“I got you, babe,” he said. “Do you have everything for your costume tomorrow night?” He nodded toward one of the many hand-painted banners taped to the walls to promote the Halloween dance. “Bonnie and Clyde must roll as one.”
Allyson settled the stack of books in her arms, placing her worn paperback copy of The Great Gatsby on top for her first class, and shook her head. “I’m just thinking about tonight.”
“Tonight?” Cameron said. “Come on. I thought you were joking when you said your parents were old-fashioned.”
“Be nice,” she said. She thought it endearing that Cameron was so concerned about meeting her parents for the first time. In everything else, he acted laid-back and casual, unfazed by life’s daily hassles, occasionally running his fingers through his wavy, shoulder-length brown hair. But this one thing triggered a social allergy in him. “It’ll be nice. I just want you to meet them. I’m more old-fashioned than they are. Just don’t make them like you too much. I like to keep them on edge.”
She smiled and leaned forward to give him a gentle kiss on the lips.
“Slow down, Smoochy,” a voice exclaimed right beside them. “Save me a slice.”
Allyson and Cameron broke the kiss.
This voice, undisguised and all too familiar, belonged to Oscar. A fast talker who always tried to lay on the charm to cover an underlying… creepiness. Something about him made Allyson uncomfortable. He was always too familiar and he had no respect for personal boundaries.
As if on cue, Oscar leaned in and kissed each of them on the cheek.
“Dude,” Cameron said, rubbing his cheek with the back of his hand, “you got chapped-lip crusties all over me, man.”
“Naw,” Oscar said, dismissing Cameron’s comment, even though his lips actually were approaching heinous territory. “Play it cool. I got you, babe. You have everything for your costume tomorrow night? Tango and Cash must roll as one.”
Jeez, Allyson thought, annoyed, how long was he eavesdropping on our conversation? She had some serious doubts about Cameron’s friend. Perv, peeper, stalker? she wondered. Where exactly is he on the slimeball scale?
Oscar produced a chapstick from his pocket and gave his lips a practiced once-over, top and bottom, left to right.
“Um…” Cameron said, stalling.
Oscar glanced quickly between Allyson and Cameron. “What?” he asked. “You said we were going as Sly and Kurt, bro. You said we were doing this Halloween dance thing. What’s up? You’re ditching me now?”
Add clingy to the list, Allyson thought. She patted Cameron on the shoulder. “I’ll see you lovebirds later.” Then, pointedly, at Cameron, “And I better see you tonight.”
She walked away from the guys, shaking her head with a smile. She couldn’t figure out what Cameron saw in him.
Across the hall—foot traffic down to a trickle of students destined to be late for first class—a girl named Kim something or other gave Allyson a curious look. She’d been watching the whole Oscar drama with a little too much interest. Allyson wondered what her deal was, but she couldn’t stick around or she’d be late for English.
Turning the corner, she ducked into Miss Johnston’s class, slipping into a seat in the back row as the class bell sounded. As Allyson hurriedly flipped open her notebook to the last day’s notes Emma Wagner, in the seat to her left, flashed a friendly smile.
“Okay, class, final day of discussion on The Great Gatsby,” Miss Johnston said. Noting the overall glum mood of the first-period class, she added, “I hope you’re all prepared for a scintillating discussion and ready to dazzle me with the insights of your vast intellects.”
“Need more coffee for that,” someone to the far left said, possibly Ben Gangemi, since several students glanced his way and chuckled.
“Unfortunately,” Miss Johnston said, “I’m not running a convenience store up here, so we’ll have to make do with current caffeine levels.” She leaned against the front of her desk, a copy of The Great Gatsby clutched in her right hand, and quoted from the book. “‘So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.’” She looked around the room. “What is Nick telling us with that closing line?”
Thinking of her grandmother, the line had special resonance for Allyson. Lost in her thoughts, she belatedly realized Emma had raised her hand to answer the question.
“It means that the past has a hold on us.”
Miss Johnston nodded. “So, is there no hope for us?” she asked as a follow-up. “Can we ever escape the past?”
When Emma didn’t respond right away, Miss Johnston’s gaze shifted to Emma’s right. “Allyson? Any thoughts?”
Allyson looked up, startled. She thought of the strained relationship between her grandmother and mother. One unwilling—or unable—to forget the past, the other determined to move on, yet both sacrificing so much to remain steadfast in their conflicting points of view.
“It’s about the struggle,” she said.
7
Inside the Haddonfield Harmony Community Center, Karen sat at the head of a table in her therapy room, which, due to the gathering of pre-teen children, had the appearance of a classroom. But these kids were at-risk youths, surviving in less than desirable home situations or shuffling between foster homes, some of them victims of abuse. In almost all cases they were dealing with emotional issues that would be troubling for adults, let alone children their age. Some exhibited signs of PTSD.
For the past few sessions, Karen had the children work on homemade puppets. The older kids made boy or girl puppets, now and then adding goofy touches, such as feathers for hair or googly eyes. The younger kids tended to give their puppets costumes, so Karen spotted a pirate, an astronaut, a scarecrow, and a few superheroes, along with a princess with absurdly long hair, and a couple of Halloween-themed ghosts and witches.
The children held their puppets upright on the table, while they bowed their heads, almost as if they were napping or might fall asleep while their puppets discussed their feelings. In this way they were free to project their own fear and emotions through the puppets. But the puppets might or might not be projections of themselves. Sometimes the puppets represented the person who disturbed them, frightened them. One boy, who had made a clown puppet, had since abandoned it and was preoccupied with untangling a yo-yo.
“Who wants to go first?” Karen asked.
“I’m King Bradley,” Tyler said, tilting his royal puppet left and right, “and I get angry at the rain.”
Karen recalled from Tyler’s file that his stepfather’s name was Bradley.
“When my brother comes home from work,” Cody said, jumping in, “I get scared, cuz he brings the guys to fight and throw people through walls.”
Mia placed her girl puppet flat on the table, pressing the rainbow-colored dress with the palm of her left hand, and raised her head. She looked at Karen with heartbreaking vulnerability in her eyes. “If you run away from home then you have no one to hurt you.”
Karen couldn’t decide if the little girl spoke to her own situation, or if she was offering advice to Cody. But she couldn’t endorse pre-teens running away from home. There were better paths to safety. “We need to look at those who love us for protection and comfort,” Karen said. “But listen to your feelings. You have all lived through very difficult situations, and we are confronted with bad people from time to time.”
Mia gave her a slight nod. A few of the other children murmured agreement with her statement. Some were still closed off from expression. But all listened intently.