Janie hangs up and laughs all over again.
Second-hour psych is a sleeper. Janie stumps Mr. Wang with a question on dreams, just for the hell of it. Leaves him stuttering, so she isn’t late to Mr. Durbin’s.
For the week leading up to the party, Janie continues to play the woman scorned in front of Mr. Durbin, and he appears to eat it up. In fact, the more she avoids him, the more he comes up with excuses to call her to his desk after class or requests she stop by after school.
She remains aloof, and he goes out of his way to compliment her—on the test, her experiments, her sweater….
March 1, 2006, 10:50 a.m.
“You still coming an hour early on Saturday?” Mr. Durbin asks Janie after class.
“Of course. I promised I would. Stacey and I will be there at six.”
“Excellent. Hey, I couldn’t do this big party without you, you know.”
Janie smiles frostily and walks to the door. “Of course you could.
You’re Dave Durbin.” She slips out and heads to English lit, with boring old Mr. Purcell. He is the epitome of moral character.
Study hall outright sucks. By the time it’s over, Janie has too much information about nothing important. And when she lifts her head, she sees the shadows of feet and legs next to the table.
“Are you okay, Janie?” It’s Stacey’s voice.
Janie clears her throat, and a crashing noise comes from the section of the library to the left. Stacey whirls around and gawks. Janie can’t see what’s happening, but once she can feel her lips, she smiles. Cabel’s up to something, she thinks.
She sits up as if she can see, and, indeed, her vision is returning somewhat now. She coughs and clears her throat again, and Stacey turns back to her.
“Sheesh. What a klutz. Anyway, I came over to make sure Saturday at six was right.”
“Yep,” Janie says. “That’s just you and me heading over to Durbin’s house to set up. Are you comfortable with that?”
Stacey gives her a quizzical look. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“I have no idea, but you can’t be too careful these days, can you?”
Stacey laughs. “I guess. Well, we’ve got the appetizers all figured out. I hope he has enough electrical outlets, ’cause there’s going to be a shitload of Crock-Pots. Of course, we could always use Bunsen burners.”
“Good one! Hey, I’ve got a list of desserts and snacks. Phil Klegg is bringing something called ‘dump cake,’ and I just don’t even want to know what’s in there.”
They chitchat a little about the party and about the chem. fair, and when the bell rings, Stacey hustles off. Janie peers between the bookshelves and, after the library empties out, sneaks over to where
Cabel’s sitting.
“Are you okay?” she whispers, giggling.
“Me? Oh sure. You might have to carry me out of here, though.”
“What happened?”
“I created a distraction.”
“I gathered that.”
“Step stool, encyclopedias, floor.”
“I see. Well, I can’t thank you enough.”
“Sure you can. Help me flunk enough tests, so I drop out of the ’torian range.”
“Can’t you just tell Abernethy that you have a reputation as a dumbshit to keep up, and you don’t want the attention?”
“Flunking is more fun.”
Janie shakes her head and laughs. “Maybe the first few times. But I bet you won’t be able to handle it after that.”
“I’ll take that bet.”
Janie puts her hands on her hips. “All right. After the fourth flunk of something quizlike or weightier, you will struggle and fail to flunk number five. That’s my prediction. Winner pays for our first real date.”
“You’re on. Start saving your money.”
SHOWTIME
March 3, 2006, 10:04 a.m.
Chem. 2 is buzzing with excitement, and the students goof around more than anything else. Mr. Durbin lets them. They all did relatively well on the most recent test, the chemistry fair garnered them higherthan-expected results, and everyone is jazzed for tomorrow’s party. Mr.
Durbin is practically giddy himself, and when Coach Crater stops at the door, because of the ruckus, he pokes his head in.
“Must be a Chem. 2 party coming up,” he remarks, eyeing the students one at a time.
“Tomorrow night, Jim,” Mr. Durbin says. “Stop by, if the wife will let you out.” They chuckle.
Janie’s eyes narrow at the comment, but she goes back to her text book. She’s looking for a formula—the formula for date-rape drugs.
Not that she’d find it in a high-school text book. There’s a recipe for disaster. Yet maybe a clue lies within.
But when Mr. Durbin starts walking around to the various stations, she flips her book to the current lesson page and pretends to read. Mr.
Durbin pauses for a moment behind her, but she ignores him. He moves on.
In PE, they’re in the weight room for four weeks, learning the machines and proper free-weight stance. Dumbass calls Janie up to the front to help demonstrate.
“How much weight do you want, Buffy?”
Janie looks at him. “Well, sir, I guess that depends on the exercise you’d like me to demonstrate.”