A PERFECT RENDEZVOUS

O Henry!

The phone call Harry had been waiting and praying for came four days later at the last place he expected to receive it. "Oh, Harry," the principal's secretary called out when Harry walked into the office to turn in his attendance report at the end of the day. "A Mr. Stanhope called you this afternoon." Harry glanced up a split second before the name hit him, and when it did, he froze. "What did he say?" he asked, alarmed by the breathless desperation in his own voice.

"He said something about wanting to enroll his son in your handicapped physical ed classes. I told him we're full."

"Why in heaven's name did you tell him that?"

"Because I heard Mr. Duncan say something about us being overcrowded. Anyway, Mr. Stanhope said it was something of an emergency and that he'd call you back at seven tonight. I told him it was no use because our teachers don't work here that late."

In a flash, Harry realized Zayn was wary of calling him at home in case his phone was tapped, that Zayn hadn't gotten through to Harry when he tried here, and that he might not try again, and it was all Harry could do to keep his frustration and temper from lashing out at the principal's lazy, nosy secretary. "If he said it was an emergency," Harry shot back with unprecedented fury, "why didn't you page me in my classroom?"

"Teachers are not supposed to take personal calls during school hours. That is Mr. Duncan's rule. His very specific rule."

"It was clearly not a personal call," Harry said, his nails biting into his palms. "Did he say whether he intended to call me here or at home tonight?"

"No."

At six forty-five, Harry was sitting alone in the school's administration office, staring at the telephone on the desk where the main line would light up if a call came through. If he'd guessed wrong, if Zayn was going to phone his at home tonight instead of here, he was terrified Zayn might think he'd changed his mind about joining him and then Zayn wouldn't call back. Beyond the glass walls that surrounded the administration office, the halls were dark and eerie, and when the janitor poked his head in the door, Harry jumped guiltily. "You're workin' awful late tonight," Henry Rueheart said with a grin that displayed a missing front tooth.

"Yes," Harry said, hastily pulling a blank tablet in front of him and picking up a pen. "I have some ... some special reports to write. Sometimes it's easier to think here than it is at home."

"You ain't doin' much writing, gazin' off into space like you've been," he said. "I thought mebbee you was waiting for a phone call or somethin'."

"No, not at all—"

The phone rang shrilly at his elbow, and he grabbed for it, jabbing the button that lit up. "Hello?"

"Hi, baby," Carl said. "I kept calling you at home and decided to take a shot you were still at school when I couldn't reach you anywhere else. Have you had dinner yet?"

Harry raked his hand through his hair, trying to remember if Zayn would get a busy signal or if the lines transferred automatically. "I have a lot of work to finish," he said, tossing a harassed look at Henry, who'd decided to shuffle into the office and empty trash cans instead of finishing sweeping the halls. "I'm trying to write some reports, and I'm not making much progress."

"Is everything okay?" he persisted. "I saw Katherine in town a few minutes ago, and she said you've wanted to stay home alone every night this week."

"Everything is great! Terrific! I'm throwing myself into my work just like you advised me to, remember?"

"No, I don't."

"Oh, well it must have been someone else then. I thought it was you. I have to hang up now. Thanks for calling. Love you," Harry said and hung up the phone. "Henry," he burst out in distraction, "can't you leave cleaning the office for last? I can't think straight if you're going to bang trash cans around," he added somewhat unfairly, describing the minor noise he was making.