Fling dance. The Student Leadership class decorated the gym with pumpkins, piles of leaves (which continued to litter the halls for weeks after), and scarecrows. Peter asked Loreana Thigpen, who was the tallest student in the 8 th grade, easily six inches taller than Peter, and Peter was tall, even then. She didn’t dance, and Peter didn’t have much motivation to ask her since the girls gathered on one side of the gym, and the boys on the other. The only people who danced were the teachers who sponsored the activity. Also, the whole thing seemed ridiculous since the dance started right after school and was done by 5:00. Sun streaming through the gymnasium windows didn’t exactly send a “dance” vibe.
The Mermaids on Parade dance was in the spring. He took Connie Shale who, the first chance she got after Peter’s dad dropped them off at the school, showed him a baggie filled with dried leaves that smelled suspiciously like oregano, and asked him if he wanted to “toke up.”
Peter went into the gym and didn’t see Connie for the rest of the evening. At least for the spring dance, some kids got out on the floor so the teachers weren’t the only ones dancing.
He wasn’t sure why he was thinking about dates anyway. Going over to Christy’s to write a paper about a John Steinbeck novel didn’t constitute a date. But there you are.
When Peter got home, Dante was sitting on the steps leading up to his front porch.
“Tell me that you moved the bag?” he said. “Otherwise I’m not the only one who knows about the Fairlane’s trunk.”
“I moved the bag.” Peter didn’t add where he’d moved it to. He told Dante about what Christy had said about someone in the records room.
“I heard about that. The guy was wearing a blue suit.”
“So? Lots of guys wear blue suits.”
“It was robin egg blue, like a pastel. Pretty weird if you ask me.”
Somebody breaking into the school shouldn’t be that big of a deal, thought Peter. It might not have anything to do with them at all. Still, Peter felt the paranoia. “They’re closing in, Dante. We need to get rid of it.”
Dante looked thoughtful. “What we need to do is sell it. I can post anonymously at one of those Internet markets. We ought to be able to do the whole thing from advertising, to negotiating, to making the delivery and collecting the money without giving away our identities. Maybe whoever it belongs to would be willing to pay for it to be returned.”
Peter frowned. “What makes you think that anything you do on the Internet is anonymous? Maybe we should do the same thing, except not sell. We should announce where whoever owned it could pick it up.”
Dante sighed with disgust. “Goddamn it, Peter. I’ve got to pay for college in a couple of years, and so do you. If you’re going to give away the best go-to-college-for–free opportunities I’ve ever seen, than you’re way more of a fool than I thought.”
Peter controlled his voice. He knew he’d been under stress the last two days, and his dad had always told him to talk softly when he was mad. “You think I’m a fool? Who thought that peanut butter on leaves from your backyard would be a healthy food idea? Who picked poison ivy for his little ‘eat natural’ experiment? Don’t call me a fool until you show good sense yourself. This gun, or whatever it is, has disaster written all over it. No joke.”
Dante snarled. Peter had never actually heard a snarl from a person before. Dante said, “If you don’t want it, then give to me. I’ll sell it, take all the risk, and split the profits with you right down the middle.”
“I don’t think it’s salable. You can’t just put in on the Internet with a big FOR SALE sign on it like you would an old bike.”
Dante slapped his hand on the porch. “And you think the best plan for it is to give it away for free. We own it, Peter. We’re like those scavengers who search for sunken ships at sea. When they find a ship, they
The Mermaids on Parade dance was in the spring. He took Connie Shale who, the first chance she got after Peter’s dad dropped them off at the school, showed him a baggie filled with dried leaves that smelled suspiciously like oregano, and asked him if he wanted to “toke up.”
Peter went into the gym and didn’t see Connie for the rest of the evening. At least for the spring dance, some kids got out on the floor so the teachers weren’t the only ones dancing.
He wasn’t sure why he was thinking about dates anyway. Going over to Christy’s to write a paper about a John Steinbeck novel didn’t constitute a date. But there you are.
When Peter got home, Dante was sitting on the steps leading up to his front porch.
“Tell me that you moved the bag?” he said. “Otherwise I’m not the only one who knows about the Fairlane’s trunk.”
“I moved the bag.” Peter didn’t add where he’d moved it to. He told Dante about what Christy had said about someone in the records room.
“I heard about that. The guy was wearing a blue suit.”
“So? Lots of guys wear blue suits.”
“It was robin egg blue, like a pastel. Pretty weird if you ask me.”
Somebody breaking into the school shouldn’t be that big of a deal, thought Peter. It might not have anything to do with them at all. Still, Peter felt the paranoia. “They’re closing in, Dante. We need to get rid of it.”
Dante looked thoughtful. “What we need to do is sell it. I can post anonymously at one of those Internet markets. We ought to be able to do the whole thing from advertising, to negotiating, to making the delivery and collecting the money without giving away our identities. Maybe whoever it belongs to would be willing to pay for it to be returned.”
Peter frowned. “What makes you think that anything you do on the Internet is anonymous? Maybe we should do the same thing, except not sell. We should announce where whoever owned it could pick it up.”
Dante sighed with disgust. “Goddamn it, Peter. I’ve got to pay for college in a couple of years, and so do you. If you’re going to give away the best go-to-college-for–free opportunities I’ve ever seen, than you’re way more of a fool than I thought.”
Peter controlled his voice. He knew he’d been under stress the last two days, and his dad had always told him to talk softly when he was mad. “You think I’m a fool? Who thought that peanut butter on leaves from your backyard would be a healthy food idea? Who picked poison ivy for his little ‘eat natural’ experiment? Don’t call me a fool until you show good sense yourself. This gun, or whatever it is, has disaster written all over it. No joke.”
Dante snarled. Peter had never actually heard a snarl from a person before. Dante said, “If you don’t want it, then give to me. I’ll sell it, take all the risk, and split the profits with you right down the middle.”
“I don’t think it’s salable. You can’t just put in on the Internet with a big FOR SALE sign on it like you would an old bike.”
Dante slapped his hand on the porch. “And you think the best plan for it is to give it away for free. We own it, Peter. We’re like those scavengers who search for sunken ships at sea. When they find a ship, they
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