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“The front one,” he said patiently. “The one closest to home.”
She nodded again and obediently moved her right foot a few inches.
“Now just let go of the branch with your other hand and hold on to me tight.”
She let go the branch and squeezed his hand.
“Good. You’re doing great. Now slide a little ways more.” She swayed but did not scream, just dug her little fingernails into the palm of his hand. “Great. Fine. You’re all right.” The same quiet, assuring voice of the paramedics on Emergency, but his heart was bongoing against his chest. “OK. OK. A little bit more, now.”
When her right foot came at last to the part of the branch which rested on the bank, she fell forward, pulling him down.
“Watch it, May Belle!” He was off balance, but he fell, not into the stream, but with his chest across May Belle’s legs, his own legs waving in the empty air above the water. “Whew!” He was laughing with relief. “Whatcha trying to do, girl, kill me?”
She shook her head a solemn no. “I know I swore on the Bible not to follow you, but I woke up this morning and you was gone.”
“I had to do some things.”
She was scraping at the mud on her bare legs. “I just wanted to find you, so you wouldn’t be so lonesome.” She hung her head. “But I got too scared.”
He pulled himself around until he was sitting beside her. They watched P.T. swimming across, the current carrying him too swiftly, but he not seeming to mind. He climbed out well below the crab apple and came running back to where they sat.
“Everybody gets scared sometimes, May Belle. You don’t have to be ashamed.” He saw a flash of Leslie’s eyes as she was going in to the girls’ room to see Janice Avery. “Everybody gets scared.”
“P.T. ain’t scared, and he even saw Leslie…”
“It ain’t the same for dogs. It’s like the smarter you are, the more things can scare you.”
She looked at him in disbelief. “But you weren’t scared.”
“Lord, May Belle, I was shaking like Jello.”
“You’re just saying that.”
He laughed. He couldn’t help being glad she didn’t believe him. He jumped up and pulled her to her feet. “Let’s go eat.” He let her beat him to the house.
When he walked into the basement classroom, he saw Mrs. Myers had already had Leslie’s desk taken out of the front of the room. Of course, by Monday Jess knew; but still, but still, at the bus stop he looked up, half expecting to see her running up across the field, her lovely, even, rhythmic run. Maybe she was already at school—Bill had dropped her off, as he did some days when she was late for the bus—but then when Jess came into the room, her desk was no longer there. Why were they all in such a rush to be rid of her? He put his head down on his own desk, his whole body heavy and cold.
He could hear the sounds of the whispers but not the words. Not that he wanted to hear the words. He was suddenly ashamed that he’d thought he might be regarded with respect by the other kids. Trying to profit for himself from Leslie’s death. I wanted to be the best—the fastest runner in the school—and now I am. Lord, he made himself sick. He didn’t care what the others said or what they thought, just as long as they left him alone—just so long as he didn’t have to talk to them or meet their stares. They had all hated Leslie. Except maybe Janice. Even after they’d given up trying to make Leslie miserable, they’d kept on despising her—as though there was one of them worth the nail on Leslie’s little toe. And even he himself had entertained the traitorous thought that now he would be the fastest.
Mrs. Myers barked the command to stand for the allegiance. He didn’t move. Whether he couldn’t or wouldn’t, he didn’t really care. What could she do to him, after all?
“Jesse Aarons. Will you step out into the hall. Please.”
He raised his leaden body and stumbled out of the room. He thought he heard Gary Fulcher giggle, but he couldn’t be sure. He leaned against the wall and waited for Monster Mouth Myers to finish singing “O Say Can You See?” and join him. He could hear her giving the class some sort of assignment in arithmetic before she came out and quietly closed the door behind her.
OK. Shoot. I don’t care.
She came over so close to him that he could smell her dime-store powder.
“Jesse.” Her voice was softer than he had ever heard it, but he didn’t answer. Let her yell. He was used to that.
“Jesse,” she repeated. “I just want to give you my sincere sympathy.” The words were like a Hallmark card, but the tone was new to him.
He looked up into her face, despite himself. Behind her turned-up glasses, Mrs. Myers’ narrow eyes were full of tears. For a minute he thought he might cry himself. He and Mrs. Myers standing in the basement hallway, crying over Leslie Burke. It was so weird he almost laughed instead.
“When my husband died”—Jess could hardly imagine Mrs. Myers ever having had a husband—“people kept telling me not to cry, kept trying to make me forget.” Mrs. Myers loving, mourning. How could you picture it? “But I didn’t want to forget.” She took her handkerchief from her sleeve and blew her nose. “Excuse me,” she said. “This morning when I came in, someone had already taken out her desk.” She stopped and blew her nose again. “It—it—we—I never had such a student. In all my years of teaching. I shall always be grateful—”
He wanted to comfort her. He wanted to unsay all the things he had said about her—even unsay the things Leslie had said. Lord, don’t let her ever find out.
