She began to read from the notes again in a voice that had scarcely more volume. He watched her in profile. The girl was staying in Maggie Jones’s house now. Maggie had told him about it. That was better. She already looked better. Probably Maggie had been the one to trim her hair that way.
Then there was a commotion in the room. Abruptly she stopped reading because somebody had said something from the back of the room and now all of the girls were turned in their seats looking at Russell Beckman. He sat at the very back corner, his red curly hair combed down over his forehead, a big boy wearing a tee-shirt under his red and white Holt County Union High School jacket.
She wouldn’t start reading again. She was still staring out at their faces, holding her papers before her. She looked as though she were in a kind of panic.
What’s wrong? Guthrie said.
She turned her head and looked at him, her eyes guarded and dark.
What’s wrong here?
She would not speak nor make any complaint, but turned back toward the class, the rows of suddenly blank faces staring back at her, and looked over their heads toward the Beckman boy who sat at the back row cramped in his desk and who gazed forward blankly, his hands folded on his desk as though he were no more responsible for any disturbance than he was for the setting of the sun. At the front of the classroom the girl watched him. Then without saying any word at all she started walking across the front of the room. By the time she reached the door she was running. Behind her the door crashed against the wall and rebounded and they could hear her rapid steps diminishing in the tiled hallway.
The students sat looking at the door, which was still shuddering. Guthrie rose from his desk. Alberta, he said. Go catch up with her and see what you can do.
A small blond girl in front stood up. But what if I can’t find her?
Go look for her. She can’t be far.
But I don’t know where she went.
Just go look for her. Go on now.
She hurried out of the room into the hall.
Guthrie walked back in the aisle between the desks toward Russell Beckman who still sat with his hands folded. The other students turned to watch as Guthrie passed. He stopped and stood over the boy. What did you say to her?
I didn’t say nothing to her. He made a gesture with his hand. He was brushing something away.
Yes you did. What was it?
I wasn’t even talking to her. I was talking to him. He ducked his head sideways toward the boy next to him. Ask him.
Guthrie looked at the boy in the black cowboy boots in the next desk. The boy stared straight ahead with a sullen look on his face. What’d he say?
I never heard it, the boy said.
You never heard it.
No.
How come everybody else did?
I don’t have any idea. Ask them.
Guthrie looked at him. He turned back to Russell Beckman. I’ll see you out in the hallway.
I never did nothing.
Let’s go.
Russell Beckman glanced at the boy in the next desk. There was a faint expression on the other boy’s face now. Beckman gave a little snort and the expression on the other boy’s face got slightly bigger, and now something was showing in his eyes too. Russell Beckman sighed loudly, as if he were greatly oppressed, and stood up and walked very slowly down the aisle between the other students and out into the empty hall. Guthrie followed him and shut the door. They faced each other.
You said something to Victoria that hurt her. I want to know what’s going on here.
I didn’t do nothing to her, the boy said. I wasn’t even talking to her. I already told you that.
And I’m going to tell you something, Guthrie said. You’re already in serious trouble in this class. You haven’t done anything for weeks. I’m not going to pass you until you do.
You think I care about that?
You will.
No I won’t. You don’t know a goddamn thing about me.
I know more about you than I want to know.
You can go to hell.
Guthrie grabbed the boy’s arm. They struggled and the boy fell back against the metal lockers. He jerked his arm away. His jacket was halfway off his shoulder and he pulled it straight.