Love. At first she had held it at arm’s length, uncertain what to do with this weird emotion. Was it real, or just something she imagined? She had heard that girls her age only thought they could love, and were actually in love with the idea of love. Maybe that was true for some. Maybe for most. But not for her. What she felt swept all other considerations aside. It was like a magic fire, burning away all her prior supports, making ashes of other interests. Now there was only Darius. Everything she did was with his welfare in mind. Even what she would do today.
“Tell Biff I want to deal,” she said to a boy she knew had a connection.
He was startled. “You?”
“Not his way. But if he has what I want, I’ll deal.”
She went to classes, and she shone. That extra homework time was paying off. Normally she skimped on schoolwork, and was bright enough to get by with high grades anyway; now she was prepared with research done for the joy of doing it with Darius, who was unfailingly interested in all the things of her world. What had been dull became interesting with him, and by the time she got it all explained to him, she knew it better than she had thought possible. But her performance was incidental; it was only to reassure everyone that Bright Little Colene had everything to live for, and nothing on her mind except classwork.
At lunch she was about to sit down with her tray when she saw a young man of about eighteen standing in the doorway to the rear exit. That was Biff. He was theoretically a student, but somehow he never attended classes. Students carefully ignored him unless they wanted something illegal. Then they dealt, making what deals they could. If the school administration knew about it, it pretended ignorance, knowing that Biff could quickly be replaced by something worse.
She set her tray on a table, picked up the half-pint carton of milk, opened it, and walked to that door. Biff faded back out of sight. She came to stand between the doorway and the large trash container, drinking her milk. She faced back toward the main chamber.
“Yeah?” It was Biff’s voice from the other side of the doorway.
“I want something.”
“What?”
“It’s a sort of gray metal button, like a slug, only thicker and brighter. It was on a burn who got rolled two weeks ago. He wore funny clothes. He gave some punks the finger, and they pounded him.”
“What’s it to you?”
“It’s a memento. I heard it’s a luck charm.”
“I don’t mess with luck charms.”
“I want it bad. This one, no other.”
“How bad?”
“I’ll game for it.”
He laughed, harshly. “You want it, you bring money.”
“I have no money. Make another offer.”
“Stand out where I can see you.”
She finished her milk, dumped the balled carton into the container, and stepped into the center of the doorway. She was wearing a light white sweater and black skirt, both too tight. She inhaled, turning. She hated this part, but it was all she had to bargain with. Biff could get girls, but they were either his type, which was no novelty, or under duress, which was no fun. What he wanted was a high-class young one who would pretend she liked it. Colene had acted high-class for years, and she knew how to pretend.
“Okay. One week.”
Now she laughed. “I’m a clean girl! One night.”
“You ain’t clean! Four guys had you.”
“Not lately. I’ll put four guys in jail, they come near me again. I never ate or sniffed. I’m clean.”
“But you drank.”
“Never again!”
“No jail, if you deal. None of that.” He meant no charges against him.
“None of that,” she agreed. “Two nights.”
“You don’t want it bad enough.”
“You don’t even have it.” Then, signaling the approach of someone dumping a tray in the trash, “Pause.”
When the person moved on, she said, “Resume.” Part of the deal, when anyone talked with Biff, was to keep it quiet.
“I can get it.”
Her heart leaped. “You know of it? It has to be only that one.”
“They couldn’t fence a slug. No value. I can get it. Tomorrow.”
“I said I’d game, I win, what I want. You win, what you want.”
“That slug against one week, smiling.” Not only would she have to do anything he wanted, short of drugs—there were reasons to keep a clean girl clean—she would have to take his side if they were caught, swearing she was his girlfriend and that there had been no coercion. She gagged at the notion, but had to accept. There was a screwball honor in this sort of dealing, enforced by those who had no conscience, just business sense.
“Yes.”
“What game?”
“I’ll decide.”
“Before my friends.”
“Before your friends. But I deal only with you.”
“For sure! Tomorrow, after school. Come to my car.”
“Only if you have what I want.”
“I’ll have it.”
She walked away. The preliminary deal had been struck.
He would bring the key and she would bring her body. The outcome of the game was uncertain, but if she had to, she would game again for the key after paying off the first game. The important thing was that he knew what it was and would get it. Darius could have it back.
This was the part Darius might not understand. He had odd notions about honor and chastity. If she had to give her body to a lout like Biff to win back the key—well, she had a ploy she hoped would avoid that.
IN the afternoon she was in a daze. She went through classes mechanically. She would get the key—but would that really solve anything? For she simply did not believe in that alternate universe of his. If she gave him the key, what could he do except prove that it didn’t work? Then his fantasy would be exposed, and a major part of his appeal for her would be diminished. As long as he lacked that key, he was the King of Laughter from an alien reality. With it, he might be only a deluded refugee from some mental hospital.
Why was she risking so much, for such likely disappointment?
Maybe she had been fooling herself. She remained as suicidal as ever. She had merely found a new way to flirt with death. Because if she lost the game, and Biff had his way with her for a week, she might as well die. Maybe the key was just a pretext. Maybe her love for Darius was just a pretext.
No!
The teacher paused. “A problem, Colene?”
Her pain had shown on her face. “I’m better, Miss Grumman, honest! Maybe I ate too fast.”
The teacher let it pass. Colene suppressed her thoughts and paid better attention in class. It was a fair deal.
But on the way home that question resumed. She hardly responded to Julie’s chatter. Was she making a mistake? Was she about to torpedo her dream? For even if the illusion didn’t end for Darius, it would for her.
Back home, she hurried to the shed. “Oh, Colene, I am so glad to see you!” Darius exclaimed, embracing her. “I feared I would not.”
“I have made a deal to recover your key,” she said. “Tomorrow.”
He stared at her. “You really can recover it?”
“The punks who mugged you couldn’t fence it. They thought it was just a fancy slug. I can get it.”
“You can buy it?” He had had trouble with the concept of money, but understood it reasonably well now.
“I asked you not to ask.”
He was silent. She kissed him, and it was good.
But that night she broached the matter herself. She had discovered that an aspect of love was an extreme reluctance to deceive the object of that love. That was awkward, but there was nothing for it but to play it through. “Darius, there are two ways to do this. I am going to gamble, and if I win, I will have the key for you. If I lose, I will have to be away from you for a week, at night, anyway. I—you said you desire me. I think maybe tonight—”