Creeps by Darren Hynes

chair but Marjorie won’t sit. He twirls his pinky ring for ages and then says, “I don’t see how we couldn’t make the provincials now. They won’t know what to make of you in St. John’s.”
    Marjorie slips her hands into her back pockets. Stares at something on the floor.
    â€œAll this time,” Mr. Rollie says, “passing you in the corridors, having you in my English classes. Last year you were so quiet I forgot you were even there. And now this .”
    â€œAwfully good,” Wayne says again.
    â€œWhere does it come from, Miss Pope, your mother’s or your father’s side?”
    Marjorie looks up and then down at the floor again and Wayne feels something seep from the room.
    Mr. Rollie shifts in his chair and says, “I’m sorry, Miss Pope, I shouldn’t have asked—”
    â€œCertainly not my mother’s,” Marjorie says. “She freezes up talking to the bank teller. So I guess my dad’s side. He was real into music, especially Radiohead, and he loved movies and even tried to write a screenplay.”
    A long silence.
    â€œYour guidance counsellor will hate me,” Mr. Rollie says at last, resting his chin on cupped hands, “but I think it’s your calling.”
    Wayne writes “calling” down in his notebook.
    â€œFor me it’s to teach English and drama and direct school plays. Mr. Inkwell’s destiny is to be principal, and old Mr. Ricketts is there to make sure the heat works in winter and that we havelights to do our work without straining our eyes.” Mr. Rollie picks his glasses up and chews on one of the ears. “Some people have trouble finding their calling. Others not so much. What’s important is to never stop searching.” He sits back and stares at the ceiling and for a moment seems lost, but then he sits forward again and puts his glasses on and smiles with his teeth that are almost like baby ones and says, “You both ought to be going now, it’s nearly suppertime.”
    Marjorie says goodbye and leaves while Wayne collects his things.
    â€œThe chivalrous thing would be to walk with her,” says Mr. Rollie, “it being dark and everything.”
    â€œI would, except she walks so fast. Always a step ahead.”
    Mr. Rollie rests a hand on Wayne’s shoulder and says, “Then you’d better catch up, hadn’t you?”

ELEVEN
    Wayne bends over and offers his outstretched hand to Marjorie, but she doesn’t take it.
    â€œI’m not an invalid, Wayne Pumphrey,” she says, getting back to her feet.
    â€œIt’s those sneakers,” Wayne says.
    Marjorie brushes the snow off her backside.
    â€œYou need boots.”
    â€œGonna buy them for me, Wayne Pumphrey?”
    He doesn’t say anything.
    Marjorie starts walking again.
    He tries to keep up. After a while he goes, “How can you walk so fast?”
    Nothing for a moment, then her saying, “I pretend Mom’s behind me.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œNever mind.”
    For a long time they walk and say nothing, their footsteps crunching beneath them. Clouds for breath.
    Then Wayne says, “Five o’clock and it’s already dark.”
    Marjorie mumbles something and Wayne doesn’t catch it so he asks her to say it again and she goes, “I said, it never gets warm here.”
    â€œWhat do you expect for January.”
    â€œJanuary … April … every month. It snowed in July last year.”
    â€œDid it?”
    â€œIt’s like living in the North Pole.”
    They continue on, Wayne stealing glances at the northern lights and the millions of stars and the quarter moon.
    The sound of a skidoo in the distance.
    A dog barks.
    â€œMr. Rollie cried,” Wayne says finally. “During your monologue.”
    Marjorie just keeps going.
    â€œSharon, too, I think. Or else she was choking on her Snickers.”
    Marjorie puts her hands in her