Emory’s Gift (34 page)

That’s just what was going on at the dance, only the girls were all facing inward. I spotted Beth: she was wearing a short, light-colored dress with a square neckline and sleeves that were puffy down to the elbows and then were normal from there on out. She had on clunky black platform shoes that laced up, and her hair was all straight except two pieces on either side which were pulled back and were tied with a thin ribbon. She was standing with her birdlike friends and I had no idea how I was going to separate her from the flock for what I intended to be a life-changing conversation. I made a couple of passes at the group like an airplane buzzing a platoon of enemy soldiers, but she didn’t break from the protective ring of seventh graders.

“Hey, Charlie, I saw you on TV!” a female voice called. I turned and Joy Ebert was grinning at me. She, too, had puffy sleeves and a square neckline, along with a choker necklace of velveteen ribbon with a little cameo in the center of it. I yanked my eyes away from that necklace because I didn’t want her to think I was trying to look at her boobs.

It would be difficult to overstate the impact a girl like Joy could have on a boy like me when she focused her smile like she was doing. It was like being caught in a
Star Trek
tractor beam—I was transfixed. I nervously agreed that I had been on television and fumbled my way through what had sort of become my stump speech for the evening, explaining how nice Nichole J. Singleton was in person.

The funny thing was, when the conversation hit the point where it had always petered out with everyone else Joy started asking me about other things, like my dad’s American bison business. Several times she put her hand on my arm, sending a warm sensation all the way up to my shoulder.

More than once during this process—and later I did come to realize that it
was
a process—Joy would longingly glance out at the dancers crowding the floor, but even when she said, “I really like this song!” I didn’t get the hint. Finally she grabbed my hand. “We should dance!” she called out.

Me, dance with Joy Ebert? I numbly followed her, feeling foolish, and then we were facing each other and dancing.

There were two types of people out there on the floor: (a) people who could dance and (b) boys. I fell into the latter category, but I gave it my best shot. Joy was so lovely when she moved it was hard for me to keep the grin off my face.

We danced through two songs and then, when the band announced they were going to “slow it down,” Joy sort of spread her arms and I found myself, contrary to all the rules of the universe, clutching the most popular girl in the eighth grade to me, drinking in her perfume, swaying to the music.

“You’re so normal,” Joy told me.

“What do you mean?” I pulled my head back so I could see her, and having her beautiful face up so close nearly sent me into a full swoon. I hastily bent back to my original position, my jaw resting on her shoulder.

“I mean with the bear and all. The whole town’s talking about it. There’s TV here. Yet you just come to the dance like everything’s normal. That’s so cool.”

I thought about this. After my mom died it seemed like everyone expected me to act normal. So I changed my outward behavior, pretended I wasn’t hurting inside, and I got pretty good affecting normalcy. What an odd talent to praise, out on the dance floor at a junior high party.

Several couples on the floor kissed as the song ended. That was strictly against Benny H. rules, but we were starting to figure out that if one or two students misbehaved, it was considered criminal, but if a bunch of us did it, it was considered political protest. I got the feeling that Joy would kiss me, if I wanted, but when I was making up my mind about it I caught sight of someone staring at me from across the gym.

It was, of course, Beth.

She turned and marched away from me and I felt hopeless with loss. What in the world did I think I was doing?

Joy didn’t notice anything. She was smiling at someone over my shoulder, and then Tim Humphrey was there, smiling back. He gave an approving look at the two of us as a couple, which I now felt was ridiculous. He was the person who should be with Joy Ebert, not me. They would get married and produce model-quality children who would go on to become movie stars and NFL draft picks.

“You come over to ask me to dance?” Joy asked flirtatiously.

“Oh,” Tim said uncomfortably. He looked at me, seriously contemplating that I, Charlie Hall, might have a claim on the most popular girl in eighth grade.

“You should!” I told him as the music cranked up. I practically threw the two of them together. I received a strange look from both of them, but then they got swept up in the band’s semiclose approximation of “Crocodile Rock.”

I went after Beth and she retreated into the impregnable fortress of the girls’ room. I saw her as the door swung shut, and then one of her friends came out and stood sentry, her face frozen in disapproval.

I turned away from the gargoylelike glare. I figured I could wait this one out. I folded my arms and leaned up against a fire extinguisher mounted on the wall. Beth would have to come out eventually and then I would tell her …

Well, I didn’t have it worked out exactly what I would say.

An electronic buzzer filled the air, followed by the sound of someone blowing into a microphone. “Charlie Hall, please report to the principal’s office immediately,” the principal boomed at the world.

Just great.

I trudged to the principal’s office. Naturally, he wanted to know what had happened to all the media attention he’d been promised. I dutifully gave him Nichole’s message, but he’d put on what I knew to be the best suit in his collection and looked more than a little unhappy with the way he’d been manipulated. I found myself talking about how great it was that he, the principal, would consider granting an interview, though inwardly I seethed with resentment that he had the authority to keep me in his office at his whim. I didn’t have
time
for this man!

When I finally escaped I ran as fast as I could down the shiny floor, my rubber soles squeaking. The girl guarding the girls’ room had abandoned her post, which could mean everything or nothing. “Beth?” I called to the door. No response. What if she was in the gym and I was stuck here at the bathrooms? When another seventh-grade girl drifted over I desperately seized her and asked her to go into the sanctum to see if Beth was still there.

Beth was gone.

I dashed into the dance area. The boys were still playing basketball at the far end, but the band had stopped and most of the students were leaking out the doors and into the night. I joined them, jumping up to scan the crowd for any sign of her, but I saw nothing. Beth had vanished.

My dad’s Jeep was parked out in front, waiting for me. The stars had come out and when I looked into the night sky I could see all the way to forever, but nowhere in any of the astrology was written what was going to happen to me next, and I felt tired and unhappy when I opened the passenger door.

Nichole was sitting there, smiling as usual, and she leaned forward so I could clamber into the back.

“How was the party?” she asked.

“Fine,” I said bitterly.

She twisted in her seat. “What’s the matter?”

If my dad had asked me, I would have said,
Nothing,
and that would have been the end of it. Instead, I found myself telling her about Joy Ebert and the horrible mistake I’d made with Beth.

“Rod Shelburton’s daughter?” my dad wanted to know, sounding a little surprised. How clueless was he? He’d seen me
kiss
her!

“You do understand why she’s upset,” Nichole said.

“Yeah.”

“When will you see her again? Monday?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, you’ll have to apologize to her. Tell her you’re sorry.”

I looked out the window. That didn’t sound like much of a plan to me. I felt completely miserable.

“Charlie.” Nichole leaned the seat back so she could put a hand on my shoulder. Her eyes were gentle. “Trust me on this. If you say you are sorry and you really, really mean it, if you tell her it was a mistake and you don’t know what you were thinking, she will forgive you. Girls like an apology; it’s a way of saying to her that she matters to you.”

I spent the night on the couch again. I figured Nichole had an exclusive on this story and wasn’t going to let my dad out of her sight. At dawn, I heard car doors slamming and saw that McHenry was back and he had his men with him. They were wearing security guard outfits, complete with big hats like Sheriff Nunnick wore. They stood sipping coffee and talking as the light brightened, but they all froze in place when Emory strolled out of the pole barn and left me a steaming present in the backyard.

I walked outside and went over to the bear. “It looks like your bullet wound has healed up just fine,” I observed.

As usual, the bear didn’t react at all.

“Probably today’s the day for your message, Emory,” I told him. “I know how you did it, now, so we’ll use the same method.” We regarded each other. “And then you’ll need to leave, because tomorrow is Monday and McHenry says the judge will order you to be shot.”

All my life I’ve wondered why Emory never gave me any indication that he comprehended anything I ever said. I don’t know what he could have done—nodded, maybe, or pawed the ground once for “yes” and twice for “no.” At any rate, I had no idea, gazing into those chocolate eyes, if he understood that he was going to die the next day if he didn’t run away.

Even though it was barely daybreak, I could hear some people tramping in the woods down below our property, calling to each other. Emory heard them, too, and he returned to the pole barn. I closed the door behind him, putting the tarp back up over the window.

When I walked out into the yard, McHenry was waiting for me.

“Just heard it on the CB,” he told me grimly. “More people are coming. Cars and cars of them.”

chapter

THIRTY-FIVE

AT first McHenry’s men tried to prevent the flood of people from getting on our property, but there were only six of them, plus McHenry, and they were quickly outflanked. The guards drew back and formed a protective barrier at the doors of the pole barn, looking ominous and official.

The weather had gone from hostile to welcoming, and people took advantage of the sunshine to make absolute fools of themselves. I couldn’t keep myself from staring at the situation as it deteriorated. There were people having picnics and prayer meetings; there were protestors from IGAR and from church; there were people smoking marijuana and people drinking beer. All kinds of trash littered the ground. McHenry put a man on our front porch to turn away bathroom seekers so most of the crowd went into the woods to do their business.

A lively discussion started between two men, rising above the hum of conversation. They were both normal-looking guys, in T-shirts and jeans, one with a thick mustache and one with a bushy beard.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about!” Mustache yelled.

“No sir, no sir!” shouted Beard.

“You’d better shut your hole!”

“Try it!”

With that, their friends from both sides grabbed them and separated them, though it hadn’t looked to me like they wanted to fight each other—it was more like the way Dan Alderton was at the park, yelling because hearing himself shout made him feel angry.

Alecci and Wally arrived and stood in the driveway getting footage of the people carrying signs, many of which had biblical quotations and some of which proclaimed they were against animal cruelty. I didn’t see any that were in
favor
of animal cruelty, though. One of the signs said: “It is Wrong to Keep Animals in Cages.” I argued with that one in my head—it wasn’t a cage; it was a pole barn big enough to park two tractor-trailer rigs inside. Another sign urged people to “Believe the Bear,” and, it being Idaho, there was a sign demanding the government “Lower Our Taxes.” The people with signs tended to want to move around, always careful not to step on the people sitting cross-legged on blankets.

A man in a blue suit had emerged from the news van and stood around nervously while the crowd put on a loud show for the cameras. I wondered who he was.

Alecci seemed really angry when the security guard stopped him from walking into our house like he owned the place. He and Wally and the man in the blue suit fidgeted while McHenry came over and poked his head in our door and asked my dad if it was okay for the TV people to come in. Nichole nodded at my dad and then the whole group was inside.

The man in the blue suit was introduced as Phillip T. Thorpe, there to help the TV audience understand the “unique situation we are all facing.” Mr. Thorpe was a Bear Expert with Experience in These Matters. Nobody questioned how someone could have experience in a unique situation. He actually sort of looked like a bear, with a heavy, squat body and a dark shadow where his razor had lost the battle with his beard that morning. When he spoke, though, his voice was high and whiney.

“I will be able to quickly ascertain what we have here,” Mr. Thorpe said.

I could tell by the look in my dad’s eyes that he didn’t care much for Mr. Thorpe. “What we have here is a bear,” my father said laconically.

McHenry turned to the side so Alecci wouldn’t see his smile. I was just a kid, though, so I felt free to grin away.

“See, what we got here is the problem of the bear paw,” Alecci lectured. “So what Mr. Thorpe is going to do is figure out how he wrote the words on the wall. That goes out tonight, keeps the story going, along with the footage we shot of the mob scene, there.” He gestured and we all dutifully looked out the front window. Pastors Klausen and Jamie had arrived from church and were speaking to one group of people while the folks from IGAR were listening to someone else, like opposing football teams huddling up before the ball was hiked.

“Sunday’s a slow news day. Tomorrow, Monday, the court reaches its decision. We’ll be here to catch your reactions to that.” Alecci nodded at my dad and me. “Monday’s the biggest news day.”