The Party (3 page)

The computer room was empty fourth period. They had the place to themselves. Using the stolen codes, Bubba called up the files containing the transcripts of every kid in the school district. Michael wondered at his motivation. Although as intelligent as himself, Bubba never worried much about his grades. He had no intention of attending college. He wanted to go straight into business. In fact, he already invested in commodities and stock options. He also bet the horses through his uncle, who was a bookie with mob connections. Financially speaking, Bubba’s family occupied the same position as Michael’s, lower middle class. And yet Bubba drove an old but wellkept Jaguar and wore only the finest clothes. And he didn’t even have a job. Since Michael had to slave six days a week at a local Eleven to help his divorced mother make ends meet, he knew if he were to criticize Bubba’s
businesses
, he would only be doing so out of jealousy.

“Here you are,” Bubba said, pointing to the screen. Michael leaned closer. Semester after semester—rows of A’s, except for one C his junior year. He’d gotten it last year in calculus. A pal of his had desperately whispered for help in the middle of a test. Being such a swell guy, Michael had slipped him a piece of paper with a few answers that, through bad timing and bad luck, had ended up in the hands of the teacher. Regrettably, the test had been the final exam and the teacher had given them both automatic Fs. It had slashed his overall semester grade in half. His hopes of being valedictorian had gone out the window then and there.

“You can’t change it,” Michael said. “Everyone on the faculty knows I got that C.”

Bubba’s fingers danced over the keyboard. Then he frowned. “We can’t change it, anyway. The file’s protected. I should have known. Once transferred to the district offices, the grades are carved in stone.” He thought for a moment, then jumped out of the file and into another that was the same except for the absence of recorded grades.

“What’s that?” Michael asked.

“This semester’s records.” Bubba moved the cursor beside Michael Olson’s MGM fourth period, put in an A. “This file hasn’t been transferred yet. We can manipulate it up until the day it is.” He erased the A. “You know, Mike, I think this is going to be a pretty laidback year for the two of us. Would you like me to pull Dale Jensen’s record?”

Dale Jensen had the only gradepoint average higher than Michael’s. It was a perfect. But Dale hadn’t taken a difficult class in all the time he had gone to Tabb. He specialized in subjects where he could get up and indulge in longwinded monologues about how screwed up all the screwups in the world were. He was really a despicable character. If anyone stopped to tell him something, he always interrupted with the sarcastic line “I’m impressed.”

“No, leave him alone.”

“Are you sure? Who wants to listen to him graduation day?”

“We’re not going to sneak a phony grade onto his transcript for this year without him knowing it.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Bubba replied without much conviction, sitting back from the screen and stretching.

“I wanted to tell you about this girl I met,” Michael began.

“Ask her out.”

“No, let me tell you about her first.”

“What for? I’m sure she’s the greatest discovery since sliced bread. Just ask her out. What’s her name?”

“You probably haven’t seen her. She just got here this morning. Jessica Hart.”

Bubba nodded approvingly. “I know her, a quality chick. A friend of hers is having a party for the whole school.”

“Where did you hear that?”

Bubba shrugged. He seldom revealed the sources of his information. He was seldom wrong about anything. “I don’t think you should wait until the party to go after her. She won’t last, not around here. Someone will nab her. It may as well be you.”

Michael chuckled at the crude manner in which Bubba referred to Jessica. He knew that Bubba had a strong admiration for the female species, or at least a powerful appreciation of them, which was almost the same thing. Girls who went out with Bubba once wanted to go out with Bubba twice. He knew how to satisfy them.

“Why don’t you ask her on a date?” Michael asked.

“I can’t. I’ve got to save myself for Clair Hilrey.”

“I thought Clair was going with our esteemed quarterback, Bill Skater?”

“They’ve dated a few times. They went to the Baked Potato Restaurant last Saturday night. But it’s nothing serious.”

“Does Clair know this?”

“Give me a couple of weeks, and I’ll make it clear to her.”

Michael scratched his head. “Didn’t Clair tell you last spring that she thought you were the most disgusting human being in the whole school?”

“It makes no difference, Over the summer your average teenage girl forgets ninetenths of what happened the previous school year. I’ll ask her out at tonight’s game, during halftime. She’ll say yes.”

Michael shook his head in amazement. “I’m going to enjoy watching this.”

Bubba sat up, speaking seriously. “I’ll let you in on a profound secret. Only the very elect of males in our society know this. And once you know it and ponder its significance for any length of time, your whole perspective will change.”

“The earth is really flat?”

“No.” Bubba leaned closer. “Girls want to have sex exactly as much as boys want to.”

Michael laughed. “Bubba, I just met Jessie. I don’t even know her. I don’t want to sleep with her. I’m afraid to talk to her.”

“It is much easier to have sex than to talk. When you talk, you have to think. You think too much, Mike. That’s your problem. And you’re lying to yourself. Of course you want to sleep with Jessie. You don’t have to be ashamed. Chances are she probably wouldn’t mind sleeping with you if she thought she could do it and not have to pay for it later in some way. That’s why girls love me so much. I let them know that with me everything is OK.”

“But you kiss and tell. With what you just said, that makes you a hypocrite. Take how you carried on about Cindy Fosmeyer.”

“Who do I tell except you? And I know you would never damage a girl’s reputation.” He smiled. “And since we’re talking about Cindy, did I ever tell you she has the hots for you?”

Cindy Fosmeyer had huge breasts. They were so huge they fairly blotted out any personality she might have had. “You never did because it’s not true.”

“Believe what you want, buddy.” Bubba stood. “But I give you my word on this—if you don’t ask Jessica out by Monday, I will.”

Michael was not amused. He had known Bubba a long time. They’d had a lot of good times together. But there was a lot about him he didn’t know, that he didn’t want to know. “Is that a threat?”

“Think of it as an incentive.”

“What about saving yourself for Clair?”

Bubba patted his bulging gut. “There’s enough of me to go around.” He turned toward the door. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

Bubba was gone much longer than a minute. While waiting, Michael entertained himself scanning Jessica Hart’s transcript. He felt mild guilt at prying, but couldn’t resist. He was mildly surprised to discover she was taking chemistry. She must have some smarts, but then, he had observed that talking to her. Perhaps she would need a tutor. He knew the subject so well that a rumor had gone around last year that he had written the lab manual. It was incredible the things people would believe.

When the door opened behind him, he assumed it was Bubba. The cool, soft hug from behind caught him by surprise.

“Hi, Mikey!”

“Alice, what are you doing here?”

Michael had met Alice McCoy the previous winter, a couple of weeks before Christmas. Wearing what he was later to discover to be her typical sunny expression, she had popped into his Eleven and asked if she could paint Santa Claus and Frosty the Snowman on his windows. He had been immediately taken by her enthusiasm. She told him he could pay her what he thought it was worth, and if he didn’t like it when she was done, he wouldn’t have to pay her at all. It sounded like a good deal, but the owners of the store were Muslims from Lebanon, and he didn’t know if they’d appreciate Christmas decorations all over their place of business. A quick call dispelled his fears; the two brothers were eager to have their store look as American as possible.

The next day was a Saturday. Alice showed up at nine o’clock in the morning. He expected her to chalk out a few reindeer and spray on a couple of featureless snowmen and call it done. Her supplies threw him for his first loop. She had a huge, flat black case of paints and brushes. She spent a half hour cleaning and polishing the windows before starting, and when she finally did begin, she worked steadily for seven hours, slowly, patiently, meticulously unfolding a rich colorful tapestry of sparkling elves, joyous children, and racing sleighs. When she finished, she sprayed on a sealer that she promised would protect the paintings. When he finally did wash away her work, near Easter, it had been with a heavy heart. But by then he’d had something greater than her pictures to enjoy. He had Alice herself, as both a regular visitor and a good friend. She was a true gift of holiday magic. She had charm and grace, kindness and wit.

She was everything he had imagined his little sister would have been.

Michael’s mother was only seventeen and in high school when she had given birth to him. Old man Jerry Olson split for parts unknown five years after that—Michael still had a few clear memories of his dad—and since then his mother had dated a seemingly endless succession of men. Two years ago one of them had gotten her pregnant. The guy had had no wish to marry her—he, too, would eventually disappear—and his mother had vacillated about having an abortion. Finally, over Michael’s bitter protests, she had decided on the operation—sort of late. He did not understand why the doctor had told his mom it had been a girl, or why she had told him.

By a strange quirk of fate, he’d always thought of his unborn sister as
Alice
. After the incident, he often dreamed of what she would have been like. His little Alice. He still loved his mother more than anyone, but he doubted he’d ever totally forgive her for what she had done.

But now, with Alice McCoy here to see him, it was easy to pretend what had gone before had been only a bad dream.

“What am I doing? I’m cutting, just like you,” she said, releasing him and walking around the room, lightly tapping the keyboards on Tabb’s brandnew PCs, touching a printout page. Like a perpetually curious child, Alice was fascinated with everything around her.

“You have an art class now, right?”

“Yeah, I’m supposed to be at the park across the street studying tree branches. But they’ve just sprayed there with an awfulsmelling insecticide.” She giggled. “I did start on this one sketch of a giant mosquito sucking the sap out of a tree. It was really gross.”

“Can I see it?”

“No.”

“Did you throw it away?” She shook her head. “But I’m going to, right after I show it to Clark. It really is weird. I can’t believe I drew it.”

“Clark’s your new boyfriend, isn’t he?”

“He’s not that new. I see him a lot.”

“I’d like to meet him. What’s he like?”

Alice shrugged, tossing her bright head of hair. “I don’t want to talk about him. I want to tell you about a friend of mine I want you to meet. She’s from Mesa, like me. She’s really wonderful.”

“What’s her name?”

“I’m not going to tell you. I want to be the one to introduce you so that when you both fall in love, and get married later on, you’ll be able to look back and say it was
I
who made it all possible. Are you going to the game tonight?”

“I’m going to try. I have to work, but I should be able to catch the second half.”

“Could you get there at halftime? I could introduce you to her then.”

Michael chuckled. He wasn’t really interested in Alice’s friend, not after meeting Jessica Hart, but he saw no harm in saying hello to the girl. “What’s wrong with today at lunch?”

“I won’t be here. I have a doctor’s appointment.”

He paused. “What for? I mean, are you sick?”

Alice brushed aside the question. “It’s nothing, I just have to stop in.”

“How are you going to get there? I could give you a ride.” For some reason, the thought of Alice going all alone to the doctor disturbed him. He knew she had no parents, and that her guardian aunt didn’t get out often.

“I’m taking a taxi.”

“They’re expensive.”

“I have money. Don’t worry about it. Just be there tonight at halftime. I’ll get her to come.”

“I’ll do my best,” he promised.

She smiled. “Thanks, this means a lot to me. Oh, what’s that you have on your screen? It looks like a report card.”

Michael explained how through the use of special codes—he didn’t say where they had obtained them—he and his friend were able to tap into the school’s files. Alice was fascinated, but before she could ask any questions, Bubba returned. And when Bubba realized that Alice had been made privy to what he obviously considered inside information, he quickly tried to present a more innocent picture of their doings.

“What’s on this screen is only a photocopy of existing records,” he said. “It’s not the records themselves. We’re just looking at them, that’s all. It’s no big deal.”

Alice grinned slyly. “Sure, you’re getting ready to turn the school upside down, and it’s nothing? I’m not that dumb. Come on, where did you steal these codes?”

“What codes?” Bubba asked, glancing at Michael. “These photocopies aren’t confidential. You don’t need codes to access them.”

Alice laughed gaily, much to Bubba’s displeasure. “I don’t believe you!”

Bubba feigned nonchalance, quickly maneuvering out of the file, leaving the screen blank. “Suit yourself,” he said.

“In fact, I think you could get into lots of trouble if certain people knew about this,” Alice said playfully.

Bubba stopped, stared at her a moment. “No one’s going to get into trouble. No one’s going to talk about this. OK?”

She didn’t understand what he was really saying.

“He’s right,” Michael said. “This isn’t something that should get around. Do me a favor, Alice, and forget what I showed you here.”