple of aspirin tablets and a glass of water, and then offered him a wet cloth. "Look up Dave Clark," Chris said, handing Johnny his address book. "Tell him to get over here fast. Tell him to bring his aid bag." Chris left the room again while Johnny dialed and Sammy wiped blood off Blaise's face.

Chris returned with a bottle of Jim Beam. He poured some in a glass and handed it to Blaise. "Drink this. It'll take the edge off. Did you get a hold of Dave?"

"He's on his way," Johnny said.

Chris took some clothes out of a drawer and handed them off to Sammy. Then he picked up a flashlight and looked at Blaise's face closely. He shined the light in Blaise's battered eye and moved the beam back and forth. "Dave'll fix you up, Blaise. It doesn't look too bad. Who did this?"

"Some old friends."

Johnny handed Chris Jason's wallet. "Yeah. They left in such a hurry, too."

Chris looked in the wallet. "You've got to be kidding me. Who else?"

"Two other guys," Blaise said. "I couldn't tell who they were. They never said anything. It was dark. I only saw shadows when I wasn't seeing stars."

Chris picked up the phone and dialed.

Blaise held up an empty glass. "Give me another shot."

"Terry. Yeah, how's it going? Look, we've got a problem. You'd better just get over here. Okay, thanks. See ya."

Blaise had on one of Chris's sweatshirts, and, with his face cleaned up, looked a lot better. Sammy wrapped some ice in a towel and helped him lay down.

"Oh this has been just one hell of a day," Blaise said, holding the cold pack to his face. He closed his eyes. "What am I gonna tell Kathleen? She gets so upset over things like this."

The doorbell rang. "That'll be Dave." Chris ran out of the room.

Dave came in and pulled the chair over beside the bed. "Kathleen do this to you, Blaise?" Dave opened his bag and took out some first-aid supplies.

"Very funny. How's it look, doc?"

Dave looked Blaise over while pulling on latex gloves. "Not too bad. I can tape this up here so it'll heal properly. Open your mouth. Yuk. You really should get that stitched up." He felt Blaise's shoulders and moved down his arms. "Anything hurt?"

"No. It feels all right now."

Dave felt his chest and ribs, pressing. "Hurt?"

Blaise groaned when Dave pressed on his left side.

"You might have a cracked rib, buddy. What are you doing here? You should have gone straight to the ER."

Blaise took a deep breath. "I'll be all right. If I still hurt tomorrow afternoon, I'll go see a doctor."

Dave started taping the cut over Blaise's eye. "Tomorrow afternoon?"

"I've got a speech to give in the morning."

Dave laughed. "I can't wait to see that."

The doorbell rang. "That'll be Terry." Chris did not move as fast as before, and he closed the door to his room. He spoke with Terry in the front room, bringing him up to speed, and then went to the kitchen to set out some food.

Terry went to the bedroom and joined in the process of making Blaise more comfortable. After a few minutes, he asked to be alone with Blaise.

Johnny, Sammy, and David went to the kitchen where Chris was pouring Pepsi into ice-filed glasses. He handed drinks to Sammy and David and told them to have a seat. He picked up two more drinks and said, "Johnny, come with me."

Johnny followed Chris into the living room. Ice jingled in the glass as Chris handed it to him. They sat down on the couch and Johnny watched Chris set his drink down and pick up a large envelope, which he seemed to stare at while running his forefinger up and down the sides and across the top. They could hear Sammy and David laughing about something in the kitchen.

"I want to thank you for what you did," Chris said, still staring at the envelope.

"What did I do?"

"You know—that thing with Sammy and the Mavericks." Chris spoke softly and finally looked at Johnny. "It was pretty cool what you did. I just want to say thanks."

"You're welcome. I was glad to be of service. But then, so was Terry and the other guys. I think if you and Blaise wanted the moon, they'd figure out a way to get it down. They're good friends."

"Yes, they are. They're real good friends, Johnny. Right now Terry's in there, and I hate to think what he might have in mind for whoever did that to Blaise." Chris stared off into the distance thinking about so many different things at once. It was all catching up with him and he felt as though he might break any moment.

"Are you alright, Chris?" Johnny still did not know how to take Chris. He felt a little awkward not knowing what to say or do while thinking that Chris looked like he might start crying.

Chris set the envelope on his leg and pressed his fingertips to his eyes, rubbed them, and took a deep breath. "I'm fine. I've just got too much on my mind. I need to lighten the load I guess." He took the envelope and handed it to Johnny.

"What's this?"

"It's a picture I want you to have."

Johnny removed to photograph from the envelope and held it up. "I've seen this picture before."

Chris leaned over close to Johnny and looked at the print. "That little Polish boy never did anything to hurt anyone. Neither did his family, I imagine, nor anyone else he ever knew. But he was Jewish, you see. They believed that the Jews were responsible for all their problems. There are still people in the world who feel that way. There are Catholics who feel that way about Protestants, and there are Protestants who feel that way about Catholics. They call each other names, Johnny. Terrible names. And they teach their children unbelievable lies, and of course, the children believe their parents and they grow up hating and believing it's right to do so.

"I've spent a lot of time lately thinking about how much better things would be if we all learned to get along. I don't like the word 'tolerance' though; it implies something bad about other people that we put up with. We have to work at accepting people for who they are and appreciating the fact that they're different. The NAZIs couldn't do that. And then they had to dehumanize the Jews in order to legitimatize what they were doing. This picture has reminded me that we live in a world where people will rationalize their evil and accept a false view. You've helped me see how knowing the truth sometimes means you have to take a stand and fight for what is right; even if it's a hard thing to do. So thanks. This picture is forever etched into my memory and so I don't need it anymore. Let it remind you of a time when you did something to help my cousin get back on the right track. Maybe one day you'll give it to someone else and little by little we can make the world a better place."

"Thanks, Chris. That really means a lot to me. You and Blaise have really brought a lot of change into my life lately. All for the better, I might add. Gee, I don't know what else to say, man. I feel like I should give you a hug or something."

Chris sighed. "Just drink your Pepsi, bro."

"Yeah. Okay. Thanks."

Terry sat down and looked at Blaise. "Did you see anything before you were hit?"

"No."

"Were you aware of anything unusual before the attack?"

"No."

"What do you remember thinking about after you were hit?"

"At first, I thought something had fallen on me. Then, when someone grabbed my jacket and yanked me out into the hallway, I knew someone was trying to kick my ass."

"You didn't see who it was?"

"I couldn't see anything. You know how dark it is down there when the lights are off. I could just make out shadows. I can only say that there were three of them."

"Did they say anything to you?"

"Nothing. In fact, it was kind of spooky."

"You found Jason's wallet at the scene, right?"

"Johnny found it."

"Can you think of any reason Jason might have been in the area other than to kick your ass?"

"No, he never goes down there."

"How long was it from the time they left and Johnny found you?"

"I'm not sure. Maybe twenty minutes."

"What did you do after they left?"

"I stood up and tried to walk, but then I started feeling sick and dizzy. I sat down, closed my eyes. I waited for the dizziness to go away."

"What happened next?"

"I sat there trying to think of who would do this to me. I could only think of Sammy's gang friends."

"But finding Jason's wallet makes you think it wasn't the Mavericks, right?"

"Unless Jason's a Maverick now."

"Jason doesn't do anything that Vince doesn't tell him to."

"I know."

"Okay, Blaise, what do you want to do?"

Blaise closed his eyes in thought. "I don't know. I wish I could make peace with those guys."

Terry shook his head. "Blaise, you can't always get people to see the world the way you do. How are you going to make peace with a bunch of thugs?"

"I don't know that, either. Maybe they just need a little exposure. I could start giving them a little more attention, you know, put them in the spotlight. We can only see how it goes tomorrow."

"You're the man." Terry stood up and opened the door. "You feel like you're going to be all right?"

"I'm good. Thanks. Could you hand me the phone? I need to call my girl."

# Chapter 10—FRIDAY

With help from Chris and Terry, Blaise was able to stay out of sight until it was time for the assembly. They started without him. The band played a medley of lively numbers, which put the crowd in a spirited mood. Chris went to the platform and made a number of announcements. The crowd of boys erupted with shouts and whistles when he offered information about the Harvest dance with the Saint Elizabeth girls. When he introduced Coach Baxter, the band broke into the school's fight song.

Coach invited the football team to come up and stand behind him while he carried on about their progress on the road to victory. The members of the team stood behind their coach absorbing the silent adoration of the audience. Jason Arnold and Vince Januzi stood beside each other among their teammates.

Chris sat in the front row between Terry and Johnny. Coach Baxter was busy reeling off stats when Chris leaned to listen to something that Johnny was telling him. At that moment he made eye contact with Vince. Chris nodded his head hoping Vince might think they were talking about him. Vince did not look away, so Chris decided to have some fun with him. He nudged Johnny and pointed at Vince. Johnny followed the direction of Chris's finger, saw Vince and stared him down. Vince inhaled deeply and held his chin up. Chris reached in his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. It was similar in style to Jason's own, and Chris knew from the distance it would appear the same. He held it up, opened it to reveal his driver's license and showed it to Vince the way an FBI agent might flash his credentials.

Vince got Jason's attention with his elbow and nodded toward Chris. When Jason saw what was going on he became antsy. Chris opened the wallet and took out the bills, folded them, and stuffed them in his front pocket. He handed the wallet to Terry who, fully aware of the game Chris was playing, looked at it, then at Jason, and put the wallet in his pocket. He pointed at Jason and mouthed the words, "you're mine."

"Now let's hear it for our team," Coach Baxter said, turning to join the crowd in applause. As the team filed back down onto the floor to retake their seats, Chris stood up and walked onto the platform from the other side. The band was playing the fight song again. Chris turned toward the band and clapped in time with the music. Everyone started clapping and then the crowd rose to its feet, stomping. When the band finished, Chris found himself standing before a wired audience. He approached the microphone and said, "Thank you Coach Baxter for those inspiring words." The boys broke into applause once again.

"And how 'bout that band?" Chris extended a hand toward the band, and the crowd went wild. Before the cheering subsided completely, Chris grasped the podium and said, "And now, gentlemen, it gives me great pleasure to introduce to you a man who stands as an inspiration to each of us; a man who has stood up for all of us in our hour of need; a Crusader in every sense of the word; my friend and yours, our president, Blaissssssse Bizzzzzet!"

The assembled students rose to their feet in applause, and the band struck up "For He's a Jolly Good Fellow" as the back doors flew open. Blaise entered the auditorium escorted by Joey, Brian, Cory, and Dave. He moved slowly down the center isle amid the cheering crowd. He stopped from time to time to shake hands with fellow students who were shocked to see his face. By the time he reached the front, everyone had a pretty good look at him. The band played faster music, and the applause continued as Terry clasped Blaise by the hand and pulled him close. He had to shout in his ear to be heard above the resounding plaudits. "Jason and Vince know that we know."

Blaise smiled and shouted back, "Good." He made his way up the steps onto the platform where Chris shook his hand. The band stopped but the clapping did not. Blaise stepped up to the podium and said into the microphone, "Thank you. Thank you very much." He held up his hands and the noise almost instantly fell to a hush. "Thank you."

"I must say; this is a much better reception than the one I received last night."

Whispers swept through the audience. Someone yelled out, "What happened, Blaise?"

Blaise touched the bruised and purple skin above his left cheekbone. Smiling he said, "Oh, you noticed. Well, a funny thing happened on my way home last night. It seems there are some people who don't approve of me, for whatever reason, and either they don't like the things I do, or they just don't like me. I don't know. Anyway, there were three of them. I can't say for sure who they were, except one of them did drop this wallet." Blaise held up the wallet. Murmurs spread through the crowd.

Someone called out. "Who's is it Blaise? We'll take care of it."

Blaise chuckled. "Let's not jump to conclusions. The owner of this wallet might himself be a victim of theft." Blaise opened the wallet and thumbed through its contents. "However, there's seventeen dollars still in it. Perhaps the best thing would be to hand the whole matter over to a faculty member who might conduct a thorough and impartial investigation." Blaise stepped from behind the podium to the front of the platform. He handed the wallet down to Chris and said, "Give this to Coach Baxter."

Chris walked across the front of the auditorium to where Coach Baxter was sitting and handed the wallet over. The coach flipped it open, took one look at Jason's picture, and stood up. "I want to see the owner of this wallet immediately after this assembly. You know who you are." He sat down as the assembled boys turned to one another in speculative conversation.

Blaise cleared his throat. "Okay now, let's move on. Recent events have made us more aware of the levels of intolerance and even hate that can afflict a group of people. Holy Cross has, for the most part, always been a school made up of homogeneous students. We have all been American Catholic boys from the local community. But, as you well know, Sacramento is becoming as culturally diversified as any city on the planet. Likewise, our school has opened its doors to students who do not fit the typical profile: they might come to us from other countries, other cultures, they may not be Catholic, or they might just be different. As we grow and learn here at Holy Cross, each one of us develops our own ideas, our own views, our own likes and dislikes. It's not long before we realize that we, too, are different. Who among us can say that he is typical anymore? We are all different in one way or another, and who's to say that we as a group, as a school, are not better off for having differences among us? Our diversity is our gift to our community and to ourselves. Our collective strength allows us to celebrate those differences and become stronger because of them.

'It is with this in mind that I have decided to recognize a new area of responsibility for our student government. We will establish a new committee devoted to the celebration of our diversity. It will be called the Cultural Diversity Committee, and I am appointing a fellow student to chair the committee. He is one of our outstanding honor roll scholars. His recent contributions to the Contingency Plans Committee have proven to be invaluable. He's the kind of guy who would give you everything he has without asking for anything in return. It is my pleasure to inform you that the newest member of your student council is the sophomore class's own Johnny Monroe." Blaise pointed at Johnny and the crowd burst into applause.

Johnny stood up and turned around. He nodded his head to acknowledge the reception. He knew once and for all that he was no longer invisible. Johnny glanced over to where Vince and Jason were sitting. They were not looking at him. They were leaning forward in their seats and looking at the ground. Johnny smiled and thought they looked like they were praying. Who knows? Maybe they were.

Johnny sat down, and Blaise continued his speech. "A year ago, Chris Perry told me that I should run for president of our student body, and I said, 'that'll be the day.' Since then, we have seen a lot happen. We know now that when people say something can't be done, Crusaders come forward and show that it can. There's no end to the amazing accomplishments of the people in this auditorium. Jeff Green informs me that we have raised over six thousand dollars for new band equipment." Applause erupted and the band played a few measures.

"A month ago, if you would have told Johnny Monroe that he would be heading up a bold new committee and sitting on the student council, he would have said, 'that'll be the day.' And a week ago, if I would have told all of you that Chris Perry would be going out on a date this very night with a beautiful girl from Saint Elizabeth, what would you have said?"

The mass of boys shouted "That'll be the day!" Chris turned bright red and buried his face in his hands.

"Well, I'm sure you will all want to gather 'round Monday morning to ask Chris how it went." Blaise waited for the shouts, whistles, and applause to subside. "The point I want to make here, people, is that we can do anything we put our minds and hearts to. I am so proud to be a Crusader. I see nothing but great things for all of us in the months ahead."

Blaise reached in his pocket and took out his speech. He unfolded it and set it on the podium while continuing his pep talk. "I have some remarks prepared here. It's just that since I wrote this, so much has happened. Really, besides having my face rearranged, we've been busy." He skipped the salutation at the beginning of his printed address, and continued with the main body. He received a standing ovation at the end, and walked down to the front and shook hands with Johnny. He shook hands with Terry and Chris, and continued down the front row greeting his fellow students. By the time he reached the end, several hundred boys had surrounded him. They were reaching out to shake his hand, pat him on the back, and tell him he was doing a great job.

The band resumed playing as the rally broke up. Coach Baxter headed through the back door with a reluctant Jason Arnold close behind.

Blaise and Johnny sat in the living room at Kathleen's house waiting for the girls to come down. Mrs. Knowles offered them refreshments while they waited. "That's a nasty bruise on your eye, Blaise," she said."

"Does it look that bad? You don't think Kathleen's going to freak, do you?"

"No, darling. Are you able to see all right? I'm sure Kathleen won't mind driving."

"Oh, I can see fine, Mrs. Knowles. Thank you."

Kathleen came bouncing down the stairs with Lisa walking slowly behind. Blaise and Johnny stood up to greet the girls. Kathleen looked at Blaise's face and said, "Oh, baby, you weren't kidding. Does it hurt?" She kissed him and held him tightly.

"Actually," Blaise said, cringing, "the ribs you're squeezing hurt worse than my face."

"I'm sorry sweet heart." Kathleen turned to Johnny. "Johnny, I'm sorry. It's so nice to meet you." She took him by the hand and led him over to Lisa. "This is my very good friend, Lisa."

"Pleased to meet you," Johnny said. He remembered hearing somewhere that you should not shake a lady's hand unless she offers it.

"Nice meeting you," Lisa said.

Kathleen grabbed Blaise by the hand. "Honey, before we go I want to show you something. You guys make yourselves comfortable. We'll be right back." She took Blaise upstairs to her room.

Lisa smiled and walked over to the couch. "We might as well sit down."

Johnny sat down in one of the chairs.

"Kathleen doesn't really have anything to show Blaise. She's just giving us some time alone before we head out."

"Oh, I see," Johnny said. He smiled and looked at Lisa. She was actually a lot prettier than he had hoped. "Do you go out with Kathleen and Blaise a lot?"

"No. I've known Kathleen for a long time. We're good friends, but this is the first time I've ever done something like this with them. So, have you known Blaise long?"

"About a week and a half. He's really a great guy." Johnny ran his fingers through his hair. "I'm sorry. You must be terrified. Actually, even though I've only known him personally for a short time, we've been through a lot together. In fact, we've become very close. Strangely close, I would say."

Lisa laughed a little. "That's all right. I'm sure Blaise thinks you're a great guy, too."

"I guess you go to Saint Elizabeth?"

"Yeah. It's nice there. How do you like Holy Cross?"

"I love it. It's been a great experience for me. The Catholic thing has taken some getting used to, but I like my classes and everything."

"You're not Catholic?"

"No, I'm Presyterian."

"Oh my god!" Lisa started laughing.

"Is that a problem?"

"Johnny, we've been set up. We have been so set up."

"I don't understand." Johnny looked puzzled.

"I'm Methodist. I'm the only Protestant at Saint Elizabeth."

Johnny thought about it for a moment. "And I'm the only Protestant at the Cross." He laughed and said, "So how should we feel about this?"

"Maybe we should feel lucky. I mean Kathleen and Blaise are the sweetest people. They are always looking out for others. This is just their way of trying to help us out."

"I can see that." Johnny agreed. "Besides, I could use all the help I can get."

Blaise and Kathleen came back down and Blaise said, "Are you two getting along okay?"

"Great," Johnny said.

"You two would not believe just how much Johnny and I have in common."

"Really?" Kathleen said. "I am so glad. We should have a real nice time."

Blaise opened the door. "If we're not already too late. Shall we?"

Chris parked his father's car at the curb and looked at his note; pick up Tracy—7pm 7141 Old Mill Rd. "Wow. Nice house. Nice girl, nice house. Hi. My name is Chris Perry. Hi there. I'm Chris." He cleared his throat and looked at his hair in the rear-view mirror. "I'm here to pick up Tracy...pick Tracy up. I'm here...okay, Chris, don't start talking to yourself." He repositioned the mirror and got out of the car. He walked confidently up to the front door, rang the bell, and then turned to admire the neighborhood while he waited.

Suddenly, the door opened and Tracy hurried out, slamming the door behind her. "Come on, Chris." She grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the car.

"What's your hurry?"

"Let's go. If my daddy catches us, you're a dead man."

"Your daddy?" Chris was confused. He opened the door for her.

"Don't just stand there; get in and drive!" She pulled her door away from Chris and slammed it shut.

Chris ran around the car and jumped in. They were moving before he even had his own door closed. "What the hell is going on with you and your dad?"

Tracy laughed and put her hand on Chris's shoulder. "Oh man, you were great. That's what I call a get-a-way. I'm sorry if I scared you. My parents aren't even home. I just did that so you'd know that I'm capable of having fun."

Chris paused at a stop sign. "Why wouldn't I think you were capable of having fun?"

"Oh, just because of the way I acted when we had lunch the other day."

"Really? I thought you were great."

"I wasn't being myself. I guess I was nervous. You kind of took me by surprise by asking me out and everything."

"So, now you're ready to have some fun?"

"I think so."

"Me too. I remember reading somewhere about how people have fun. For starters, let's abandon our plans. Tell me, Tracy, where do you really want to eat?"

"You don't want to go to the Woodland Inn?"

"I'd love to if that's where you want to go. But I'd really rather eat pizza. So where do you want to go?"

Tracy leaned toward Chris. He could feel her coming closer as she said, "You know what I could really go for?"

"What?"

"Chinese!"

Chris looked in the mirror, and then over his shoulder, quickly switching lanes. "You want Chinese, baby, you gonna have Chinese." He made a right at the light. "I know just the place. So, you eat with chopsticks?"

"I love eating with chopsticks. This is going to be so much fun."

Chris looked at Tracy and smiled. She smiled back at him. He said, "Now you say I don't have anything to worry about with your father?"

"Daddy?" Tracy reached over and rubbed the back of Chris's neck. "He's going to love you, Chris. You can meet him tonight. He's a wonderful man, and I just know you'll like him."

Chris relaxed. He thought about Blaise and Johnny on their double date and hoped Johnny was doing all right. He thought about Sammy, too, and wondered what he might be doing. He would call him in the morning and tell him about his date. Then he saw his memory's vivid image of the little Polish boy. There were some things that he would always wonder about, but there would always be something to hope for, too. Tracy's hand on the back of his neck felt warm and good, and he knew then that having even just the mere hope of love is also living.

###
