Chapter Five – Part 3
"What other possibility?" Allison whispered at her notebook. The words came out with an unenlightening puff of fog.
She jotted down what else she remembered him saying before Mom hung up. Always been a chance. They already have one class in the area.
"Is that right?"
She stared at the words. She knew he'd said something about a class. It wasn't "one class."
She crossed out "one class" and wrote out "class one."
John: "They already have one class a class one in the area. If they find out she's a. . ."
"If they find out I'm a what? Then what?" Allison sighed. "Thanks, Mom."
She underlined "they" again, and finished the last two lines so they read:
John: "They already have one class a class one in the area. If they find out she's a. . ."
Mom: "Leave us alone. I don't believe any of this. They're stone insane. You're insane. Call and I drag you into court. Touch my daughter and I'll kill you."
Allison wondered about the third sentence. The phrase "stone insane" sounded more like her romance heroine, Melissa, than it did Mom. However, Allison was certain that her mother had said "stone insane" or words to that effect.
Allison sighed.
Would someone please tell me who "they" are?
She decided she'd killed enough time and packed up her backpack again. Whatever was going on in her family's life, she doubted it would be an adequate excuse for Mr. Counter. She still had to flesh out that bibliography.
She checked her watch and saw that it was past nine. Good, the library was open. She crossed the street and resumed her journey.
At the library, she spent the morning roaming the stacks. By noon she had amassed an impressive bibliography for her paper. She'd scanned books on revolution, American, French, and otherwise, and had found herself involved despite herself. One of the books had a distinctly Marxist flavor to it that she knew would absolutely infuriate Mr. Counter if she included it as a reference.
She sat behind a desk piled with books and told herself that she was finally done. All she had to do now was type up the bibliography and slip in a few of the supporting quotes that she had picked through while leafing through her horde.
Her sense of victory was muted.
She wished she'd never listened in on that phone call. It wasn't as if she didn't have enough on her mind already. She pulled the notebook out of her backpack and looked at the transcribed conversation again.
She wished she'd had the sense to write the thing down when it was fresh on her mind. She knew the conversation had eroded in her memory. The gaps in it might contain something important. Something that would explain everything.
You could ask her. Confront Mom directly. . .
Allison sniffed and realized her eyes were watering. She sucked in a shuddering breath and wiped her face with the back of her hand. A small damp spot now marred the notebook paper. She smeared it with her thumb. She felt pathetic.
Problems between me and Mom? How'd you know, Macy?
Allison needed a tissue badly now. She gathered her papers and headed for a bathroom.
On the way she walked right into David Greenbaum. He'd been carrying a stack of books nearly three feet high, and the collision caused them to fly everywhere. Allison raised her arms to ward off the falling literature, but the books hooked to the left at the last second to careen off a defenseless marble drinking fountain.
The impact left her head throbbing.
David stood there, gaping, for half a beat, before he realized who she was. "Allie! Oh, gee, I'm sorry—"
Allison shook her head. The throbbing subsided below the pain threshold. "My fault. I wasn't looking where I was going."
"They just got away from me." David stared at the pile of books at their feet. He looked as if he couldn't quite believe the mess they'd caused. Allison once found his befuddled looks cute. Now she just found it irritating.
What did he have to be confused about?
She bent and began handing books up to him, rebuilding the stack he'd been carrying. He flinched when she handed him the first one, and Allison couldn't figure out why.
It's last weekend, she thought, the scene between me and Chuck. Now David probably blames me for ruining his party.
Great, that thought made her feel even worse. About her. About David. About the whole awful world. She rushed through stacking the rest of David's books.
"Are you all right?" David asked as she began stacking books past his face.
"No damage." Allison balanced the last book in place, half-obscuring David's nose.
"That's not what I mean. You look like you've been crying."
She resisted an urge to wipe her face. Do you really care, David? Or are you just asking because you think you're supposed to? "I took a long swim and decided to peel some onions afterwards."
"Ah. Ok." David's voice sounded resigned.
Allison picked up her backpack and stepped around him toward the ladies' room. As she retreated down the hall she heard David say, belatedly as usual, "I'm really sorry about the party."
She didn't respond because she didn't know what to say.
