The Next Queen of Heaven-SA by Gregory Maguire

NFL material. Except the nerds whom nobody bothered with, including themselves. And the girls were like Solange and Hannah. Guarded, that was the word.
    Guarded, because Tabitha was lusty and liberated and wore her reputation as a free girl the way others wore their alligator logos or the letter jackets of their boyfriends.

    Thebes was so lame it might as well be amputated.

    Tabitha wasn’t going to make her mother’s mistake and get stuck here. She and Caleb would light out for someplace better. But not until Tabitha had seen Mom safely home. And if that meant sucking up big time, well then, Hello there, Mrs. Prendergast, you’re looking less smarmy than usual in that French-cut skirt—did you inherit it from your sister in Toronto after she died of liver failure? Hi, Mr. Hess! Remember me? Little Miss Crash-Crazy-Oopsy-Daisy?

    Morning, Mr. Reeves. Principal Reeves. Love the sideburns. I admire the man who can wear furry twin outlines of Florida below his ears. No, really.

    “You’re up to no good, I can smell it,” said Hogan as he arrived at the curb of the high school.

    “Coming in?” Her voice was sweet.

    “Shit. Left my geometry homework on the kitchen table. And I pulled an all-nighter to finish it.” Pausing. “Hell no.”

    “Right. Well, later.”

    Hogan started to ease away. Kirk was only halfway out of the car and he fell on the sidewalk, ripping a hole in his trouser knee. Hogan’s laughter trailed out into the drop-off traffic.

    “What?” Nice Kirk was nearly spitting. “He forgot I was in the backseat?”

    “I have to admit, Kirk,” ventured his sister, “you’re such a spaz. Hog probably just couldn’t help himself.”

    “I spent fifteen minutes pressing these trousers.”

    “Maybe today you’ll meet someone who can press them for you. Maybe, Kirk, today is your big day for love.” Oooh, she could be so mean. Good to know she hadn’t lost it.

    Kirk didn’t reply. He just limped off. Tabitha considered saying a prayer for strength, but then thought, fuck it, and she marched into the fray.

    SCHOOL NOT HAVING worked out quite as well as she would have liked, Tabitha found herself somewhat relieved, if that was the word, to show up with Hogan and Kirk at the clinic for visiting hours at four so they could see their mother, decay and all.

    They were huddled in the hallway, which smelled of disinfectant and pea soup. “Tell us what you know, über-nurse,” said Hogan.

    Nurse Marilee Gompers smiled hatefully and observed that Mrs. Scales could sit up, brush her own hair, attend to her own toilet, and as of today when they took it away from her, walk without the aid of a walker. Her blood pressure was good, her vital signs what they should be. She looked brightly and with focus at whoever came in the room. None of the tests had shown signs of hemorrhaging. No evidence of a subdural hematoma. The staff could think of no reason to keep her under observation. Since their mother didn’t have a regular physician with whom they could consult, the Scales kids took the nurse at her word when she said that the patient was fine.

    “She can talk?” asked Tabitha.

    “Go in and see for yourself. She’s a great one for talking, a regular Chatty Cathy.” They loitered until Nurse Gompers pushed them through the door. “I’ll shut this. For privacy,” she said, with a wink.

    Leontina Scales was sitting up in an ugly metal chair with one rectangular biscuit-colored cushion creased into the middle to provide both a seat and a back. Her spine sagged, her chin jutted forward, and she glowered at her children. “Outa here,” she groused. “Now. Outa here.”

    “But you need their help, Mom.” Kirk patted her wrist. She shrugged his hand off and he looked hurt, and tucked his hands in his armpits.

    “We can bust her out, she don’t have to stay if she don’t want,” said Hogan.

    “Let’s pretend to do this right,” said Tabitha. “As the oldest I get to make the