Cory

Chapter. 14

 Clara drove to the far end of the parking lot and pulled into a stall that faced the asphalt ramp leading to the highway. Tristan started to get out and she jerked his back. Her eyes glowed ferally in the dark.

"What?" he said with angry nervousness.

"They use a P.A. system to announce the King and Queen," she said. "Then one of the bands will play the school song. That means they're sitting there in those thrones, on target."

"I know all that. Let go of me. You're hurting."

She squeezed his wrist tighter still and felt small bones grind. It gave her a grim pleasure. Still, he didn't cry out He was pretty good.

"You listen to me. I want you to know what you're getting into. Pull the rope when the song is playing. Pull it hard. There will be a little slack between the pulley, but not much. When you pull it and feel the bucket go, run. You don't stick around to hear the screams or anything else. This is out of the cute-little-joke league. This is criminal assault, you know? They don't fine you. They put you in jail and throw the key over their shoulder."

It was an enormous speech for her.

His eyes only glared at her, full of defiant anger.

"Dig it?"

"Yes."

"All right. When the-bucket go, I'm going to run. When I get to the car, I'm going to drive away. If you're there, you can come. If youre not, I'll leave you. If I leave you and you spill your guts, I'll kill you. Do you believe me"

"Yes. Take your fucking hand off me."

She did. An unwilling shadow-grin touched her face. May. "It's going to be good."

They got out of the car.

It was almost nine-thirty.

Vic Mooney, President of the Senior Class, was calling jovially into the mike.. "All right, ladies and gennelmen. Take your seats, please. Ifs time for the voting. We're going to vote for the King and Queen."

"This contest insults women!" Myra Crewes called with uneasy good nature.

"It insults men, too!" George Landford called back, and there was general laughter. Myra was silent. She had made her token protest.

"take your seats, please!" Vic was smiling into the mike, and blushing furiously, fingering a pimple on his chin. The huge Venetian boatman behind him looked dreamily over Vic's shoulder. "Time to vote."

Cory and Charlene sat down. Caleb Saunders and Norman Watson were circulating mimeographed ballots, and when Norman dropped one at their table and breathed "Good LUCK!" Cory picked up the ballot and studied it. His mouth popped open.

"Charlene, we're on here!"

"Yeah, I saw that," she said. "The school votes for single candidates and their dates get sort of shanghaied into it. Welcome aboard. Shall we decline?"

He bit his lip and looked at him. "Do you want to decline?"

"Hell, no," she said cheerfully. "If you win, an you do is sit up there for the school song and one dance and wave a sceptre and look like a goddam idiot. They take your picture for the yearbook so everyone can see you look like a goddam idiot."

"Who do we vote for?" He looked doubtfully from the ballot to the tiny pencil by his boatful of nuts. "They're more your crowd than mine.' A chuckle escaped him. 'In fact, I don't really have a crowd."

She shrugged. "Let's vote for ourselves. To the devil with false modesty."

He laughed out loud, then clapped a hand over his mouth. The sound was almost entirely foreign to him. Before he could think, he circled their names, third from the top. The tiny pencil broke in her hand, and she gasped. A splinter had scratched the pad of one finger, and a small bead of blood welled.