Chapter Four – Part 1
By the end of the week Allison had, for the most part, recovered from the party. All the whispering she'd overheard had been about Chuck's header into the beer cooler. No one seemed to be talking about her part in the episode.
Even so, her gaze kept scanning the school yard as she walked home with Macy. It was a paranoid reaction, but she couldn't help it.
And— in response to her paranoia— there he was, leaning against the wall of the South Gym. As she and Macy rounded the football field, Allison couldn't take her eyes off of him. Chuck's eyes held hers like a magnet.
"Stop looking," Macy said with a resigned tone. "You'll only encourage him."
Allison yanked her gaze away from the side of the gym and hugged the backpack in her arms closer to her chest.
"He still scares me," she said. She whispered the words as if Chuck could hear her from across the football field.
She knew that Chuck Wilson had been watching her— no, he'd been staring at her— since she'd walked outside. Had he been loitering there, all last period? She wondered. Just for me?
"Allie, look out!"
Allison turned toward Macy just in time to realize she'd strayed off the sidewalk. She pulled herself short just too late to avoid colliding with a tree. She didn't fall, but she dropped her backpack and her books went everywhere.
She staggered back and looked at her history textbook. It had spilled from her backpack and was spread open before her, flapping its pages in the wind.
Allison looked from the textbook to Macy's face. The concerned look in her best friend's eyes made Allison mutter, "I'm fine." She bent to retrieve her backpack and her history textbook. The book closed against the wind as she reached for it, but a twinge behind her temples kept her from noticing.
"No you're not, girl." Macy looked back, over her shoulder. Their view of the gym was now hidden by the bleachers flanking the football field. No Chuck in sight. "He still hasn't done nothing. Has he?"
She shook her head and tried to let go of the paranoia that clutched at her. "No, not since the party," Allison said, slipping most of her books back into her backpack and slinging the pack over her shoulder. Her history text she hugged to her chest.
"Then he's off of it, right?"
Allison nodded vigorously and started down the sidewalk, forcing herself to watch ahead of her feet. "I'm just being paranoid."
Macy matched her stride easily. "This is really freaking you. Maybe you should tell someone."
"No."
"You could talk to your mother."
"No!" Allison winced at the sound of her own voice. "I just have a morbid imagination, that's all. Can we change the subject?"
Macy made a dissatisfied grunt. "Okay." After a few moments she asked, "You have the paper for Mr. Counter yet?"
"Ugh!" Allison said. "Don't remind me."
"What? You trying to flunk history, girl? He don't like your attendance already—"
"I'll get it done."
"Ten pages by Monday? He'll dock you a letter just for your attitude."
Allison sighed. "So what?"
They crossed the intersection behind the high school and walked down Grant.
Euclid Heights High was mired in a suburban commercial district like a fly in amber. A few houses congregated in the gaps between the intersections, but the areas around the major streets were hives of commerce. Some— mostly fast food places— served the high-school students. Others— mostly the bars— served the college students that overran the eastern suburbs this close to John Caroll and Case Western Reserve University. The rest of the shops— like the BMW dealership and the Thai restaurant Allison and Macy were passing— served the middle-class population lived further east of the city.
For some reason it all depressed Allison.
As they passed the BMW lot, the sun gleamed so intensely off the accumulated windshields that Allison thought she should see circling buzzards in the reflection.
"Ahem," said Macy.
Allison turned around and saw Macy standing a few steps behind her, tapping her foot. Allison felt guilty again. "I'm sorry. What did you say?"
Macy turned her head up at the sky as if to say, "what am I going to do with you, girl?" Instead she asked, "Have you at least done the reading?"
"Ah. . ."
"Counter's going to spaz." Macy stepped up and hugged Allison's shoulder. "You've got guts if you even show up on Monday."
Allison shrugged. What was done was done. "I'll do what I can over the weekend."
"That's half the class. I'd forget about it and sneak an extra lunch period the rest of the semester."
As they walked down Grant, Allison shook her head. "It hasn't been my fault. I won't give up like that."
"Counter'll look at the attendance sheet and flunk you anyway."
"I don't care."
Macy shrugged. "I don't understand you."
They walked a block and a half in silence, passing a convenience store. Sometimes Allison didn't understand herself. What Macy said was tempting. With her godawful attendance, it would seem a lot simpler to give up and count the semester a loss.
She was running flat out, and she was still losing ground. What was the point of it? She knew, already, that she'd be lucky to pull a passing GPA this semester. For sure she'd be going to summer school. She'd be lucky to graduate on time the way things were going.
If she relaxed and stopped pushing, the picture would only be slightly worse.
But it would be giving in.
Fortunately, her headaches were diminishing. Since the party she hadn't had any bad ones. This had been her first week of perfect attendance this year.
The fact that her skull was ceasing its unexplained throbbing should have buoyed her through anything. But she found herself depressed, under siege from a load of neglected homework and eviscerated academic prospects.
Not to mention Chuck.
"Hey," Macy said. "Cheer up."
Allison looked her friend in the eye and asked, "Why?"
"I tell you they left me back sixth grade?"
"Huh?"
"End of the world girl! They pinned a note to my sweater, big red letters. Mama cried. Dad creamed me. Six kids and none of them, not even Russell, had been left back in grade school."
Macy spread her hands and looked down at Allison. "Today, does it matter? See my point?"
"Yeah, I suppose I do."
"Good." They'd reached the intersection where they usually parted ways. Macy squeezed Allison's shoulder and started down her own street. "Don't kill yourself," she called back.
"I don't plan to." Allison said.
