Chapter Four #3
Hilary could have killed him. Really. His relief and frustration and stupid shakiness were that strong. “Shit.” He swiped at his eyes, feeling so turned around inside he didn’t know what was going to come out next. “Shit.”
“Want to take a walk?” Trenton asked.
They read during lunchtime. It was nice outside.
Nice for the beginning of November anyway, and they sat on the back steps with books in their laps.
It was another thing Hilary hadn’t expected himself to do, and when Trenton first offered, Hilary waved the book away and said, “I’ll never finish it.
” But Trenton only took out another of the things—he had five or six in his bag—and said, “Do you like poetry?”
How would Hilary know something like that? He’d never read any poetry. Not outside of the Shakespeare play they assigned once a year. Was Shakespeare poetry? He wasn’t sure.
But poetry could be read in bits and bites. A whole book was frightening, but a couple of pages weren’t too bad. He read,
The bear who sits above my bed
More agèd now is he to see:
His woolen eyes have thinner thread,
But still he seems to say to me,
In double-doom notes, like a knell:
‘You’re half a century nearer Hell.’
“I didn’t know there was poetry about toy bears,” he said.
Trenton looked up. “Do you like it?”
He thought so, but he felt too stupid to have an opinion. “Is it supposed to be easy to understand, or am I missing the point?”
Trenton didn’t smile. His mouth didn’t move. But he seemed to be laughing a little anyway. “Does poetry have to be difficult?”
That annoyed Hilary as everything Trenton did and said seemed to annoy him. “You always answer my questions with questions.”
“Because your questions make me think.”
“You’re laughing at me.”
“Why would I?”
“Because I’m stupid.”
“You’re the one who makes me stupid.”
Hilary gave up. “Bring more like this. Poems about ordinary things.”
His fingers were a little cold by the end, though he didn’t notice until Trenton took hold of them and said, “Let’s go inside.”
It was only the tips, really, that were cold. Trenton had given him his pair of fingerless gloves, going without them himself, saying only, “I’m fat,” when Hilary tried to refuse.
That seemed like a stupid rebuttal. “That just means you have more of you to be cold,” Hilary argued. “And anyway, you’re not really fat.”
“I’m over two hundred pounds.”
“And four inches taller than me with three times the muscle. What’s your point?”
That seemed to surprise Trenton, who had no argument ready except, “It’s not three times.”
Varda was waiting by his desk when they returned to the classroom.
She was fidgeting a little, chewing at the corner of her thumb the way she did when she wanted a cigarette.
A week earlier he would have thought it guilt for losing his mother’s important necklace, but she was only wondering how much of the truth he knew. He didn’t keep her in suspense.
“Why are you here? Shouldn’t you be with your real boyfriend?”
Her surprise lasted only a moment before she clamped down on it. She was quite good at self-regulating when it was in her interest to be. “What are you talking about?”
“You want me to say it? In front of everyone?”
The threat worked, but not as well as he’d hoped it would. Varda’s eyes weren’t on him, but on Trenton. She wasn’t bothering to hide her repulsion. “Couldn’t wait to cut the line, could you, Shamu?”
Trenton just looked at her, the weight of his gaze a lot heavier than usual. Maybe the heaviest he’d ever shown. Varda pulled away from it and returned her attention to Hilary.
“Look, whatever you heard—people make rumors about me. You know how petty they can be. And jealous—”
“It wasn’t jealousy that broke my mom’s necklace in the art room.”
He almost got her. One of her eyelids twitched. But she managed to force some contrition into her voice. “I’m sorry. I wanted a more private place to change my costume. That’s why—”
“How stupid do you think I am?”
She shut her mouth and took a moment to reconsider her position. “I’ll have it fixed. If you give it to me—"
“I’ve already brought it to a jeweler.” It was Trenton’s first contribution to the conversation, and his first words to Varda in all the years they’d been in school together. For all Hilary knew, the pair had shared classrooms since preschool. That was how it was for most in the town.
“Then I’ll pay for it,” she countered. “And for earrings to match. I’d like to apologize to Annette. Do you think I could—”
“Varda.” Even just saying the name, Hilary could hear the anger in it, and it didn’t feel new. “With all due respect, get fucked. I don’t want anything from you.”
Her anger came then. He saw it flare to life in her eyes, practically bubbling beneath her skin. Somehow, impossibly, she contained it. “Hilary—”
“And about that Shamu comment. Orcas aren’t whales, you know. They’re a kind of dolphin. If you’re going to insult him, at least be consistent.”
She blinked, entirely lost. She might have tried again, but Mr. Evergard had already walked in, grumpy as always, and she was forced to give it up.