The Graduation (2 page)

“Wait a second. You didn’t bet our money on a basketball game?”

“I was given excellent odds. We’ll double our investment if we win.”

“What if we lose?” she screamed.

He shrugged. “We’ll still have our good looks.” He held up his yearbook and offered her a regular ballpoint pen. “You don’t have to go overboard. A few paragraphs and a poem or two will suffice to let me know you care.”

Bubba came very close at that moment to losing whatever good looks he believed he might have. Sara almost poked his eyes out. Only because she was essentially a nonviolent person did she grab his yearbook and pen instead, inadvertently she let him get hold of her annual in the process. She plopped down on a nearby bench and began to scribble furiously on a back page.

Bubba,

Words, even the filthiest, cannot convey what I think of you. You are a liar, a thief, and a pervert. You are also the most unattractive slob to ever abuse my eyesight. I consider it the greatest misfortune of my adolescence that I had a chance to get to know you. You will not go far. You will end up in the mud—where you belong—with the rest of the world’s slime.

Get There As Soon As Possible,
Sara

When she looked up, Bubba had vanished. He reappeared a couple of minutes later, her annual in his hand, a beatific smile on his lips. She snapped her book back and tossed him his. He read her inscription with obvious pleasure.

“You have beautiful handwriting,” he said. “Very sensual.”

“Go to hell.”

“Later.” He grinned as he walked away. “Later, Sara.”

She was back inside the snack bar when she opened her yearbook. Her scream frightened everyone. Bubba had covered the entire inside cover with fat black marking-pen letters. There was no way to tear out the page. She shook as she read it.

My Dearest Sara,

My heart patters at the thought of us making love tonight above the deep ocean swells, our bodies locked in passion, the salty sweat on the burning flesh of our entangled limbs mingling like oil and wine, ready to burst into flaming ecstasy. My head swoons. Tonight, Sara, I promise you, will be our night. The gods will envy our joy.

But we mustn’t be foolish. We mustn’t forget, in our carnal hunger for each other, certain responsibilities. You would rather float on love-intoxicated perfumed clouds, I realize, ignoring the practical demands the world places upon us, only fantasizing about the pleasure I will send throbbing through your body. Yet we have to be careful. We can have our cake and eat it, too, but only if we don’t let the ice cream melt. We have to get some condoms.

As you have probably guessed, anything that will heighten our delight is fine with me. I prefer the natural to the artificial, the tight to the loose, blue to red. Keep this in mind when you visit the pharmacy, Sara, and you will be thanked a thousand times over when the time comes.

Love You Always,
In So Many Different Positions,
Bubba

P.S. Or, if you’d like, I can pick up something on the way to the boat?

“What is it?” Lori asked, standing beside her.

If the Lakers should win, would he keep the money if I don’t come across?

Stupid question.

Sara slammed the book shut and answered Lori. “Don’t ask.”

Michael had never seen Clair so happy. As they walked the familiar hallways searching for Bubba, she kept glancing over at him and giggling.

“What is it?” he asked finally.

“I have a secret I want to tell you, but I can’t.”

“What if I promise to tell no one else?”

“I still can’t tell you. Bubba would kill me.”

“He knows the secret?”

“He knows everything.” Clair giggled again and grabbed his arm. “Everything!”

“How come he doesn’t know we’re looking for him?”

She smiled, her blue eyes clear and bright. “Maybe he’s trying to avoid us.”

“That’s probably the truth. How’s the modeling coming? Is Bubba really acting as your agent?”

“Yeah, and he’s doing a great job. I’m shooting an ad for Nabisco next Monday, and on Wednesday I’m starring in a video with Killer Kids.”

“Is that a heavy-metal group?”

“Punk. Their music stinks but the pay’s great. I’m making so much money! Bubba’s investing it for me.”

“Legally, I hope.”

She laughed easily, still holding on to him. He didn’t understand why she liked him so much, unless it had to do with stuff Bubba had told her, which was hard to imagine. He regretted his initial low opinion of her. She was really very sweet.

“How about you?” she asked. “I hear you’re working at JPL?”

He had not planned to leave school in January. But after Maria’s accident and Jessica’s subsequent disappearance, he began to feel that Tabb High had lost whatever charm it had once possessed. From his freshman year on he had taken a heavy load. He had more than enough units to call it quits. Plus Mr. Gregory, his MGM (Mentally Gifted Minors) adviser, had helped him land another work-study position at Jet Propulsion Laboratory. The job was only twenty hours a week, so he hadn’t quit his job at the 7-Eleven to take it—much to the relief of the store owners. The JPL job came with the impressive title aeronautics intern, but it amounted to little more than errand boy to the engineers. It was not that he wasn’t learning. Often he was allowed to sit in on discussions relating to the design of future spacecraft, both manned and unmanned. The problem was, the experience was boring him.

Throughout his school days, he had seen himself as a budding scientist. Now he was finding out that the entire analytic approach to the universe left him feeling cold and unsatisfied. This was a critical discovery; it completely threw off his future plans. He no longer knew what he should study in college, or even if he should go to college. Looking around at the other kids in his class hanging out in the hallway, signing one another’s yearbooks and gossiping about how loaded they were going to get on the ship, he wondered if he was the only one who felt confused. He often wondered that—why he felt so different from everybody else.

“Yeah. The rocket and space business is OK,” he replied. “But I’ve been thinking of starting my own rock-and-roll band. Would you like to front it for me?”

Clair was amused. “I’m totally tone deaf.”

“But you can dance. That’s all that matters.”

“You should get Jessie. She’s got a great voice. She’s singing at the ceremony this afternoon.” She stopped, obviously afraid she might have offended him somehow. “I’m sorry, Mike.”

“No problem. That’s neat, she’ll be in the ceremony and all.”

Clair was watching him. “You never talk to her anymore, do you?”

He shrugged, feeling uncomfortable. Bubba must have told Clair how he felt about Jessica. “I never see her.”

“You’ll see her today.”

“I guess.”

“Look, I’m being nosy.”

“No.”

“Well, then, talk to her today. Hey, I said a lot of nasty things about her before—and I still think she deserved them—but she
is
a classy chick. She really likes you.”

Curiosity got the best of him. “What makes you say that? You haven’t seen her in six months.”

“I can tell.” She leaned closer. “Do you want me to tell her?”

“Tell her what?”

Clair reconsidered. “Nothing.”

“What?” he insisted.

She grinned mischievously. “Nothing.”

“Clair.”

She shook her head. “I won’t say anything.” But she had to add, “As long as you say something.”

“You’ve been hanging around Bubba too long. That sounds like a threat.”

She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and began to bounce away. “I’ve got to talk to my pals on the cheerleading squad. If you run into him before me, tell him I went to look for them in the gym. Think about what I said!”

“You remember what
I
said,” he called after her, embarrassed.

He continued to search for Bubba. The first-period bell would ring in a few minutes, but he doubted that many kids would be heading to class. As usual on the last day of school, there was a party atmosphere all over campus. He observed it without feeling it. The hot weather contributed to his mood. He remembered how it had been hot the day he had met Jessica.

Am I looking for Bubba or trying to hide from Jessie?

He bumped into Nick Grutler next outside. They had kept in touch: regular telephone calls, occasional one-on-one basketball games. Tabb High had finished first in the league for the second straight year. Some people were saying Coach Seller was a genius. None of those people had been on the team. The title belonged to Nick. Come next fall, he would be attending U.C.L.A. on a full athletic scholarship. Michael was proud of him.

“Does the old school still look the same?” Nick asked.

“Hey, I haven’t been gone that long.” Nick had been heading in the direction of the parking lot. “Where you going?”

Nick averted his eyes. He had gained a great deal of confidence since he had stumbled stuttering into the 7-Eleven at the end of the first week of school, but when he was troubled, he reverted to his old habit and looked away. “Maria’s coming to the graduation ceremony,” he said. “I’m picking her up at the rehabilitation clinic in San Diego.”

“How is she?” He knew Nick hadn’t seen Maria since she had been discharged from the hospital in February to the spinal injury clinic to begin rebuilding her body. But Nick had talked to her on the phone, although he wouldn’t say what they talked about.

“I don’t know,” Nick said.

“Does Jessie or Sara know she’s coming?”

“No.”

“I wonder if someone should tell them?”

“I think Maria wants it to be a surprise.”

“Why?”

Nick shook his head. “I guess none of us can know what it feels like to be suddenly crippled.”

Michael knew he was trying to make excuses for her ahead of time, and felt bad for him. “Tell her I’m looking forward to seeing her again.”

Nick nodded. “I will, Mike.” He glanced at his watch. He had one now—and a car. His dad had begun to let him hold on to his money, or else the college recruiters had been very generous. “I better go.”

They exchanged good-byes. Michael decided he might find Bubba in the computer room. He spotted Polly McCoy as he was on his way there. A talk with Polly was on his list of things to do.

She was sitting by herself on a bench outside on the far side of the girls’ shower room. Her dark hair hung long, straighter than before. The weight she had lost following Alice’s death had not returned; if anything, she was thinner. She glanced up as he approached, her eyes dark and uncertain. She had been studying her palm.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hi, Polly. How are you?”

“Fine…” The word trailed from her lips. Then she blinked. “Mike, it’s you. Where have you been?”

He sat beside her on the green wooden bench. Her blue jeans were old, skintight, her white lace blouse, long and loose. She had bitten her nails down a fraction too far. The only makeup she wore was lipstick, thick and red.

“I finished school at the semester,” he said. “Didn’t you know?”

“Jessie didn’t tell me. She never tells me anything.”

He forced a smile. “I don’t think
I
told Jessie. What are you doing way over here in the middle of nowhere?”

“I have a headache.”

“Oh, that’s a shame. Is it bad?”

“No. It’s long.”

“Long?” Mike asked.

“I’ve had it a couple of months.” She paused. “I’ve missed seeing you. I’m glad you’ve come back to school.”

“
She was outside when the gun went off. We’re sure of that, aren’t we?
”

He had asked Jessica that question six months ago. The answer was still yes. That was a fact. But he still didn’t trust Polly. “Just for the day. You must be excited about graduating?”

“I’m glad it’s almost over.” She glanced down at her hands and wove her fingers together. She answered his initial question again. “I like to be alone.”

“Do you want me to go?”

“No. But why do you want to talk to me?”

“I like talking to you.”

“Did you find him?”

“Find who?” He knew who she was talking about.

“Clark.”

“No,” he lied. He had found him, he just hadn’t spoken to him. He planned to do so today. “Does he know I’m looking for him?” he asked carefully, his heartbeat accelerating.

“I think so,” she said, her expression dreamy.

“So you’ve seen him?”

“Not in a long time.”

“When was the last time, Polly?”

“A long time ago.”

“You don’t remember?”

She jerked slightly, then frowned, concentrating. “It was the night Aunty died. It was raining.”

The sun shone bright in their faces, rebounding off the light brown wall at their backs. Michael realized that he was sweating.

Her aunt had died the night of homecoming, but there had been no storm. And since then, Polly had been alone. The court had not appointed her another guardian; apparently she was over eighteen.

“What did he do?” Michael asked, referring to Clark.

“The doctor said she died of natural causes.”

“Your aunt?”

“You don’t think he killed her, do you?” She could have been talking to herself. “I know you think he killed Alice. That’s why you’re looking for him. But he says he didn’t.”

“He told you that?” Michael asked.

“Yes.”

“Do you believe him?” She looked him straight in the eye. Her dreaminess lessened. Indeed, she seemed suddenly cautious. “I do.”

“But was he there, the night of the party?”

“He said something about coming at the end.”

Michael could hardly contain his excitement. “Was he up in the bedroom when Alice died?”

She became slightly annoyed. “Why are you asking all these questions? I told you, I have a headache.”

“I’m sorry, I was sort of pushy. Let me ask just a couple more and then I’ll help you find an aspirin.”

“I don’t take aspirin. They make your stomach bleed. I have to save my blood to donate to the hospital.”

“Was Clark in the room with Alice just before she died?”

“No. He left when I left.” She put a hand to her temple—as she had done when he visited her last winter—and paled. “I wish you’d stop. Please stop.”

It drove him nuts, to be so close and yet so far. “I have to ask you, Polly, if I’m ever to clear Alice’s name.”

“She’s dead. She doesn’t care about her name. The dead don’t care about anything. The only one who cares is me.”

“That’s not true. I care.”

She paused, surprised. “You do?”

“I really do. Polly.”

She thought for a moment, then looked away. “Don’t go to the all-night party. Mike.”

“Why not?”

“Clark might come,” she answered.

“Did he tell you he was coming?”

“No.”

“Then why do you think he will?”

“I—I feel it. It’s a bad feeling.”

“But I want to talk to him.”

Polly shook her head. “He won’t talk to you.”

“What will he do?”

“I don’t know,” she said, standing, obviously up-set. “Excuse me, but I have to go to the bathroom.” She looked right and left, confused. “I hate this school. I come here and Alice shoots herself and then Aunty chokes on a pillow. It’s an awful place. It makes me want to throw up.”

“Polly,” he began.

“Just don’t get too close,” she cried, running away.

Michael wondered if anything she had told him had been accurate.

Bubba appeared a minute later, dressed to kill, except for an oversize sombrero that bobbled around on his head. Michael had not seen him in over a month. Bubba had lost a few pounds. Must be Clair’s doing. He sat beside Michael on the bench, a brown paper bag in his right hand, his yearbook in the left. Michael knew what was in the bag. He immediately glanced all around.

“We’re alone,” Bubba said.

Michael nodded at the sack. “You got it?”

“I got it. Are you sure you want it?”

“Where did you get it?”

“Kats.” Bubba said.

“Bubba! I told you no one is supposed to know.”

“You only gave me a few days. Besides, I fed Kats a good story. Don’t worry.” Bubba glanced at the bag, appearing a tad worried himself. “You know, Mike, you’re a smart guy, but I know a lot of smart guys who have done stupid things with one of these.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“If you’d tell me what you want it for, I might be able to give you some sage advice to keep you out of jail.”

Michael held out his hand. “The less you know, the better for you.”

Bubba reluctantly gave him the package. “Every-thing’s inside. The keys, too.”

Earlier in the week Michael had asked Bubba to slip into Polly’s school locker, borrow her purse, and make a copy of her house keys. Michael wanted another look at the bedroom where Alice had died, but wasn’t fond of the idea of breaking into the McCoy residence. “I appreciate it.”

“What are Bubbas for? I hear Maria’s coming to the ceremony.”

“Did Nick tell you?”

“No. A confidential source. Do you have your speech ready?”

“I haven’t given it a moment’s thought. Hey, what am I doing as valedictorian anyway? What happened to Dale Jensen? Did he get a C in a class or what?”

“He got busted.”

“When? How?”

“Tuesday night. Remember that narc that was hassling Nick before Christmas? Randy Meisser?”

“Yeah. You said you were going to run him off campus.”