The Lottery (21 page)

“You acted without consulting me. I’m the president, you’re overstepping your bounds.”

“What’s the big deal, Willis?” The voice was female, obviously the vampire queen’s. “She’s just the victim. Why does she matter so much to you?”

“I know who she is,” Willis retorted. “It’s precisely because of who she is that we need to make sure we treat her exactly by the rules.”

“Because she’s a special victim.”

“I was never in favor of that. We should have chosen the victim the regular way, according to lottery rules. From now on, everything connected to this victim will follow the rules exactly. That stunt with the three scrolls was a cretin’s wet dream. It was so obvious, I was surprised she didn’t catch on right then and there.”

“It was a majority decision. Even the president has to abide by that.”

“I am abiding by it, in case you haven’t noticed. I also happen to be abiding by the rest of the rules.”

“Shadow lives to break rules. We break rules every day, all day long.”

“You can’t rule by chaos. You lose respect.”

“We’ve got their respect by the balls,” sneered Linda. “They’re all terrified of Shadow. That’s the way to run them.”

“I agree with Willis.” For the first time Rolf’s voice broke in, quiet but steady. “We need some kind of rules, otherwise kids won’t know who to obey. And since the victim has to obey us more than anyone else, the rules have to be clearest for her.”

“Oh,” jeered Linda. “Another one for the victim’s fan club.”

“She did the assigned duty,” said Rolf. “I don’t see why you’re so pissed off. She hasn’t caused any of the trouble her brother did.”

Pressed against the wall, Sal breathed sudden knives of air.

“Yeah, and you know the way Shadow dealt with him,” Linda said. “Fear. And it worked.”

“She’s already scared enough,” said Rolf. “She’s done everything we told her to do, no complaints.”

“It’s genetic,” said Linda. “Whatever was in her brother will pop up in her, just you wait.”

“Until it does,” said Willis clearly, “you lay off, understand? And turn in your clubroom key — I’m the only one who’s supposed to have one.”

“Ooo — you going to give me demerits, Prez?”

“Maybe we should put that to a majority vote,” came Rolf’s thoughtful voice.

In the long ensuing pause, Sal breathed her way, millimeter by millimeter, down the hall.

Yanking the headphones from her brother’s ears, Sal leaned into his startled face and shouted, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

She crouched over him, her chest heaving. High-pitched voices vibrated in her head. The bike ride from school had gone by in a blur — not a traffic light, not a stop sign had come between her and her destination.

“Tell you what?” Flat on his back, Dusty eyed her warily. It had been a week since they’d spoken. Retro-Whatever still carried the small sharp angles of their last explosion.

“Your big secret.” She had to raise her voice to be heard over the booming headphones. “Whatever happened between you and Shadow.”

His eyes glimmered, then closed. “How’d you hear about that?”

Tossing the headphones aside, she propped his eyelids open with her fingers. “For your information, I just so happen to be this year’s lottery winner, and all I know is that it has something to do with you and Shadow from years back.”

Dusty’s enlarged eyes stared up at her. “So that’s why you and Brydan aren’t talking, why Kimmie hasn’t been around.”

She nodded.

“Let go of my lids, man.”

“Will you tell me about Shadow?”

“If you let me blink.”

Backing off, she settled into the beanbag chair and watched him retrieve his glasses from a nearby speaker.
The air sang with secrets. She felt vivid and deep, riding enormous possibility.

“Shadow,” Dusty said softly, slumping against the opposite wall. “I had a feeling they’d come after you. That’s why I’ve been on your case so much lately, but you wouldn’t tell me, you wouldn’t say.”

“You didn’t tell me anything either,” she pointed out.

“You’ve got enough on your mind. I didn’t want to bother you.” Eyes closed, chin sunk onto his thin chest, Dusty spoke as if to no one, as if his thoughts couldn’t carry beyond the tired boundaries of his own mind. “I guess we all keep Shadow’s secrets in the end.”

She’d never seen him like this, not even after their father had died. “Dusty,” she whispered, leaning forward. “Were you the lottery winner?”

He shook his head. “Lizard.”

Sal’s jaw dropped. “But he joined them.”

“He joined in his grad year. He was the winner in grade nine.”

She sat swallowing assumptions. “So what does this have to do with Shadow and you?”

“He was my best friend. I couldn’t let him go through it alone.” Dusty rubbed his eyes tiredly. “I tried to stick it out with him.”

“Did they come after you?” Sal asked quickly.

“Yeah,” murmured Dusty, “but that wasn’t the worst. It was the way they went after Liz. He begged me to ditch him, said he had to pay because I wouldn’t shun him. What was I supposed to do?”

“But you’re friends now,” Sal protested. None of this made sense. How could something so enormous disap
pear into the past without leaving any evidence? Or had she just been unable to read the signs?

“We picked up again after grade nine,” Dusty said quietly. “Never talked about it — he wouldn’t — but I gave Shadow some flack the next year. Didn’t last long, there wasn’t any point to it. No one else gave a damn. I couldn’t believe the way everyone seemed to get off on obeying them.” He shrugged. “What’s the point if you’re the only one? Can’t be a revolution on your own.”

“What kinds of things did you do?” Sal grinned with pride but Dusty’s eyes remained closed, his face expressionless. He was zoning out, she realized. The way Tauni Morrison did when she hit overload.

“Acts of random intelligence,” mumbled Dusty. “Protest posters, a speech in the cafeteria, vandalizing the Celts’ clubroom with graffiti. Got suspended for the last one. What are they doing to you?”

“Mostly I play gopher,” Sal said. “I think it’s the usual stuff. Willis makes them stick to the rules.”

“Willis?”

“Willis Cass. He’s the president.”

Dusty opened his eyes to narrow slits. “Brother of Warren Cass? Son of Woodrow Cass, as in Cass, Burrows and Shody Solicitors?”

“I don’t know who his father is,” Sal said slowly.

“Warren Cass,” Dusty said intensely, “was Shadow president the year after Liz was the lottery winner. That also happens to be the year I gave them all that flack — grade ten, the grade you just happen to be in this year. Warren Cass really hated my guts. Looks like he passed it on to his brother.”

“I don’t think so; hatred isn’t genetic.”

Dusty looked dubious. “The Casses are an ugly breed.”

“Willis ...” Sal paused, considering, “... is protecting me. The rest of Shadow would run me into the ground, but he makes them stick to the rules.”

“Why?’

“I don’t know. He’s different.”

“Then why is he on Shadow?” exploded Dusty. “Believe me, if you’re on Shadow, you are Shadow. No exceptions.”

“I don’t know,” Sal repeated. “Nothing fits the way it used to, there is no black and white. The way I see it, everyone at S.C. is living both sides of the same coin. We all support Shadow, run off and stomp on some victim whenever they tell us to. At the same time, we’re all victims-in-waiting, and any one of us could become the next target. The victim and the assassin are living inside each one of us, we all play both parts. We keep the whole thing going, we’re doing this to ourselves. Every year, the entire student body holds its breath until one kid gets chosen to be the symbol for what’s happening inside everyone else.”

Dusty slouched lower, picking at the carpet. “I wish I knew what to do,” he said heavily. “Like you said, everyone at S.C. is an extension of Shadow. If you go to administration, you’ll pay for it every minute until you graduate. Believe me, if I’d guessed they’d go after you because of what I was doing, I never would’ve kicked up shit. This is my fault.”

“It could’ve happened to me anyway,” Sal said quickly. “There’s always the off chance I could’ve ended up the winner from a legit Shadow lottery.”

“What’s that got to do with it?” Dusty grunted.

“You ever buy lottery tickets?”

He shrugged. “Sure.”

She leaned forward, chasing her thoughts. “It’s part of the same mentality, isn’t it? Positive or negative, it’s the belief that chance is god, it has the right to rule your life. You spend two bucks on a specific number and that number changes your life, makes you a millionaire. Or Shadow pulls your name, and you win loneliness and degradation for a year. It has nothing to do with you, though. You don’t win a lottery through doing something noble, or coming up with a great idea. It just happens to you. A lottery winner could be anyone. A lottery winner is nothing.”

Dusty nodded, blinking rapidly. “You’re not nothing, Sally-Sis.”

She waved an impatient hand, still chasing thoughts. “Everyone should commit random acts of intelligence like you did. I think it’s cool you stood up for Lizard. I’m sure it helped him — he survived, didn’t he?”

“Barely,” Dusty said. “Sometimes I’m not sure I know him.”

“But he knows you.” Sal was glowing, full of sudden certainty. “Sure, he joined them in grade twelve, but he’s your friend, so they didn’t destroy him entirely. You keep him sane, Dusty, just like you keep me ... believing.”

“Believing in what?”

“In something. I don’t know what exactly. But you know what I know for sure right now? It’s just one year and I can do it. You know why? Because of you. Because you showed me how to be. I learned everything I know about what’s good and decent in life from watching you.”

Dusty sat blinking in utter astonishment.

“And you know what else?” Tears running down her
face, Sal sat sobbing and utterly triumphant. “You turned into who you are because you earned it, Dusty, not because you pulled some stupid number out of a hat. I think you’re the best brother I could ever ever get in a million, trillion, zillion years.”

Crawling across the room, Dusty pulled her into a bear hug. “You’re starting to talk like a little kid,” he said huskily. “That means you need sleep bad.”

“Want some hot chocolate first.” Sal rubbed her runny nose against his shirt.

“Marshmallows?” asked Dusty softly.

“Lots’n lots’n ...” Sal sighed, drifting on the rhythm of her brother’s breathing. It was happening — she was starting to drool with fatigue.

“I think I can manage that,” said Dusty, patting her head.

Chapter Fifteen

Sal cycled through the early morning streets, watching the earth come gently awake. Honey and blush pink stroked the horizon, light opened in the last of the poplar leaves, the wind was a late dream grumbling across the pavement. Breathing in the cold scent of frost, she veered sharply through a break in the hedge around Wilson Park. She was late as usual — no, later — and the Concert Band’s warm-up cacophony was erupting loud and enthusiastic in her imagination. Bringing her weight full onto the pedals, she felt the bike leap forward in response. If she hurried, maybe she could make it before Pavvie mounted the podium and swan-dove into the first downbeat. Perhaps today she would actually escape the tragic shake of the head he reserved for her habitual late entrances.

At the other end of the park, a lone figure sat hunched on one of the picnic tables, reading a book. Sal zoomed
toward it, wondering who would be out this early on a chilly mid-October morning. Not a dog owner — there wasn’t a sniffing, squatting canine in sight. Curious, she rang the bell on her bike, slowing as the figure glanced in her direction. In the dim morning light the face was blurred, the features indistinguishable except for the shadowy black line of the mouth.

Hitting the brakes, Sal went into a short skid. When she righted her bike, Tauni Morrison was still watching but from a long way off, as if Sal was an image flickering across a soundless TV, there and not there, halfway to real.

“Hi,” said Sal, standing uncertainly with her bike.

Tauni watched her, the black smudge of her lips saying nothing.

“I’m on my way to band practice,” said Sal, “but I’m late anyway. Mind if I sit down for a minute?”

Shifting to the very edge of the table, Tauni pointed to the opposite end. “There,” she said in a tight clipped voice. “Sit there.”

“Sure.” Leaning her bike onto its kickstand, Sal edged carefully onto the other end of the table. “I, uh, I’ve been thinking about you.”

Giving a loud startled laugh, Tauni angled her body away from Sal. “Now why would you do that?”

“You’re different,” said Sal. “From other people.”

“Of course I’m different!” the girl exploded, her face twisting. “Not that anyone will believe me.”

Startled, Sal stammered, “What d’you mean?”

“I’m autistic,” said Tauni, her voice strained and overly loud, as if pushing against an invisible barrier. “But I’m high-functioning, so — ”

Abruptly, she stopped speaking. Leaning forward,
she opened her mouth as if about to throw up, but what emerged instead was a series of odd sounds. “Ack, ack,” she cried, as if her tongue had been cut off at the root and she could no longer form sound into words. Her eyes were closed, her face contorted with intense effort. Strange creaking sounds came out of her, like the unoiled hinges on a door. Rigid with uncertainty, Sal sat watching. Was this a heart attack or a stroke? Should she bike to the nearest pay phone and dial 911?