The Devil and Danna Webster (2 page)

We settled into Joyce's sunny bedroom. Joyce opened her chemistry book and I opened my biology. We studied for several hours until her father came home. Then Mrs. Winslow invited me to dinner and I was happy to stay. I felt very much at home in their large, cheerful kitchen. Later, Mr. Winslow insisted on driving me home and, of course, Joyce came along.

"How's school?" he asked us.

Joyce's father is tall with graying hair at the temples which gives him a distinguished air. There are crinkly lines at the corners of his eyes and his nose looks as if it had once been broken and never reset quite right. It makes him look like a prizefighter.

"I got an A on my French test," Joyce ventured.

Her dad smiled his approval. "That's my girl! How's school for you, Danna?"

"Fine, but since I'm not as smart as Joyce, I only got a B minus on my last language test. My favorite subject is still art."

"You have a lot of talent," he said in his deep, resonant voice. "My wife loves that portrait you did of Joyce."

I thanked him for the compliment. He always said nice things to Joyce and me, not like my stepfather.

"How's everything going for you, Dad? Catch any criminals today?"

"Not a one. But I did take statements at an accident. I just happened to be near the scene. Nasty business not far from the mall on the highway. It involved some kids from your school."

Joyce wanted to know all the details. She loved hearing about her dad's work, but I kind of tuned it out.

As we pulled up to my house, I thanked Mr. Winslow for the ride.

"Give my regards to your father," he said as I got out of the car. "How's he getting along?"

"All right, I guess." My mom says never to complain about things, so I don't. I think she's right. I mean who wants to hear bad things? But I know that Joyce's father does care about my stepdad because he served in the military too.

My stepdad was asleep in his wheelchair in front of the television set in the living room. I moved around quietly so as not to disturb him. I watched his face as he slept. It looked almost handsome in repose. I liked him best at times like this when his guard was down. He was so different from Mr. Winslow. Joyce's father always struck me as having strength of character and great vitality. Being a policeman had to be a tough job. But he always seemed upbeat. His voice boomed through the house as he entered a room. I couldn't help envying Joyce just a little.

My stepdad was sullen and moody most of the time. I didn't like spending time with him. When he woke up, it wasn't any different than usual. I was glad when Mom came home, because things brightened. I told her about my day and she told me about hers. My stepdad just listened. Every now and then he coughed. Although he never smoked, there were problems with his lungs.

“How are you feeling?" Mom asked him, her forehead wrinkling.

"All right. I took a pain killer a while ago. It's kicking in." I thought it might be the need for drugs that made Dad surly and silent, but I was never sure.

Mom began fixing dinner in the kitchen and I gave her a hand.

"We're sculpting for this marking period in art class. I think I'm going to try to do you. Is that okay?"

"Why, Danna, that would be very nice. I'm flattered, but couldn't you find a better subject?"

"I want to do you. You're beautiful."

She looked pleased. “I'd be honored, but I'm hardly beautiful.”

“You are, in my eyes.”

My stepdad wheeled himself into the kitchen. He picked up the newspaper he'd left on the table earlier in the day and began glancing through it. “I'm glad Reagan won the election for a second term.”

“Is he a good president?” I asked.

“The best,” my stepdad affirmed. “He's brought stability and security to the country. He's even got a decent foreign policy. The country is going to do better economically because of him.”

“I don't know,” my mother said. “My parents believed that the Republicans were only out to benefit rich people. My folks always voted Democratic.”

“The Republicans ended the Vietnam War and brought our boys home. As for Ronald Reagan, I voted for him twice, and just about the entire country did the same. You've been outvoted.”

“Guess I have at that.” Mom didn't seem troubled by the disagreement. She never took politics to heart the way my stepdad did.

I followed my mother's example. For me, history was what happened while we ordinary folks lived our lives. I guess the only problem came when history affected our lives — like with the war in Vietnam.

****

Our house is little more than a bungalow with a small front room, kitchen, two bedrooms and an attic, but it's very homey, and best of all it's close to the ocean. On quiet nights, I imagine I can hear the sea, although Mom says we're really too far away. Yet I believe the rhythm of the sea puts me to sleep.

In my dreams that night, I saw a tall, handsome blond boy with dazzling blue eyes smiling at me. I heard him call my name and I reached for him. There was a beautiful golden halo around his head.

“Are you an angel?” I asked him, awed by his incandescence.

“Yes, I'm your angel,” he said.

Then I was being kissed by Gar Hansen. I woke up feeling foolish. Gar Hansen, an angel? How could I have dreamt such a thing? That stuck-up snob was never going to notice me. And who wanted him to anyway? Me, that's who! I had to tell the truth to myself. I mean, who was I kidding? Of course, I wanted him to notice me. Still, I knew how foolish it was and unrealistic besides.

I started to tell Joyce about my weird dream the next day in the library, but thought better of it. I figured she'd probably laugh in my face. I didn't want my friend to think less of me.

Joyce and I generally took our study hall in the library because it was quiet and we could really work there. I was concentrating on my geometry and praying that I'd be given a tutor soon when I felt someone's eyes on me. At first, I thought it was my imagination. But no, there was a boy across the room just sitting there staring at me. I didn't dare to look at him. I tried hard to ignore him and concentrate on my work, but I couldn't. Every time I looked up, there he was staring at me still. Joyce didn't notice; she was too caught up in her book.

I figured he was playing some dumb game at my expense. Finally, becoming angry, I stared back. Then I really looked at him and truly saw him. His wavy, black hair caught the light and his eyes were dark as coal. He smiled at me, bold and cocky. I blushed and turned away. Then I elbowed Joyce who mumbled something derogatory and continued her reading.

"There's some guy at that table over there staring at me," I whispered.

"What?" She surfaced from her book like a diver with the bends.

"Is there anything weirder than usual about my appearance? Do I have poppy seeds caught between my front teeth from my roll at lunch?"

"You look fine." She was clearly annoyed.

"Don't be obvious," I whispered. "He's two tables away and he keeps looking at me. I don't recognize him, do you? Just check him out, okay?"

She discreetly looked around. "You're right," Joyce said, eyes widening behind her thick glasses. "There's a good-looking, dark-haired guy staring in our direction. I've never seen him before. I'm certain of it. Are you sure you don't know him from somewhere?"

"No, never saw him before either. I would have remembered. It's kind of weird."

"Just ignore him," Joyce suggested. "He'll get the message. Obviously, he has nothing better to do, so he's decided to be a pain."

I forced myself to read my book, although I really couldn't absorb a word of it. Once more, I glanced up to find
him
looking directly at me. He smiled again and I couldn't help thinking he had the whitest teeth I'd ever seen. Jarred by the bell ringing at the end of the period, I gathered my things together. He seemed to be coming toward me. It struck me then: for the first time in my life, a boy was attempting to flirt with me, and a gorgeous one at that!

I hurried out into the corridor, not waiting to see if the gorgeous guy would follow. Confused and embarrassed by his attention, I almost tripped.

Joyce and I parted company at the end of the main corridor. I had to go to geometry and she had chemistry. I put the boy out of my mind as best I could, concentrating on Mrs. Hallen who was explaining a proof in front of the classroom. I had done my homework so I was prepared when she called on me, even if I did stammer a little.

Just before the end of class, Mrs. Hallen returned our test papers of the previous week. "The results are generally good. I am pleased. However, I'm sorry to say that there were several failures."

I had a sick feeling in my stomach, kind of a premonition, and it turned out I was right. My paper was one of the failures. Tears welled up in my eyes. Quick as I could, I slipped the test in my notebook so no one could see it. I felt humiliated. Unshed tears stung my eyes. I waited until all the other students had left the room.

"I'm trying hard," I told Mrs. Hallen. "I know I have to get better grades." Mrs. Hallen stood over me, pale and thin, swaying to one side like the mast of a sailboat.

"Yes, I realize you're trying, but you're just not grasping the material. I've arranged for your tutoring. In fact, you're fortunate; one of the best math students I ever taught has offered to tutor you. But he does have many other obligations so the time will have to be at his convenience. You should get a call in a day or two. Tell your parents that."

I didn't bother to explain that my parents really didn't care much about how I did in geometry. In fact, my stepfather expected me to be taking secretarial courses, not college prep. Mom didn't see geometry as having any useful application to real life either. But I knew I needed to defeat the beast, slay the dragon, whatever. It was my dream to earn a scholarship to college. Geometry was standing in my way.

Joyce and I met in the cafeteria at lunchtime. Phyllis Reynolds joined us. I actually don't like her very much, although she seems to consider Joyce and me her best friends, so we've never told her to get lost.

Phyllis is a short, heavy girl who wears clothes that always seem to resemble tents. Purple seems to be her favorite color.

"How are you doing in geometry? Did you get a good grade on the test?" Phyllis asked as she observed the textbook I was clutching in my hands. Funny how she always has a knack for saying the wrong thing.

"Do you want any milk?" I inquired, changing the subject. ”I'm going up.”

Phyllis shook her head. "I was the first in line today, already got my lunch. See?"

"Well, I'd better get in line now. It's pretty long." I left her happily chowing down on what passed for food in our school cafeteria.

Joyce had moved into the hot lunch line which took longer. I walked to the other end that was just for drinks and desserts. Ahead of me, Caron Moore stood surrounded by her friends and admirers, all popular girls like her. Caron was probably the most popular girl in the sophomore class.

She only started at Wilson last year as a freshman but already had tons of friends, male and female, and was on student council as well as being a class officer.It wasn't just her dark good looks or her cleverness that set Caron apart; she was a girl with tremendous poise and self-confidence. Caron and I had never spoken a word to each other outside of French class and we probably never would. She came from a world of privilege and wealth completely different from my own. She wore the most stylish, expensive designer duds, had the best hairstyle, and always looked hot. We had absolutely nothing in common. I don't think I even liked her; yet I couldn't help admiring her and feeling a pang or two of jealousy.

"There's a rumor that the board of health is going to close down the kitchen," I heard her say. "I can't understand why anyone would buy the hot lunch here. It's an open invitation to salmonella city." Her friends seemed amused by her remarks. Of course, Caron was always making clever comments.

I rejoined Joyce and Phyllis at the lunch table. Phyllis was eating with total concentration, shoving a large chocolate cupcake in her mouth. The three of us ate together in relative silence.

Joyce eyed me thoughtfully while I choked down my peanut butter sandwich with skim milk. "You're in one of those moods," Joyce said to me. "What's wrong?"

"Who says anything's wrong?"

"Come on, I can tell. You may be a quiet person but the only time you act like you've taken a vow of silence is when you're brooding over something. Give it up, girl. What is it?"

"What am I, a window pane? Look, it's no big deal. I flunked the first geometry test." I couldn't look her in the eye.

"No wonder you feel rotten. I understand how you feel.”

"Please, Joyce, you've never failed a test in your life. You have no idea how I feel."

"Well, I do!" Phyllis said, stuffing potato chips into her mouth. "You feel like garbage. It's happened to me… occasionally. Why don't you buy yourself an ice cream bar? It'll make you feel lots better. Ice cream is the best cure for misery. Trust me, I know."

"Wish it was as simple as that." I swallowed hard.

"You have Mrs. Hallen, don't you? She's real hard. They say she flunks about half of her students every year," Phyllis said.

"That's comforting."

"Don't worry. You won't flunk. If the tutor doesn't work out, I'll help you. Math and science are my best subjects." Joyce's voice was soothing like cough syrup.

"We'll see. Anyway, I'm not giving up. I'll just have to work harder."

"That's right. You can do it. Pit bull determination works every time." Joyce gave me a reassuring smile. “High five.”

I ignored the gesture. “You should go out for the cheerleading squad,” I said.

Joyce frowned. I realized I might have sounded a tad sarcastic, and here she was just trying to be supportive.

“Sorry, thanks.”

I looked around the cafeteria and saw Caron Moore sidle over to Gar Hansen. I couldn't hear what she was saying, but he looked as if he wanted to walk away, which really surprised me. Anyway, she wasn't letting him go. Her hand moved to his arm. She kept up with him as he left the cafeteria. They made an attractive, if contrasting, couple, him with his sun-streaked hair and broad, powerful build and her with that dark beauty. Phyllis and Joyce were watching them too.

"What a pair!" Phyllis said, then crunched down on another potato chip. “They're both stunning.”

"They probably deserve each other," Joyce remarked, her tone sharp.

"Don't you wish you could have a date with him just once?" Phyllis asked, with a wistfully sigh. "Be honest, I know I do."

Joyce frowned. I knew that Phyllis's comment bothered her. Joyce had lovely hair, but she wasn't really feminine looking. She wore her hair in a short, severe style. Her figure, narrow-hipped and flat-chested, was almost boyish. Anyway, the popular crowd wasn't into dating outsiders and Joyce was considered too much of a nerd.

As for me, I came from Crawfords Beach, the poorest part of town; we were looked down on by everybody, even each other. Every time there was graffiti on the benches at the beach, people would say the kids from Crawfords Beach were responsible. Crawfords Beach kids hung out together. And they were pretty rough around the edges. I was taking college prep courses, unlike most of the kids who come from my area. So I didn't really fit in with them either. The kids from my part of town thought I was trying to put on airs, and the other kids eyed me suspiciously, as if I were an interloper.

I suppose that was why Phyllis wanted to hang out with Joyce and me, because she recognized other misfits when she saw them. But I was determined that I wasn't always going to be an outsider, that somewhere there was a better life for me if I just worked hard enough at making it happen.

I met Joyce at her locker at two-thirty, ready to catch the early bus.

"You taking all that home tonight?" she asked in disbelief eying my load of books.

"I need good grades," I said grimly.

"You shouldn't worry. You're an artist. I'm sure there are plenty of scholarships for that."

"Maybe, but I've got to be good all around to land one."

Joyce didn't argue. Just the same, I could see she thought I was getting a little paranoid.

As we walked to where the buses were loading, a car horn began to honk loudly. A shiny red Corvette screeched to a halt at the curb.

"Hey, you want a ride home?" The voice was deep but smooth. I recognized the guy from the library.

Joyce tugged at my jacket sleeve, but I just stood there mesmerized, like a deer caught in headlights.

"Walk on, Danna. He's trying to pick you up."

The red car followed along beside us.

"Sorry, I don't take rides from strangers," I said in a prim manner.

"Too bad, and I was even going to offer you a lollipop." He gave me a wolfish grin.

I smiled, then caught myself. He had a mischievous look in his eyes that I found appealing. Wow, he was so hot! So why was he bothering with me? A guy like that only had to snap his fingers and girls would come panting.

"Why don't I give you both a ride home, okay?"

"Sorry." My heart was beating too fast.

The first of the caravan of buses began to depart. Joyce and I took off hoping to catch the next bus scheduled to leave.

"Hey, I don't bite!" He called after us in an offended voice. The next thing I knew, he was peeling out, burning rubber all the way.

Joyce shook her head in disgust as we climbed aboard our bus. "I don't like pushy guys like that."

"I wonder who he is," I found myself saying.

She glanced at me out of the corner of her eye. "Don't tell me you're having second thoughts about accepting a ride from him?"

"No, of course not. I was leery too. It's just that he is way cool, and there is something about him."

"Yeah, I think it's called trouble."

"Maybe you're right."

Still, I wondered about him. I mean, a gorgeous guy like that who could afford to drive such an amazing car — obviously he wouldn't have any trouble getting dates. Plus, he didn't look like the type who handled rejection very well. I was sure he'd never give me a second thought. Why should he? I shrugged, determined to put the incident out of my mind. I had enough real problems to think about.

But the next day, there he was in the library again. And he didn't look as if he were there to study because he didn't even glance at a book. I really tried hard to ignore him because by this time I was sure he was playing some kind of game with me.

Joyce noticed him too and cast a sternly disapproving glance in his direction several times. But that didn't seem to discourage him either. In fact, half-way through the period, he moved to our table.

"If I introduced myself to you, would you still consider me a stranger?"

I looked up to see his dark eyes light with amusement. I felt my cheeks become hot and wondered if my face was flushing red. I hardly knew what to say. "I have to study. I'm sorry." I looked down at my book again.

"This is crazy! All I want to do is talk to you."

"Not here, young man!" It was Mrs. Schirer, the crabby, old librarian. She pointed her bony finger in his face and then mine. "The two of you, out of here for today! You're disturbing the other students. Back to your study hall or wherever you came from."

“I need to borrow a book,” he said. “So does she.”

“You should have thought of that before you started socializing. Get out of here, and now it's two days.”

So there I was standing out in the corridor feeling embarrassed and awful. I started walking toward the cafeteria where the general study hall was held at this hour.

"Wait up!" he called to me.

"You got us kicked out of the library, isn't that enough?" I turned and confronted him.

"I couldn't care less. Now maybe you'll let me introduce myself to you." He looked so pleased with himself, so confident, that I could easily have slapped him. I took off down the corridor again. But his hand was on my arm before I got more than a few steps. "I'm not letting you go this time!"

"Somebody will see us out here and we'll get into more trouble for loitering."

"Trying to frighten me?" He gave me a disreputable smile. “I don't scare easy.”

"I get the feeling you don't care much about obeying rules."

"Me? I'm a totally law-abiding citizen. But I'm new around here, just transferred in this month for my senior year. You can teach me all about the rules."

I pulled away from him, but he was much bigger and stronger than I was and the next thing I knew, he'd managed to maneuver me against a locker.

"Hey!" I responded with indignation.

"Hay is for horses, not people. I'm a person."

He was really close to me now. I could feel his breath on my neck and it made my skin tingle. He put his hands up on either side of the locker, effectively caging me, as if to keep me there so I couldn't escape him. All of a sudden, I knew what a trapped animal felt like. I didn't like it one bit.

"If you want to be considered a person, you shouldn't act like a stalker." I ducked under his arm and broke into a jog.

"I'm Kevin Moore!" He shouted after me. "What's your name?"

"I'm not telling you!" I shouted back. A classroom door opened and an angry face peered out.

"Keep it down out here!" We both cleared out of the hall.

I really didn't want to but I kept thinking about him on and off the rest of the morning. I was thinking about him again when I returned to the cafeteria for lunch. Joyce was waiting for me. We sat down together at the table and I told her what had happened after I left the library.

"He really has a lot of nerve," she said.

"What are you talking about?" Phyllis joined us with a heavily-laden tray.

"Nothing," I replied with an embarrassed shrug.

"It is something," Joyce said. "This boy has been bothering her."

Phyllis's eyes opened wide with avid interest. "Which boy? Do I know him?"