We Need to Talk About Kevin (56 page)

Read We Need to Talk About Kevin Online

Authors: Lionel Shriver

Tags: #Fiction, #Psychological, #Teenage Boys, #Epistolary Fiction, #General, #Literary, #Massacres, #School Shootings, #High Schools, #New York (State)

BOOK: We Need to Talk About Kevin
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“I don’t know,” said Kevin, ducking and weaving his head. “It just got kinda
intimate
, you know? I wasn’t gonna say anything or anything, but then my dad started asking questions and I like, told him.”
“Told him about what?” Strickland asked gently.
“You know—what I told Mr. Bevons about, too, before.” Kevin sandwiched his hands between his thighs and looked at the floor.
“Kevin, I realize this is difficult for you, but we’re going to need details. Your teacher’s career is on the line.”
Kevin looked to you. “Dad, do I have to?”
“Afraid so, Kev,” you said.
“Well, Miss Pagorski’s always been nice to me, Mr. Strickland.
Real
nice. Always asking did I need help choosing a scene or could she read the other part so I could memorize mine ... And I’ve never thought I was all that good, but she’d say I was a great actor and she loved my ‘dramatic face’ and my ‘tight build’ and with my looks I could be in the movies. I don’t know about that. Still, I sure wouldn’t want to get her in trouble.”
“You leave that to us, Kevin, and just tell us what happened.”
“See, she’d asked me several times if I could stay after school so she could coach me on my delivery, but before I’d always said I couldn’t. Actually, I could, most days, I mean, I didn’t have anything I had to do or anything, but I just didn’t—I felt funny about it. I don’t know why, it just felt kinda weird when she’d pull me over to her desk after class and, like, pick off little pieces of lint on my shirt that I wasn’t sure were really there. Or she’d take the flap of my belt and tuck it back in the loop?”
“Since when has Kevin ever worn a
belt
?” I whispered. You shushed me quiet.
“—But this one time she was real insistent, almost like I had to, like it was part of class work or something. I didn’t want to go—I told you, I don’t know why exactly, I just didn’t—but it seemed like this time I didn’t have any choice.”
Most of this was addressed to the linoleum, but Kevin would shoot quick glances at Strickland from time to time, and Strickland would nod reassuringly.
“So I waited around till 4 o’clock, since she said she had stuff to do right after the bell, and by then there wasn’t hardly anybody around anymore. I walked into her classroom, and I thought it was kinda strange that she’d changed clothes since our fourth-period class. I mean, just the shirt, but now it was one of those stretchy T’s that are scooped low and it was clingy enough I could see her—you know.”
“Her what?”
“Her . . . nipples,” said Kevin. “So I said, ‘You want me to go though my monologue?’ and she got up and closed the door. And she locked it. She said, “We need a little privacy, don’t we?” I said, actually, I didn’t mind the air. Then I asked should I start at the top, and she said, ‘First we’ve got to work on that posture of yours.’ She said I’ve got to learn to speak from the diaphragm, right
here
, and she put her hand on my chest and she left it there. Then she said, and you’ve got to stand up real straight, and she put her other hand on my lower back and pressed and sort of smoothed around. I sure did stand up straight. I remember holding my breath, like. Since I was nervous. Then I started my monologue from
Equus
—actually, I’d wanted to do Shakespeare, you know? That
to be or not to be
thing. I thought it was kinda cool.”
“In your own good time, son. But what happened next?”
“I think she interrupted me after only two or three lines. She said, ‘You have to remember that this play is all about
sex
.’ She said, ‘When he blinds those horses, it’s an
erotic act
.’ And then she started asking if I’ve ever seen horses, big horses up close, not the like, geldings, but stallions, and had I ever noticed what a big—I’m sorry, do you want me to say what she really said, or should I just, you know, summarize?”
“It would be better if you used her exact words, as well as you can remember.”
“Okay, you asked for it.” Kevin inhaled. “She wanted to know if I’d ever seen a horse’s
cock.
How big it was. And all this time I’m feeling kinda—funny. Like, restless. And she put her hand on my, uh. Fly. Of my jeans. And I was pretty embarrassed, because with all that talk, I’d got . . . a little worked up.”
“You mean you had an erection,” said Strickland sternly.
“Look, do I have to go on?” Kevin appealed.
“If you can, it would be better if you finished the story.”
Kevin glanced at the ceiling and crossed his legs tightly, tapping the toe of his right sneaker in an agitated, irregular rhythm against the toe of the left. “So I said, ‘Miss Pagorski maybe we should work on this scene some other time, ’cause I’ve got to go soon.’ I wasn’t sure whether to say anything about her hand, so I just kept saying that maybe we should
stop
, that I wanted to
stop
, that I should
go
now. ’Cause it didn’t seem right, and, you know, I like her, but not like
that
. She could be my mother or something.”
“Let’s be clear here,” said Strickland. “Legally, it’s only so important, because you’re a minor. But on top of the fact that you’re only fifteen, these were
unwanted advances
, is this correct?”
“Well, yeah. She’s ugly.”
Pagorski flinched. It was the brief, floppy little jerk you get when you keep shooting a small animal with a high-caliber pistol and it’s already dead.
“So did she stop?” asked Strickland.
“No, sir. She started rubbing up and down through my jeans, all the while saying, ‘Jesus’ ... Saying, and I really apologize Mr. Strickland but you asked me . . . She said every time she saw a horse’s cock she ‘wanted to suck it.’ And that’s when I—”
“Ejaculated.”
Kevin dropping his head to look at his lap. “Yeah. It was kind of a mess. I just ran out. I skipped class a couple of times after that, but then I came back and tried to act as if nothing happened since I didn’t want to wreck my grade-point average.”
“How?” I murmured under my breath. “By getting
another B
?” You shot me a glare.
“I know this hasn’t been easy for you, and we want to thank you, Kevin, for being so forthcoming. You can take a seat now.”
“Could I go sit with my parents?” he implored.
“Why don’t you sit over there with the other boys for now, because we might need to ask you a few more questions. I’m sure your parents are very proud of you.”
Kevin hove back to his original perch, curling with a tinge of shame—nice touch. Meanwhile, the classroom was pin-drop silent, as parents met one another’s eyes and shook their heads. It was a bravura performance. I cannot pretend that I was not impressed.
But then I looked to Vicki Pagorski. Early in Kevin’s testimony she’d emitted the odd repressed squeal, or she’d dropped her mouth open. But by the time it was over she was beyond histrionics, and this was a drama teacher. She was drooped so bonelessly in her folding chair that I feared she would fall off, while the frizz of her hair evanesced into the air as if her whole head were in a state of dissolve.
Strickland turned to the drama teacher’s chair, though he kept his distance. “Now, Miss Pagorski. It’s your contention that this encounter never happened?”
“That’s—.” She had to clear her throat. “That’s right.”
“Do you have any idea why Kevin would tell such a story if it wasn’t true?”
“No, I don’t. I can’t understand it. Kevin’s class is an unusually talented group, and I thought we’d been having a lot of fun. I’ve given him plenty of individual attention—”
“It’s the individual attention he seems to have a problem with.”
“I give all my students individual attention!”
“Oh, Miss Pagorski, let’s hope not,” Strickland said sorrowfully. Our small audience chuckled. “Now, you claim you
didn’t
invite Kevin to stay after school?”
“Not separately. I told the whole class that if they want to use my classroom to practice their scenes after school, I’d make it available.”
“So you
did
invite Kevin to stay after school, then.” As Pagorski sputtered, Strickland proceeded, “Have you ever admired Kevin’s looks?”
“I may have said something about his having very striking features, yes. I try to instill confidence in my students—”
“How about this ‘speaking from the diaphragm.’ Did you say that?”
“Well, yes—”
“And have you put your hand on his chest, to indicate where the diaphragm is?”
“Maybe, but I
never
touched him on—”
“Or on his lower back, when ‘improving’ his posture?”
“Possibly. He has a tendency to slump, and it ruins his—”
“What about the selection from
Equus
? Did Kevin choose this passage?”
“I recommended it.”
“Why not something from
Our Town,
or Neil Simon, a little less racy?”
“I try to find plays that students can relate to, about things that are important to them—”
“Things like sex.”
“Well, yes, among other things, of course—.” She was getting flustered.
“Did you describe the content of this play as ‘erotic’?”
“Maybe, probably, yes! I thought that drama about adolescent sexuality and its confusions would naturally appeal—”
“Miss Pagorski, are
you
interested in adolescent sexuality?”
“Well, who isn’t?” she cried. Someone should have given the poor woman a shovel, so intent was she on digging her own grave. “But
Equus
isn’t steamy and explicit, it’s all symbolism—”
“Symbolism you were eager to explain. And did you talk about horses to Kevin?”
“Of course, the play—”
“Did you talk about stallions, Miss Pagorski.”
“Well, we did discuss what made them such common symbols of virility—”
“And what
does
make them ‘virile’?”
“Well, they’re muscular and very beautiful and powerful, sleek—”
“Just like teenage boys,” Strickland noted sardonically. “Did you ever draw attention to a horse’s penis. To its size?”
“Maybe; how could you ignore it? But I never said—”
“Some people can’t ignore it, apparently.”
“You don’t understand! These are young people and they’re easily bored. I have to do something to get them excited!”
Strickland just let that one sit there for a beat. “Yes, well,” he said. “You seem to have succeeded there.”
Deathly pale, Pagorski turned to our son. “What did I ever do to you?”
“That’s just what we’re trying to find out,” Strickland intervened. “But we’ve got more testimony to get through, and you’ll have opportunity to respond. Leonard Pugh?”
Lenny murmured to Kevin before sauntering to the center chair. Surely at any moment one of the boys would start writhing in agony because
Goody Pagorski
was smiting them with evil spirits.
“Now Leonard, you, too, met with your drama teacher after school?”
“Yeah, she seemed real hot to have a
conference
,” said Lenny, with his poo-making smile. His nose stud was infected again, the left nostril red and puffy. He’d recently gotten a fade, which was neo-Nazi short with the letter Z shaved into one side. When I’d asked him what the
Z
stood for, he’d said,
Whatever
, which I’d been forced to point out began with a W.
“Can you tell us what happened?”
“It was just like Kevin said. I thought we was just gonna practice and shit. And I come in the room and she like, shuts the door? She’s wearing this really short skirt, you know, you can almost see her cheeks.” Lenny mugged a bit.
“And did you practice your work for class?” asked Strickland, though coaching proved quite unnecessary. More, detail proved Lenny’s strong suit.
“We sure practiced something!” said Lenny. “She said, ‘I’ve been watching you in the back row, when I’m sitting at my desk? And some afternoons I get so wet I have to do myself in class!’”
Strickland looked a little queasy. “Did Miss Pagorski do anything that you thought was inappropriate?”
“Well then she like, sits on the edge of her desk? With her legs spread wide open. So I go up to the desk, and I can see
she’s not wearing panties
. It’s like, this, wide open beaver, you know? All red and hairy, and it’s just, you know,
dripping
—”
“Leonard, let’s just get the facts—.” Strickland was massaging his forehead. Meanwhile, chalk-stripe was twisting his tie; the redhead had her face in her hands.
“So she says, ‘You want some? ’Cause I look at that bulge in your pants, and I can’t keep my hands off my pussy—’”
“Could you please watch your language—!” said Strickland, making desperate slashing motions at the stenographer.

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