A Plague Year (9 page)

“It’s true. It’s like … we think we’re making choices in the supermarket, but in reality, there’s not much choice at all.”

Wendy’s blue eyes bore into mine. She told me, “That’s kinda deep.”

I smiled. “Thanks.”

Her mouth twisted into a frown. “But do you really believe that?”

I stopped smiling. “Believe what?”

“That there’s not much choice?”

I didn’t understand. “For what?”

She looked toward those distant aisles. “Not much choice for your life. You know—for where you live, for what you do.”

“I sure hope there’s a choice. I don’t want to stay here.”

She looked interested again. “No? You want to move somewhere else?”

“Yeah! I’ve been sending away for college brochures, to places I think I can get into. You know, if I work hard. And they’re all in Florida.”

“Florida?”

“That’s about as far from here as you can get.”

“Yeah.” She hesitated for just a moment. “We’ve lived there.”

“Really? Where?”

“Melbourne.”

“Was that a nice place?”

“Yeah. It was nice. But I liked California even better. San Diego. That’s where my mom lives now.”

“Oh?”

Then she came right out and told me: “My dad left my mom for Catherine, back when Catherine was a grad student. My mom’s remarried now, to a naval officer, and she travels all over the world.” She assured me, “So it’s all cool.”

Catherine Lyle reappeared at the front of the aisle. She turned her cart toward us. Again she avoided eye contact with me, but not with Wendy. She waved for Wendy to join her at the register.

Wendy said, “I guess we’re through shopping. I’ll see you in second period tomorrow.”

“Yeah. In our old context.”

“Right. Good word. Use it three times and you’ll own it.”

“I know.” I thought,
She must read the same PSAT workbook I do!

I watched her walk away. She had that model walk, too.

A minute later, Dad stopped at the end cap and stared at me curiously. He said, “You’re due for a break, aren’t you, Tom?”

I checked my watch. “Yeah, I am. Can I get the keys to the van?”

Dad fished in his pockets. “Sure.”

I took the keys and walked out, way out, to Dad’s parking space. I was hoping to study some vocabulary and I thought the van would be the safest place, but I was wrong. I had just opened the book when Reg appeared at the window, lit cigarette in hand. He asked me, “Uncle Tom, did you rat me out with your dad?”

“What are you talking about?”

“About that Chiquita banana thing?”

“No.”

“No? Then it must’ve been Uno. He’s the type. He’s lacking in the testicular department. You know?”

“Yeah. I guess.”

Reg flicked an ash away. “What are you doing out here?”

I showed him the book cover. “Learning new words.”

“For school?”

“For a test.”

“For one of my dad’s tests? I got the answers to those if you ever need ’em. They’re the same tests every year.”

“No. For the PSAT. I’ll take it next spring.”

He took a deep drag. “Uh-huh. What’s that?”

“It’s a test that colleges use to give out scholarships.”

“So this is about money?”

“I guess so. Yeah.”

“I hear that. It’s all about money. Or the lack thereof.” He pointed his free hand at the book. “What are the words? Let’s see if I know any.”

I resigned myself to a vocabulary lesson with Reg. “Okay.
Obviate.
”

“What’s that mean?”

“ ‘To anticipate and prevent.’ ”

“Give me an example.”

I looked at the store in the distance. “Like if you think someone is going to shoplift, and you have an employee follow them around, you
obviate
the need for a cop.”

“Because you anticipated what might happen. You thought it through.”

“Right.”

“I hear that. Give me another one.”

“
Obdurate
. It means ‘hardened in feelings.’ ”

“Like you’re a hard-ass.”

“I guess so.”

“Got it. Give me one more.”

“Obsequious.”

“Never heard that one.”

“Me, either.” I read the definition. “It means ‘fawningly attentive.’ ”

“What-ingly attentive?”

“I guess, like you’re falling all over somebody, praising them.”

“Like you’re kissing their ass.”

“Yeah. That’s it.”

Reg flicked his cigarette away. “Okay. Good. I’m gonna use those words.”

“Use them three times and you’ll own them.”

“Is that right?”

“That’s what they say.”

We both watched Lilly and Uno walk out of the store arm in arm, heading toward us. They stopped at Uno’s Jeep, six spaces away.

Reg called out, “Hey, Uno! Use that three times and you’ll own it, bro!”

Uno scrunched his face and called back, “What?”

Reg just laughed evilly.

Lilly snarled at him.

I wondered what Lilly was doing walking that way with Uno. Last year, I might have blackmailed her about this, threatening to tell Mom. But not anymore. What Lilly does now is her business. Especially after work. Especially with Uno.

Mr. Proctor said it: Everything is changing.

As I approached my homeroom today, I spotted the hulking figure of Rick Dorfman standing by the door. I slowed down, assuming he was going in or out, but he just stood there, so I continued on.

That was a mistake.

He was waiting for me. As soon as he spotted me, he started clenching his fists. When I got within arm’s length, he reached out, grabbed the back of my neck, and force-walked me inside.

Coach Malloy wasn’t in there. The few kids who were quickly backed away.

Dorfman twisted me around until my face was directly in front of his. His eyes were ablaze with anger. With hatred. I was instantly terrified.

He spat out some words, spraying saliva in my face. “I been thinking about you, Coleman. You little nerd, you joke, you nobody! You think you can laugh at me?”

I remember feeling surprised that he knew my name. Otherwise, though, I lapsed into craven-coward mode. I shook, and I stammered, “N-n-no. I wouldn’t. You don’t understand.”

He switched his grip to the front of my neck, grabbing me with both hands and squeezing, like he really might kill me.

Suddenly someone screamed at him. A girl’s voice. That caused him to loosen his grip.

It was Jenny Weaver.

She looked every bit as angry as Dorfman. “Get your hands off him! And get out of here. You don’t belong in here!”

Dorfman released his grip, but he didn’t leave. He just took a step back.

Unafraid, Jenny screamed at him again. “Get back to the high school side, or I’ll call Officer O’Dell!”

Dorfman’s face muscles twitched, like he had a spasm.

Suddenly the mad-dog glare went out of his eyes, like a light switching off. He lowered his head and bulled his way out the door, knocking Ben Gibbons three feet back into the hallway.

Jenny took my elbow and walked me to my seat like she was helping an old man at a nursing home. She asked, “Are you okay, Tom?”

I reached up to my throat and tried to swallow. I couldn’t answer.

She asked, “Do you want a glass of water?”

I shook my head no. I couldn’t even look at her. I sat there in total humiliation, as red as a tomato, and on the verge of crying. I felt like everyone was staring at me.

I looked up at the TV. I imagined Wendy Lyle was staring at me through the screen as she delivered the morning announcements: “Tom Coleman today proved that he is a sniveling coward and a total wuss. Please join me in laughing at Tom about his ultimate humiliation. Now let’s all rise to say the Pledge of Allegiance.”

I didn’t regain my normal breathing until halfway through first period.

And Coach Malloy didn’t notice a thing.

I guess Wendy didn’t notice anything, either, when she entered Mr. Proctor’s room, although I still had a big red welt on my neck. She started right in, as if nothing was wrong. “I was talking to Mrs. Cantwell about the academics here. I’ve been trying to convince my dad that Haven’s not so bad. He calls it ‘a school for coal miners.’ ”

I choked out, “Oh?”

“She started telling me about her top students. Guess who’s the number one student, academically, of all the incoming freshmen.”

I shrugged.

“Tom Coleman.” When I didn’t reply, she added, “That’s you, right? The kid who works at the supermarket?”

Trying to be funny, I flipped open my notebook. “Let me check.”

She laughed. “Does everybody know this but me? Does everybody know you’re number one?”

I shrugged again. “
I
didn’t even know.”

“Well, congratulations! You stay number one, Tom Coleman!”

I said, “I’ll try.” And suddenly I felt a lot better.

Mr. Proctor started class by pulling out a poster, unrolling it, and taping it to the whiteboard (Coach Malloy–style). It was a movie poster with screaming teenagers on it. It was black and white except for the slime-green title:
Night of the Living Dead
.

Mr. Proctor pointed to the board and explained, “This is the original poster for
Night of the Living Dead
, a cult horror movie that was filmed right here in western Pennsylvania.

“George Romero, a college student from Pittsburgh, was shooting commercials and bits for a kids’ show called
Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood
. But he had something else in mind. Something very dark, and noncommercial, and non-kid-friendly—
Night of the Living Dead
.

“This movie is not set in Transylvania, with some foreign-sounding Count Dracula as the monster. No. It’s set in a town like yours, with regular people as the monsters. Regular people who had been your neighbors and your friends and your family just a week ago, but who are all bloodthirsty zombies now.

“We will watch this movie over the next two class periods. Then I want you to write an essay comparing and contrasting
A Journal of the Plague Year
to
Night of the Living Dead.
”

He popped a video into the slot beneath the TV screen. Blaring, evil zombie music filled the room. It was cool stuff, but I thought,
No way is this part of the county curriculum. Mr. Proctor’s going to get in trouble
.

Near the end of class, Mr. Proctor stopped the video to point out, “Karen, the cute little girl in the movie, is already infected with the zombie plague, but no one knows it. She’ll wind up devouring her own mother and father. That seems pretty bizarre, right? And unbelievable. But let me tell you, I think
I’ve
seen zombies walking around at the college.” Then he added darkly, “Meth zombies.”

Arthur raised his hand immediately. “Yeah. I’ve seen meth zombies around, too, Mr. Proctor. Around my house. We definitely have them in Caldera.”

Hands shot up all around the room. Other kids started to say similar things—that they had seen meth zombies around Blackwater. As I listened to their stories, I realized that I had seen one, too. I raised my hand, and Mr. Proctor pointed to me. I contributed this:

“One night last summer, just after closing time, I was doing a roundup in the parking lot. A guy was sitting next to a cart, just staring at me. His eyes were black, his mouth was hanging open, and he had all these rotten teeth.

“It was like I was looking into the eyes of a corpse. I went in and told my dad about the guy, but by the time we walked back out, he was gone. My dad said, ‘He was probably drunk. Just sleeping it off.’ But I’ve seen drunks before, and this was something else.”

Mr. Proctor nodded. He continued to listen to our stories intently.
People were still telling them when the bell rang, and he had to say, “Okay. That’s enough for now. I’ll see you all tomorrow for part two of the movie.”

Arthur walked out behind me.

He started talking, like to himself. “So, let me make sure I’ve got this right. Dork-man went after Mrs. Lyle in the counseling group, and then he went after young Tom before school today. My God! He’s attacking the women and children!”

That was mildly offensive. I asked, “Who told you that he attacked me?”

“Jenny Weaver. Why? Isn’t it true?”

“Yeah. It’s true.”

“So who saved your sorry ass this time?”

“I guess it was Jenny.”

“No way! She didn’t mention that part.” Arthur doubled over with laughter. He finally managed to say with real respect, “Those Weavers, man. They are awesome. When I was little, they came up to Caldera every Thanksgiving with food, and they came up every Christmas with presents. For the poor people, you know?

“Some people would get pissed off about that, like it was an insult. Like
Who asked you to give me stuff?
But my mom never did. She took what they offered and was glad to get it. The Christmas presents were always crap—like Dollar Store stuff. But still, it was something to open.”

He stopped at the senior high stairs. “But back to Dork-man. What was it about?”

“I don’t even know. I think he’s just basically insane.”

“Yeah. Could be. Could be genetic. Jimmy Giles had a hassle with Dork-man’s old man a couple of years ago. The old man was insane.”