"You really know your mythology," Kevin said, running a hand deliberately through his hair. Like Dion, he too had not studied, planning to wait until the week before the test to crack the books, but unlike Dion he had missed nearly a fourth of the questions, putting him in the low-B range if the teacher graded on the curve.
Dion shrugged self-consciously. "Not really," he said. "I guessed. I was just lucky."
"On multiple-choice tests you can guess and be lucky. On short-answer tests you can guess only if you have knowledge to begin with, if you have some names to choose from. I mean, shit, you were the only one to get a perfect score in the whole class."
It was true, but Dion did not know why it was true or how. He was embarrassed, and he said nothing. He found himself glancing down at the tabletop to read the graffiti penciled on the faded plastic. He looked up as a skinny blond kid in a black heavy metal T-shirt walked belligerently up to them, frowning. "What do you think this is? A pussy convention? You're sitting on my table."
Kevin calmly raised his middle finger.
"You think that's cute, Harte?"
"Not quite as cute as your mama's titties, but it'll do for now."
"Get off."
"Fuck you."
"Your ass, Harte." The kid left, scowling, his own middle finger raised aggressively.
Dion said nothing. He had been silent during the verbal exchange, half afraid that the newcomer might try to pick a fight with one of them or, even worse, return with his bigger, tougher friends, but he let none of his feelings show. Kevin seemed to know how to handle this guy, or at least acted as though he did, and Dion trusted that his new friend knew who could be pushed and how far, knew when to speak out and when to shut up.
At least he hoped so.
"Guy's a needledick," Kevin said, as if reading his thoughts. "Don't worry about him. All talk and no show."
Dion nodded as if that was what he had suspected all along.
"Hey," Kevin said. "Check it out." He nodded toward the cafeteria lines.
Making their way between the tables toward the open double doors were Penelope and a short black-haired girl with thick glasses. "Here's your opportunity, bud."
Dion jumped off the table. "You come with me."
Kevin snorted. "Hell, no. This is your move. You go over there and talk to her alone. I'll still be here when she shoots you down."
Penelope and her friend were at the back of one of the lines, and Dion knew that if he didn't move now, someone else would take the spot behind her. He quickly zigzagged through the crowd of teeming students.
He was in luck. He got in line behind her just as a group of cheerleaders got in line behind him. It had all happened so fast, he had moved without thinking, and now he didn't know what to do. His hands were sweaty, his stomach churning. He didn't want to tap on Penelope's shoulder to get her attention or to speak to her before she noticed his presence, so he simply readied himself in case she turned around, trying to relax and put on a show of comfortable ease he did not feel.
When she did turn around a moment later and saw him, he pretended to be surprised. He cleared his throat. "Hi," he said. "I didn't recognize you."
She looked surprised too, but she smiled when she saw him. She had a nice smile, he thought. A friendly smile. A real smile.
"Hi," she said.
"My name's Dion. I'm in your Mythology class." He knew it was stupid the moment he said it, but there was no way to take his sentence back.
She laughed. Her laugh was warm, casual. "I know who you are. I
corrected your paper, remember?"
He reddened, unsure of what to say or how to respond, afraid he would say something even dumber.
"I was really impressed by how well you did on the test," she added.
"Yeah, well, thanks."
"No, I mean it. You really know your stuff."
The line moved forward, and Dion realized with something like panic that it was his turn to say something, but he could think of nothing to say.
There were at least six people between Penelope and the food. This was his one and only chance; he'd better think of something good, or they'd wait the rest of the time in silence and it would be all over. He glanced toward Kevin, who gave him a thumbs-up sign.
What the hell was he supposed to say?
It was Penelope's friend who saved him.
"I don't remember seeing you here before," she said, "Are you new?"
He relaxed. Now he was home free. "Yeah," he said. "I'm from Arizona. My mom and I just moved here a little over a week ago."
"It must be tough to come to a new school," Penelope said.
He looked at her. Was he imagining it, or was there more than just casual interest in her expression, in her tone of voice? She had spoken almost wistfully, as if she understood how he felt, as if she had been there herself.
As if she cared.
No, he was just reading nuances which were not there.
"Yes," he said. "It is tough. I don't know anyone yet."
"You know us," Penelope's friend said, smiling.
Dion smiled back. "That's true."
"And you know that Kevin Harte," Penelope said. There was something in the way she said "that Kevin Harte" which implied that she did not like his new friend.
"Well, I just met him," Dion said.
And then they were through the line and at the food, their opportunity for conversation at an end. Penelope took a covered bowl of salad and a can of V8 from the buffet. Dion grabbed a hamburger, a small cup of fries, and two Cokes, one for him, one for Kevin.
"I'll see you Monday," Penelope said, heading with her friend over to a cash register. She smiled that radiant smile. "It's nice to meet you."
"Yeah," her friend said.
"Yeah," Dion echoed. He wanted to say something else, wanted to invite the both of them to Kevin's table, wanted to ask Penelope if she would like to study with him some time, wanted to ensure that they would talk again, but he did not know how. He paid the two dollars, watched the girls walk away.
It was a start, and he should have felt good, but for some reason he felt disappointed, sort of let down. It made no sense. Things had gone well. It was the first week and they were already talking, but he still felt depressed about the encounter. He made his way through the crowd toward Kevin.
"So," his friend said, grinning, "how'd it go? She dive for your ding-dong?"
"Asked for it by name," Dion said, setting down the tray.
Kevin laughed, almost spitting out the sip of Coke he'd taken. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Penelope?" he said, laughing.
Dion smiled, chuckled, and then laughed himself. "Yeah," he said.
Already he felt better. He picked up his hamburger. "And her friend wants you."
"In her dreams," Kevin said.
Dion laughed. He thought of Penelope. Things had gone well, he told himself. Things might work out.
He unwrapped his hamburger and settled down to eat.
Lieutenant David Horton used the landlord's key to open the heavy glass door and stepped inside Something Old. The antique shop was empty, its dead air silent save for the low drone of outside noise. He was followed inside immediately by the two uniforms. "Mr. Williams!" he called out.
He waited a beat. "Anybody here?" His voice died flatly in the stillness.
Horton nodded to the policemen behind him. "Check it out," he said.
The two officers spread out, taking both sides of the front desk, entering the back room in tandem. They emerged a moment later, shaking their heads.
"Check the aisles," the lieutenant said. He lit a cigarette, watching his men take parellel paths away from the center of the store.
The antique shop had been closed for a week. No crime there. But it was highly unusual, noted by owners of several of the adjoining businesses.
And when rent had come due a few days ago and the landlord received neither a check nor an excuse from the usually punctual antique dealer, he'd suspected something was up. He'd called Williams' house, gotten no answer, called Williams' sister in Salinas, learned that she hadn't heard from him for over a week. Then he'd called the police.