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  “Then why don't I feel better about it?”

  Dad put it in park. “Because you're a human being.”

  I got out of the car. “He's going to pay”

  He looked at me. “Poe …”

  “He is. I swear it. He'll pay”

  • • •

  Wednesday morning came with the revolting thought of going to school. Velveeta was on doctor's orders to stay in bed on account of a severe concussion, and I had choir practice before first hour. I didn't want to go, but I did. Business as usual, but it wasn't. It was pretend business as usual.

  When I saw Anna standing with her group of friends in the choir room, my mind flipped to Velveeta curled up and bleeding under the sink. Anna looked at me for too long, no expression on her face, and I almost erupted.

  Mrs. Baird came in and had us take our places, and we began. I sang halfheartedly, staring at Anna's back with pure malice in my heart, and the anger burned. Every verse I sang, it rose, and my voice rose with it. My chest swelled as I breathed with the lines, the feeling pouring through me like a river, and I knew I was too loud for the chorus.

  As Mrs. Baird directed, she kept glancing at me, trying to quiet me down, but I didn't. And when the chorus verse ended and Anna faded in for her piece, I shut my mouth. She was good. Very good. As good as they said.

  I was better. So I opened my mouth.

  It started quiet, but it built. Within a minute, Mrs. Baird put her hands down to signal a halt, but I kept singing. So did Anna, raising it up a notch. Mrs. Baird stared bullets into me, but I smiled, my voice catapulting over Anna's and crushing hers. If they wanted a tryout, here it was, and they could shove a big stick up their asses if they thought that Poe Holly would roll over.

  After another moment, Anna stopped, her voice dwarfed by mine. I continued, finishing her piece to the absolute silence of the choir. Not a sound was made when I stopped. Mrs. Baird stared, angry. I stepped down from my spot, giving back what she gave. “I'll see you Friday morning. Seven-thirty.” Then I walked out.

  Colby Morris wasn't in school, and the word from Theo was that he was lying low until the school made a decision about things. Mr. Halvorson acted like he hadn't found a severely beaten and bloody outcast under the sink in the boys’ bathroom, and I figured as the head of the Committee of Equality and Fairness at Benders High, he had a duty to ignore the issues that really mattered.

  Theo met me after school, and we walked to my house.

  Dad would be late. He was offering counseling services to those who might be affected by the beating that Colby Morris hadn't given Velveeta, and I laughed at the thought. Theo looked at me. “Inside joke?”

  “My dad. He's staying late in case anybody was traumatized by the violence of what didn't happen.”

  “State-sponsored wussy treatment. I'm sure he's got a packed house full of traumatized teenagers.”

  “Yeah, right. More people would be lining up to buy a video of it than for counseling.”

  “Yep. I haven't heard anything.”

  “Colby should be expelled and arrested.”

  “He won't be,” Theo said, his tone resigned.

  We walked up to the porch and slumped in the chairs. “Tell me why not.”

  “His dad is an administrator for the county jail.”

  “So?”

  “Come on, Poe, put it together.” He grunted. “If anything, my dad has taught me that. To see why things really happen the way they do. Colby's pop runs the jail, he's buds with the DA, and his son is a Benders Hollow god. He knows every detective within a hundred miles of here.” He paused. “Colby Morris isn't going to juvie or anywhere else.”

  I sighed. “God, sometimes life just blows.”

  “Yeah.”

  I stared out over the yard, sick of thinking about it. “I need a haircut.”

  “There's a place in town.”

  “I want you to do it.”

  He gave me a suspicious stare. “I don't do haircuts. Especially on girlfriends. Dangerous territory.”

  “I'll kiss you.”

  He stood, looking around. “Where are those pesky scissors?”

  “Not scissors. Come on.” We went inside, to Dad's bathroom, and I searched under the sink, finding what I wanted.

  Theo looked. “What?”

  I plugged in the clippers. “I said no scissors.”

  “You want me to shave you? Like bald? Are you turning neo-Nazi on me?”

  “No.”

  “What, then? You want me to shave Velveeta's name in your head to ease the guilt?”

  “Shut up. We'll be giving me a traditional punk haircut today.”

  He smiled, looking at my hair. “Serious? The traditional?”

  I nodded. “One Mohawk, please.”

  He held up a lock of my hair, measuring. “Tall spikes? We could get a good five-inch lift.”

  “Yeah. I've got some stuff called Concrete. It'll hold it up just fine.”

  “You'll look like that drummer guy from Blink 182. What's his name, Barker.”

  “Maybe his sister.”

  “Is this a spontaneous thing in honor of Velveeta or just a general slap-in-the-face-to-the-establishment-type deal?”

  “A general thing. I've done it before.” I sat on the toilet, draping a towel over my shoulders. “Make it good. Straight lines. Not too thick on the strip.”

  “I think you should take your shirt off for this. I don't want to get any hair on it.”

  “Ha.”

  “Trade for the kiss?”

  Having sex with Theo flashed through my mind, but it was just that. A flash. “Nope. You can settle on your kiss.”

  “Can I feel your butt during the kiss? Just a little bit?”

  I gave him a seductive stare. “Maybe. Get started, slave boy.”

  “Yes, mistress. At your command.”

  • • •

  A half hour and quite a bit of nervous sweat on Theo's part later, I stood in front of the mirror gooping Concrete Water-Resistant Gel into my Mohawk. My black hair covered the bathroom floor, and Theo admired his work. “I think I might have found my true calling. Sex for haircuts.”

  “Kissing isn't sex.” I looked in the mirror. He'd done a great job.

  “It could be construed as sex. There are bodily fluids passed.”

  “Spit doesn't count.”

  “You make it sound so romantic, Poe.”

  I turned around, laying my wrists over his shoulders and turning my head. “You like the new do?”

  He looked at my hair. “Sexy punker chicks make my blood boil.”

  The next thing I knew, I was sitting on the bathroom counter, Theo between my legs and his lips on mine. His hands roamed my back and the tingles ran through me like wildfire, and my breathing quickened. His did, too, and his hands went under my shirt, moving up my sides. He flicked his tongue through my teeth, and things definitely went from warm to hot.

  “Uh, hello.”

  Theo was off me like an African jumping spider, and my dad stood in the hall, his hands in his pockets. I straightened, pulling my shirt down and wiping my mouth self-consciously “Hi, Dad. Uh, sorry.”

  “Hello, Mr. Holly,” Theo cut in, a look of pure fear on his face.

  Dad cleared his throat. “Okay.” He took a breath. “Well, I see you've got a new hairstyle.”

  I stepped forward, thankful. When confronted with super-incredibly uncomfortable situations, ignore it. For once, I agreed with my dad. “You like it?”

  He studied it, then smiled. “Actually, I think I do. Different.”

  I looked at the floor. “Really? You're not mad? Mom flipped when I did it before.”

  He smiled wider. “Honestly, I do like it.”

  I looked to the floor. “I'll clean this up.”

  Theo bent down, picking up strands of hair. “Yeah, me too, Mr. Holly. We'll take care of it. Is there anything else you'd like me to do? Wash your car? Paint your house?”

  He laughed. “It's o
kay, Theo. There's a handheld vacuum in the hall closet.” He turned, then turned back. “Theo, would you care to stay for dinner?”

  “Uh, I can't. My mom is sick.”

  Dad nodded. “I think it would be nice if you did sometime.”

  “Yessir.”

  After Dad left, Theo exhaled. “That was great. Jeez.”

  “We were just kissing, Theo.”

  “I was feeling you up. That's not just kissing. Your dad saw me with my hands up your shirt. God.”

  “Well, it's not like we're twelve.”

  “Yeah, but…”

  “You know, for such a rebel-type dude, you sure are a sissy.”

  He looked at the floor, picking up hair. “It's not that.”

  I laughed. “Then what is it?”

  He wouldn't look up. “You.”

  “What's that supposed to mean?”

  He looked at me, a handful of my hair in his hand. “I like you. That's all. And I don't want to make things bad. I make things bad.”

  I smiled. He was a romantic. My rebel romantic who spent his time thinking about pop machines and how the world worked. “You won't.”

  He picked up more hair, chuckling. “If there's one thing Theo Dorr is good at, it's screwing things up. It's my life story.”

  I knelt beside him, picking up hair. “Fine, then. We'll screw things up together.”

  • • •

  Dad made fajitas and Mexican corn for dinner, and we ate in the den, watching the news in avoidance of what I knew would come. Some things were like the sun coming up in the morning and going down in the evening, and Dad was no exception. He rolled a fajita, taking a bite. “I suppose we should have a talk.”

  “The birds and the bees?”

  “Are you on birth control?”

  I took a bite, talking with my mouth full to irritate my anal father. “I've never had sex.”

  “Have you thought about it?”

  “Sure. But not until I'm ready.”

  “You and Theo seem pretty serious.”

  “You mean because he had his hands up my shirt?”

  Dead silence, with the talking head on the news filling in. Dad wiped his mouth. “I'd prefer abstinence, but if you need something, don't hesitate, okay?”

  “I know, Dad. My mom is a doctor, remember? I've had it drilled into my head since I started eating solids.”

  He paused. “I think maybe if Theo is over, you should stay out of your room.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You'd rather us have sex on the couch?”

  He sighed. “That's not what I'm saying. But there have to be some rules in this house. I'm responsible for you, and I've a right to let my opinion be known.”

  I felt like hugging him. Finally. An opinion. “Gotcha. How about the door stays open?”

  “Deal.” He sat back and folded his hands over his stomach. “Things seem to be moving so fast. Is it this way with Mom?”

  I laughed. “You're used to everything being the same all the time because you're old and infirm. And no, it wasn't this way with Mom.”

  “Why not?”

  I looked at him, wondering what it would have been like to grow up with him. I wondered if I'd be different. “Because she's never around.”

  He paused, and a good minute or so went by. “Why did you do that to your hair?”

  “I wanted something more feminine. You know, stylish.”

  He laughed. “A statement.”

  “Let me guess, you think I'm being reactionary.”

  He smiled, took a moment, then shrugged. “Actually, Poe, I do. But maybe you're right. Maybe sometimes the tree does need to be shaken.”

  “What's going to happen with Colby?”

  “I don't know, but I want you to steer clear of him.”

  “He's psycho.”

  “Avoid him, Poe.”

  “That's your answer to everything, isn't it? Avoid sex, avoid bullies, avoid conflict, avoid injustice, play by the rules. Standard procedure. I think Theo's right.”

  “What is Theo right about?”

  I stared at him. “That it's all the small things we accept that makes this world such a crappy place.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Fifth hour came the next day with the office administration buzzing our class. Poe Holly was to report to the student office immediately. You'd think nobody in the history of Benders Hollow had ever seen a Mohawk before. Not a single person had said a word to me about it, though, and I'd enjoyed that. Silence was golden sometimes.

  I grabbed my things, uneasy with what might be going on, and walked, taking my time. Colby hadn't been in current affairs for third hour, and there'd been no rumor about what was going on other than some sort of investigation. Velveeta wasn't in school, either.

  Ms. Appleway smiled when she saw me, her eyes twinkling as she studied my Mohawk. “Glad to see you back, Poe.”

  “Thanks.” I looked toward Vice Principal Avery's office. “In there?”

  She shook her head, some of the twinkle leaving her eyes. “No. Your father's office.”

  “Is this about me, or is it about Colby Morris?”

  The twinkle disappeared. She leaned forward, lowering her voice. “His name is Mr. Dwight Worthy, retired Highway Patrol detective and the district investigator. He's waiting.”

  I walked past Mr. Avery's office and down the hall, expecting to see my dad sitting with Mr. Worthy. He was nowhere to be found. Mr. Worthy sat at his desk, reading a file. My file, I was sure. I stood at the door. He didn't look up. “Please take a seat, young lady.”

  I did. He looked up, taking me in without expression. Bald on top, his head was shaved to stubble, the white collar of his dress shirt tight around a thick neck. Age weathered his face, and I figured he was around sixty. His eyes were blue and flat behind silver reading glasses, and his shoulders filled out the chair. He looked exactly like what he was supposed to look like. A cop. He peered at me over the rims of his glasses. “Poe Holly.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Dwight Worthy.”

  He stared with his polished and rock-hard cop eyes, years of practice coming through. “Detective Worthy.”

  “Retired detective Worthy.”

  The only sign of irritation was a minuscule slump of his big shoulders. His eyes went to my file. “I take it you know why you're here.”

  “Colby Morris.”

  “You witnessed the alleged assault?”

  “It wasn't alleged.”

  “Tell me what happened.”

  I did, and for the next five minutes, he listened without a blink, studying me as I spoke. He sat back when I finished, cocking his fingers under his chin and rubbing. “And you know why this allegedly happened?”

  “I told you it's not alleged.”

  “Please answer the question.”

  “It happened.”

  He ignored that statement. “You have an idea why?”

  I told him about slapping Anna and Colby thinking Velveeta did it.

  “And that's why you went into the lavatory?”

  “Yes. I knew something would happen when I saw them drag him in. Why are you acting like you don't believe what happened?”

  “I know something happened, Ms. Holly but I don't know what happened. It's my job to find out.”

  “Why don't you ask Velveeta or Colby or half the football team? They were there.”

  “I have. You are the only one who is talking.”

  “So Velveeta got the shit kicked out of him by a ghost in the boys’ bathroom. Mr. Halvorson came in, too. He saw him under the sink.”

  “Mr. Halvorson wasn't a witness to the act, and the statement your friend Andrew gave doesn't support an assault. He maintains he fell.”

  It took me a second to remember Vel's real name was Andrew. “This is a bunch of crap. You know what happened.”

  “I may think I know, but I have no cooperation from the victim.”

  “Is the DA going to press charges?”

  “At this po
int, no. The victim is refusing to acknowledge any assault occurred, and of course the suspect maintains his innocence.”

  “So what happens?”

  “Unless I can get a statement from Andrew, nothing. The district will record an injury due to slipping and falling, just as he said.”

  I studied him. “Colby Morris is going to kill him. You know that, don't you?”

  “I don't know that, Ms. Holly. I know something happened, and I know there's bad blood between the two, but I can't do anything about it.”

  “There's not bad blood between the two, there's Colby Morris being a psycho. Velveeta has never done anything to him. Besides that, I'm sitting here telling you Colby Morris was in the bathroom and that he did it.”

  He shook his head. “That's unsubstantiated without support from Andrew, Ms. Holly.”

  “My dad told me the DA could press charges without Velveeta if he wanted to.”

  “Not without proof that the suspect was at least in the same place as the victim.” He studied me over his glasses. “Andrew has had quite a traumatic past, hasn't he?”

  “What does that have to do with this?”

  He ignored me, going on. “Has he talked to you about Colby Morris? Said anything about him at all?”

  “What are you getting at?”

  “If Colby Morris did in fact beat Andrew, rarely does something this severe happen without some sort of patterned provocation or history. Colby Morris has no previous police record of misconduct, he's an honor roll student, and he's being considered by several colleges for football scholarships. If he did attack Andrew, it seems that there should be some history. Some reason.” He eyed me. “Is there a history between you two? Any conflicts?”

  I couldn't believe this was happening. “I get it now.”

  “You get what, Ms. Holly?”

  “You're not looking to get Colby, you're looking to whitewash this whole thing.”

  “I'm investigating all of the possibilities. For the district to make a decision, I have to have the whole story for them. We're dealing with the entire future of a young man, Ms. Holly, and I take that seriously.”

  I stood. He'd just put the whole thing in perspective. They were dealing with the future of one young man, and it wasn't Velveeta. “You're full of crap, Mr. Worthy.”