I swallowed. "Maybe she should ask for a raise."

Nigel suppressed his laughter. The others seemed content to ignore me, but then, something unexpected happened: Milton lifted his head from his Chemistry textbook.

"Oh, no," he said smiling. I felt my heart shudder and stall. Blood began to flood my cheeks. "Junkyards, dumps -Hannah goes nuts for 'em. All this stuff? She found it in sad sad places, trailer parks, parkin' lots. She's been known to stop in the middle of a highway-cars honkin' crazy, places, trailer parks, parkin' lots. She's been known to stop in the middle of a highway-cars honkin' crazy, mad mad pile-up-just so she can rescue a chair from the side of the road. The animals too-she saved them from shelters. I was with her once, last year when she stopped for a freaky-a.s.s. .h.i.tchhiker-muscles, head shaved, total skinhead. The back of his neck read, 'Kill or Be Killed.' I asked her what she was doin' and she said she had to show him kindness. That maybe he never had any. And she was right. Guy was like a kid, smilin' the whole way. We dropped him off at Red Lobster. He shouted, 'G.o.d bless you!' Hannah had made his year." He shrugged and returned to his Chemistry. "S'just who she is." pile-up-just so she can rescue a chair from the side of the road. The animals too-she saved them from shelters. I was with her once, last year when she stopped for a freaky-a.s.s. .h.i.tchhiker-muscles, head shaved, total skinhead. The back of his neck read, 'Kill or Be Killed.' I asked her what she was doin' and she said she had to show him kindness. That maybe he never had any. And she was right. Guy was like a kid, smilin' the whole way. We dropped him off at Red Lobster. He shouted, 'G.o.d bless you!' Hannah had made his year." He shrugged and returned to his Chemistry. "S'just who she is."

Who she was, too, was a woman surprisingly daring and competent, whine and whimper free. The woman could fix, in a matter of minutes, any clog, drip, leak, seep-slacker toilet flushes, pipe clangs before sunrise, a dazed and confused garage door. Frankly, her handyman expertise made Dad look like a twitchy-mouthed grandmother. One Sunday, I watched in awe while Hannah fixed her own recessed doorbell with electrician gloves, screwdriver and voltmeter-not the easiest of processes, if one reads Mr. Fix-It's Guide to Rewiring the Home Fix-It's Guide to Rewiring the Home (Thurber, 2002). Another occasion, after dinner, she disappeared into the bas.e.m.e.nt to fix the temperamental light on her water heater: "There's too much air in the flue," she said with a sigh. (Thurber, 2002). Another occasion, after dinner, she disappeared into the bas.e.m.e.nt to fix the temperamental light on her water heater: "There's too much air in the flue," she said with a sigh.

And she was an expert mountaineer. Not that she boasted: "I camp," camp," was all she'd say. One could infer it, however, from the overload of Paul Bunyan paraphernalia: carabiners and water bottles lying around the house, Swiss army knives in the same drawer as junk mail and old batteries; and in the garage, brawny hiking boots (seriously gnarled soles), moth-eaten sleeping bags, rock-climbing rope, snowshoes, tent poles, crusty sunscreen, a first-aid kit (empty, apart for blunt scissors and discolored gauze). "What're those?" Nigel asked, frowning at what looked like two vicious animal traps atop a pile of firewood. "Crampons," Hannah said, and when he continued to stare confusedly: "So you don't fall off the mountain." was all she'd say. One could infer it, however, from the overload of Paul Bunyan paraphernalia: carabiners and water bottles lying around the house, Swiss army knives in the same drawer as junk mail and old batteries; and in the garage, brawny hiking boots (seriously gnarled soles), moth-eaten sleeping bags, rock-climbing rope, snowshoes, tent poles, crusty sunscreen, a first-aid kit (empty, apart for blunt scissors and discolored gauze). "What're those?" Nigel asked, frowning at what looked like two vicious animal traps atop a pile of firewood. "Crampons," Hannah said, and when he continued to stare confusedly: "So you don't fall off the mountain."

She once admitted as a footnote to dinner conversation, she'd saved a man's life while camping as a teenager.

"Where?" asked Jade.

She hesitated, then: "The Adirondacks."

I'll admit I almost leapt from my seat and boasted, "I've "I've saved a life too! My shot gardener!" but thankfully I had some tact; Dad and I held in contempt people forever interrupting fascinating conversations with their own rinky-d.i.n.k story. (Dad called them What-About-Mes, accompanying said phrase with a slow blink, his gesture of Marked Aversion.) saved a life too! My shot gardener!" but thankfully I had some tact; Dad and I held in contempt people forever interrupting fascinating conversations with their own rinky-d.i.n.k story. (Dad called them What-About-Mes, accompanying said phrase with a slow blink, his gesture of Marked Aversion.) "He'd fallen, injured his hip."

She said it slowly, deliberately, as if playing Scrabble, concentrating on sorting the letters, compiling clever words.

"We were alone, in the middle of nowhere. I panicked-I didn't know what to do. I ran and ran. Forever. Thankfully, I found campers who had a radio and they sent help. After that, I made a pact with myself. I'd never be helpless again."

"So the man was okay?" Leulah asked.

Hannah nodded. "He had to have surgery. But he was fine."

Of course, further inquiry into this intriguing incident-"Who was the guy?" Charles asked-was trying to scratch a diamond with a toothpick.

"Okay, okay," Hannah said, laughing as she cleared Leulah's plate, "that's enough for tonight, I think." She kneed the swish door (a little aggressively I thought) and vanished into the kitchen.

We usually sat down for dinner around 5:30 P.M. Hannah turned off the lights, the music (Nat King Cole demanding to be flown to the moon, Peggy Lee sermonizing you're n.o.body 'til somebody loves you), lighting the thin red candles at the center of the table.

Dinner conversation wasn't anything Dad would be particularly impressed with (no debates about Castro, Pol Pot and the Khmer Rouge, though sometimes she brought up materialism; "It's hard, in America, not to equate happiness with things."), but Hannah, chin in her hand, eyes dark as caves, was a master of the Art of Listening, and thus dinners could last two, three hours, maybe even longer, if I hadn't been the one who had to get home by eight. ("Too much Joyce isn't good for you," Dad said. "Bad for digestion.") To describe this singular quality of hers (which I believe holds one of the brightest lanterns to her sometimes shadowy profile) is impossible, because what she did had nothing to do with words.

It was just this way about her.

And the wasn't premeditated, condescending, or forced (see Chapter 9, "Get Your Teen to Consider You The 'In' Crowd," Befriending Your Kids, Befriending Your Kids, Howards, 2000). Howards, 2000).

Obviously, being able to simply , was a skill supremely underestimated in the Western world. As Dad was fond of pointing out, in America, apart from those who won the lottery, generally all Winners were in possession of a strident voice, which was successfully used to overpower the thrum of all the competing voices, thereby producing a country that was insanely loud, so so loud, most of the time no actual meaning could be discerned-only "nationwide white noise." And thus when you met someone who loud, most of the time no actual meaning could be discerned-only "nationwide white noise." And thus when you met someone who listened, listened, someone content to do nothing but , so overwhelming was the difference, you had the startling and quite lonely epiphany that everyone else, every person you'd encountered since the day you were born who'd someone content to do nothing but , so overwhelming was the difference, you had the startling and quite lonely epiphany that everyone else, every person you'd encountered since the day you were born who'd supposedly supposedly listened, had really not been listening to you at all. They'd been subtly checking out their own reflection in the gla.s.s bureau a little to the west of your head, thinking what they had to do later that evening, or deciding that next, as soon as you shut up, they were going to tell that cla.s.sic story about their bout of Bangladeshi beachside dysentery, thereby showcasing how worldly, how wild (not to mention how utterly enviable) a human being they were. listened, had really not been listening to you at all. They'd been subtly checking out their own reflection in the gla.s.s bureau a little to the west of your head, thinking what they had to do later that evening, or deciding that next, as soon as you shut up, they were going to tell that cla.s.sic story about their bout of Bangladeshi beachside dysentery, thereby showcasing how worldly, how wild (not to mention how utterly enviable) a human being they were.

Hannah did ultimately speak, of course, but it wasn't to tell you what she thought or what you had to do, but only to ask you certain relevant questions, which were often laughable in their simplicity (one, I remember, was, "Well, what do you think?"). Afterward, when Charles cleared the plates, Lana and Turner jumped into her lap, fashioning her arm bracelets out of their tails, and Jade turned on the music (Mel Torme detailing how you were getting to be a habit with him), you didn't feel the edgy feeling of being alone in the world. As stupid as this sounds-you felt you had an answer.

It was this quality, I think, that made her have such an influence on the others. She was the reason Jade, for example, who sometimes talked of becoming a journalist, joined The Gallway Gazette The Gallway Gazette as a freelance staff writer even though she downright loathed Hillary Leech, the editor-in-chief who pulled out a copy as a freelance staff writer even though she downright loathed Hillary Leech, the editor-in-chief who pulled out a copy oiThe New Yorker oiThe New Yorker and read it before every cla.s.s (sometimes chuckling irritatingly at something in "The Talk of the Town"). And Charles sometimes carried around a three-inch textbook, and read it before every cla.s.s (sometimes chuckling irritatingly at something in "The Talk of the Town"). And Charles sometimes carried around a three-inch textbook, How to Be a Hitchc.o.c.k How to Be a Hitchc.o.c.k (Lerner, 1999), which I secretly paged through one Sunday and beheld the first-page inscription: "To my master of suspense. Love, Hannah." Leulah tutored fourth-graders in Science every Tuesday after school at Elmview Elementary, Nigel read (Lerner, 1999), which I secretly paged through one Sunday and beheld the first-page inscription: "To my master of suspense. Love, Hannah." Leulah tutored fourth-graders in Science every Tuesday after school at Elmview Elementary, Nigel read The Definitive Foreign Service Exam Study Guide The Definitive Foreign Service Exam Study Guide (2001 ed.), and Milton had taken an acting cla.s.s at the UNCS the previous summer, Introduction to Shakespeare: The Art of the Body-acts of humanitarianism and self-improvement I couldn't help but think had originally been Hannah's suggestions, though proposed in her way, they probably believed they'd thought of it themselves. (2001 ed.), and Milton had taken an acting cla.s.s at the UNCS the previous summer, Introduction to Shakespeare: The Art of the Body-acts of humanitarianism and self-improvement I couldn't help but think had originally been Hannah's suggestions, though proposed in her way, they probably believed they'd thought of it themselves.

I, too, was not immune to her brand of inspiration. At the beginning of October, Hannah arranged with Evita for me to drop out of AP French with drapery-drab Ms. Filobeque and enroll with a bunch of freshmen in Beginning Drawing with the Dalf-decadent Mr. Victor Moats. (I did so without breathing a word to Dad.) Moats was Hannah's favorite teacher at Gallway.

"I absolutely adore adore Victor/' she said, biting her bottom lip. "He's wonderful. Nigel's in one of his cla.s.ses. Isn't he wonderful? I think he's wonderful. Really." Victor/' she said, biting her bottom lip. "He's wonderful. Nigel's in one of his cla.s.ses. Isn't he wonderful? I think he's wonderful. Really."

And Victor was was wonderful. Victor sported faux suede shirts in Permanent Magenta and Burnt Sienna and had hair that, under the art room lights, channeled the gleam of film noir streets, Humphrey Bogart's wingtips, opera footlights and tar, all at the same time. wonderful. Victor sported faux suede shirts in Permanent Magenta and Burnt Sienna and had hair that, under the art room lights, channeled the gleam of film noir streets, Humphrey Bogart's wingtips, opera footlights and tar, all at the same time.

Hannah also bought me a sketchbook and five ink pens, which she wrapped in old-fashioned parcel paper and sent to my school mailbox. (She never talked about things. She simply did them.) On the inside cover, she'd written (in a handwriting that was a perfect extension of her-elegant, with tiny mysteries in the curves of her n's and h's): h's): "For your Blue Period. Hannah." "For your Blue Period. Hannah."

In the middle of cla.s.s, occasionally I'd take the thing out and covertly try to draw something, like Mr. Archer's ranidae hands. Though I showed no signs of being an untapped El Greco, I enjoyed pretending I was a rheumatoid artiste, some Toulouse concentrating on the outline of bony arm of a can-can girl, instead of plain old Blue van Meer, who might go down in history for the talent of feverishly copying down every syllable a teacher uttered (including ums ums and and ehs) ehs) in case it showed up on the Unit Test. in case it showed up on the Unit Test.

In her absorbing memoir, There's a Great Day Coming Mariana There's a Great Day Coming Mariana (1973), Florence "Feisty Freddie" Frankenberg, a 1940s their-girl-Friday actress whose great claim to fame was appearing on Broadway with Al Jolson in (1973), Florence "Feisty Freddie" Frankenberg, a 1940s their-girl-Friday actress whose great claim to fame was appearing on Broadway with Al Jolson in Hang on to Your Handkerchiefs Hang on to Your Handkerchiefs (she also palled around with Gemini Cervenka and Oona O'Neill), wrote in Chapter 1 that at first glance, Sat.u.r.day night at the Stork Club was an "oasis of rarified fun" and that, despite WWII grimly unfolding across the Atlantic like a telegram delivering bad news, when one was in a "new gown, perched on those comfy banquettes," one had the feeling "nothing bad could happen" because one was protected by "all the money and the mink" (p. 22-3). At second glance, however, as Feisty Freddie goes on to reveal in Chapter 2, the sw.a.n.ky Stork Club was in fact "as vicious as Rudolph Valentino with a dame who wouldn't knock knees with him" (p. 41). She writes that everyone, from Gable and Grable to Hemingway and Hayworth, was so anxious about where the proprietor, Sherman Billings-ley, placed them in the room, whether they'd be allowed into that rarefied-room-of-the-already-absurdly-rarefied, the Cub Room, one could "use the s.p.a.ce between folks' necks and shoulders as a nutcracker" (p. 49). Freddie further reveals in Chapter 7 that on more than one occasion, she overheard certain studio honchos admitting they wouldn't think twice about "letting off a bullet or two into some balmy broad," in order to permanently secure that coveted banquette in the corner, Table 25, the Royal Circle, with its ideal view of the bar and the door (p. 91). (she also palled around with Gemini Cervenka and Oona O'Neill), wrote in Chapter 1 that at first glance, Sat.u.r.day night at the Stork Club was an "oasis of rarified fun" and that, despite WWII grimly unfolding across the Atlantic like a telegram delivering bad news, when one was in a "new gown, perched on those comfy banquettes," one had the feeling "nothing bad could happen" because one was protected by "all the money and the mink" (p. 22-3). At second glance, however, as Feisty Freddie goes on to reveal in Chapter 2, the sw.a.n.ky Stork Club was in fact "as vicious as Rudolph Valentino with a dame who wouldn't knock knees with him" (p. 41). She writes that everyone, from Gable and Grable to Hemingway and Hayworth, was so anxious about where the proprietor, Sherman Billings-ley, placed them in the room, whether they'd be allowed into that rarefied-room-of-the-already-absurdly-rarefied, the Cub Room, one could "use the s.p.a.ce between folks' necks and shoulders as a nutcracker" (p. 49). Freddie further reveals in Chapter 7 that on more than one occasion, she overheard certain studio honchos admitting they wouldn't think twice about "letting off a bullet or two into some balmy broad," in order to permanently secure that coveted banquette in the corner, Table 25, the Royal Circle, with its ideal view of the bar and the door (p. 91).

And thus I have to mention tensions ran quite high at Hannah's, too, though I often wondered if I, like Feisty Freddie, was the only one who noticed. Sometimes it felt as if Hannah was J. J. Hunsecker and the others were sinuous Sidney Falcos vying to be her chosen charlie, her preferred pajama playboy, her dreamy de luxe.

I remember those occasions Charles was working on his Third Reich timeline or his research paper on the USSR collapse for AP European History. He'd throw his pencil across the room. "I can't do this f.u.c.king a.s.signment! f.u.c.k Hitler! f.u.c.k Churchill, Stalin and the Red f.u.c.kin' Army!" Hannah would run upstairs to get a history book or an EncyclopaediaBritannica EncyclopaediaBritannica and when she returned, for an hour, their brown and gold heads huddled together like cold pigeons under the desk lamp, trying to figure out the month of Germany's invasion of Poland or exactly when the Berlin wall fell (September 1939, November 9, 1989). Once I spoke up, tried giving them a hand by pointing them in the direction of the 1200-page history text Dad always put at the top of his Required Reading, Hermin-Lewishon's famed and when she returned, for an hour, their brown and gold heads huddled together like cold pigeons under the desk lamp, trying to figure out the month of Germany's invasion of Poland or exactly when the Berlin wall fell (September 1939, November 9, 1989). Once I spoke up, tried giving them a hand by pointing them in the direction of the 1200-page history text Dad always put at the top of his Required Reading, Hermin-Lewishon's famed History Is Power History Is Power (1990) but Charles looked through me, and Hannah, flipping through the (1990) but Charles looked through me, and Hannah, flipping through the Britannica, Britannica, was apparently one of those people who, while reading, could sit through an entire civil war between Sandinistas and U.S.backed Contras and hear nothing. During these interludes, though, I always noticed Jade, Lu, Nigel and Milton stopped working, and if their perpetual glances across the room were any indication, they sort of became hyperaware of Hannah and Charles, maybe even a little jealous, like a pride of starving lions in a zoo when only one of them is singled out and hand-fed. was apparently one of those people who, while reading, could sit through an entire civil war between Sandinistas and U.S.backed Contras and hear nothing. During these interludes, though, I always noticed Jade, Lu, Nigel and Milton stopped working, and if their perpetual glances across the room were any indication, they sort of became hyperaware of Hannah and Charles, maybe even a little jealous, like a pride of starving lions in a zoo when only one of them is singled out and hand-fed.

To be honest, I didn't particularly care for the way they acted around her. With me, they were edgy and aloof, but with Hannah-they seemed to confuse her rapt attention for Cecil B. DeMille's camera and a couple of klieg lights turned in their direction for princ.i.p.al shooting of The Greatest Show on Earth. of The Greatest Show on Earth. Hannah would only have to ask Milton a question, commend him on some B+ he received in Spanish, and without delay he'd shuck off his usual deliberating Alabama drawl and weirdly take to the stage as plucky HI' Mickey Rooney, posturing posin', moonin' and muggin' all over the place like a six-year-old vaudeville veteran. Hannah would only have to ask Milton a question, commend him on some B+ he received in Spanish, and without delay he'd shuck off his usual deliberating Alabama drawl and weirdly take to the stage as plucky HI' Mickey Rooney, posturing posin', moonin' and muggin' all over the place like a six-year-old vaudeville veteran.

"Spent all night studyin', never worked so hard in my life," he'd gush, his eyes running around her face, desperate for praise like spaniels after retrieving a shot duck. Leulah and Jade, too, were not above turning into HI' Bright Eyes and Curly Tops themselves. (I especially detested the occasions Hannah referred to Jade's beauty, as she turned into the sweetiest of all sweetie pies, Little Miss Broadway.) These manic tap dances were nothing compared to the awful occasions Hannah gave me me the spotlight, like the night she mentioned I had the highest rank in school and was thus poised to be valedictorian. (Lacey Ronin-Smith had announced the coup d'etat during Morning Announcements. I'd ousted Radley Clifton who'd reigned, uncontested, for three years, and apparently believed, because his brothers, Byron and Robert, had been valedictorian, he, Radley the Razor-dull, held Divine Right to the t.i.tle. Pa.s.sing me in Barrow, his eyes narrowed and his mouth shrank, doubtlessly praying I'd be found guilty of Cheating and exiled.) the spotlight, like the night she mentioned I had the highest rank in school and was thus poised to be valedictorian. (Lacey Ronin-Smith had announced the coup d'etat during Morning Announcements. I'd ousted Radley Clifton who'd reigned, uncontested, for three years, and apparently believed, because his brothers, Byron and Robert, had been valedictorian, he, Radley the Razor-dull, held Divine Right to the t.i.tle. Pa.s.sing me in Barrow, his eyes narrowed and his mouth shrank, doubtlessly praying I'd be found guilty of Cheating and exiled.) "Your father must be so proud of you," Hannah said. "I'm "I'm proud of you. And let me tell you something. You're a person who can do anything with your life. I proud of you. And let me tell you something. You're a person who can do anything with your life. I mean mean that. Anything. You can be a rocket scientist. Because you have the rare thing everyone wants. The smarts, but also the sensitivity. Don't be afraid of it. Remember-G.o.d, I can't remember who said it-'Happiness is a hound dog in the sun. We aren't on Earth to be happy, but to experience incredible things.' " that. Anything. You can be a rocket scientist. Because you have the rare thing everyone wants. The smarts, but also the sensitivity. Don't be afraid of it. Remember-G.o.d, I can't remember who said it-'Happiness is a hound dog in the sun. We aren't on Earth to be happy, but to experience incredible things.' "

This happened to be one of Dad's favorite quotations (it was Coleridge and Dad would tell her she'd butchered it; "If you're using your own words it isn't quite quite a quotation, is it?"). And she wasn't smiling as she said it to me, but looked solemn, as if talking about death (see a quotation, is it?"). And she wasn't smiling as she said it to me, but looked solemn, as if talking about death (see I'll Think About That Tomorrow, I'll Think About That Tomorrow, Pepper, 2000). (She also sounded like FDR declaring war against j.a.pan in his historical 1941 radio address, Track 21 on Dad's Pepper, 2000). (She also sounded like FDR declaring war against j.a.pan in his historical 1941 radio address, Track 21 on Dad's GreatSpeeches, Modern Times GreatSpeeches, Modern Times three-CD boxed set.) three-CD boxed set.) On the very best of days I was their burden, their bete noire, and so, if you considered Newton's Third Law of Motion, "All actions have an equal and opposite reaction," and the five of them spontaneously turned into HI' Baby Face Nelsons and Dimples, they also also had to turn into old Lost Weekends and Draculas, which best describes the looks on their faces in had to turn into old Lost Weekends and Draculas, which best describes the looks on their faces in that that instance. For the most part though, I did my best to deflect such personal attention. I didn't especially long for Table 25, The Royal Circle. I was still elated to be one of the jelly beans allowed in off the street, and was thus perfectly content to spend the evening, rather the entire sw.a.n.k decade, sitting at wholly undesirable Table 2, too close to the orchestra and with an obscured view of the door. instance. For the most part though, I did my best to deflect such personal attention. I didn't especially long for Table 25, The Royal Circle. I was still elated to be one of the jelly beans allowed in off the street, and was thus perfectly content to spend the evening, rather the entire sw.a.n.k decade, sitting at wholly undesirable Table 2, too close to the orchestra and with an obscured view of the door.

Hannah, during their song'n'dance antics, remained impa.s.sive. She was all diplomatic smiles and kind "Fantastic, darlings," and it was during these moments I found myself wondering if I'd made a few errors in my breathless reading of her, if, as Dad said bluntly in the rare event he admitted he was wrong (accompanying said sentence with a contrite gaze at the floor): "I'd been a blind a.s.s."

She was, after all, highly peculiar when it came to talking about herself. Attempts to exhume details about her life, indirectly or otherwise, went nowhere. You think it'd be impossible for someone not to give some some semblance of an answer when asked a question point-blank, making some very revealing dodge (sharp intake of breath, shifty eyes), which you could subsequently translate into a Dark Truth About Her Childhood using Freud's semblance of an answer when asked a question point-blank, making some very revealing dodge (sharp intake of breath, shifty eyes), which you could subsequently translate into a Dark Truth About Her Childhood using Freud's The Psychopathology of EverydayLife The Psychopathology of EverydayLife (1901) or (1901) or The Ego and the Id The Ego and the Id (1923). But Hannah had a very plain way of saying, "I lived outside Chicago, then San Francisco for two years. I'm not that interesting, guys." (1923). But Hannah had a very plain way of saying, "I lived outside Chicago, then San Francisco for two years. I'm not that interesting, guys."

Or she'd shrug.

"I -I'm a teacher. I wish I could say something more interesting."

"But you're part-time," Nigel said once. "What do you do with the other part?"

"I don't know. I wish I knew where the time went."

She laughed and said nothing more.

There was also the question of a certain word: Valerio. It was their mythical, tongue-and-cheek nickname for Hannah's secret Cyrano, her cloak-anddagger Darcy and her QT Oh Captain! My Captain! I'd heard them mention the word on countless occasions, and when I finally found the courage to inquire who, or what it was, so exciting was the subject, they forgot to ignore me. Eagerly, they recounted a puzzling incident. Two years ago, when they were soph.o.m.ores, Leulah had left behind an Algebra textbook at Hannah's house. When her parents drove her back for the book the following day, while Hannah retrieved it upstairs, Lu went into the kitchen for a gla.s.s of water. She noticed, by the telephone, a small yellow notepad. On the topmost page, Hannah had doodled a strange word.

"She'd written Valerio Valerio all over it," Lu said heatedly. She had a funny way of wrinkling her nose, which made it look like a tiny bunched-up sock. "Like a all over it," Lu said heatedly. She had a funny way of wrinkling her nose, which made it look like a tiny bunched-up sock. "Like a million million times. Kind of crazily too, the way psycho killers write things when the investigator breaks into his house on times. Kind of crazily too, the way psycho killers write things when the investigator breaks into his house on CSI. CSI. The one word over and over, like she was talking on the phone, unaware of what she was drawing. Still, The one word over and over, like she was talking on the phone, unaware of what she was drawing. Still, I I do stuff like that, so I didn't think anything of it. Until she walked in. She picked up the notepad immediately, facing the pages toward her so I couldn't see it. I don't think she put it down until I was in my car, driving away. I'd never seen her act so strange." do stuff like that, so I didn't think anything of it. Until she walked in. She picked up the notepad immediately, facing the pages toward her so I couldn't see it. I don't think she put it down until I was in my car, driving away. I'd never seen her act so strange."

Strange indeed. I took the liberty of looking up the word in Cambridge etymologist Louis Bertman's Words, Their Origin and Relevance Their Origin and Relevance (1921). (1921). Valerio Valerio was a common Italian patronymic meaning "brave and strong," derived from the Roman name Valerius, derived in turn from the Latin verb was a common Italian patronymic meaning "brave and strong," derived from the Roman name Valerius, derived in turn from the Latin verb valere, valere, "to be in healthy sprits, to be robust and st.u.r.dy." It was also the name of several minor saints in the fourth and fifth centuries. "to be in healthy sprits, to be robust and st.u.r.dy." It was also the name of several minor saints in the fourth and fifth centuries.

I asked them why they didn't simply ask Hannah outright who he was.

"Can't do that," said Milton.

"Why?"

"We already did," said Jade with irritation, exhaling smoke from her cigarette. "Last year. And she turned a weird red color. Almost purple."

"Like we'd smacked her in the head with a baseball bat," said Nigel.

"Yeah, I couldn't tell if she was sad or p.i.s.sed," Jade went on. "She just stood there with her mouth open, then disappeared into the kitchen. And when she came out, like, five minutes later, Nigel apologized. And she said in a fake administrator voice, oh, no, it's fine, fine, it's just that she doesn't like us snooping or talking about her behind her back. It's hurtful." it's just that she doesn't like us snooping or talking about her behind her back. It's hurtful."

"Total bulls.h.i.t," said Nigel.

"It wasn't bulls.h.i.t," Charles said angrily.

"Well, we can't bring it up again," Jade said. "We don't want to give her another heart attack."

"Maybe it's her Rosebud," I said, after a moment. Naturally, none of them were ever thrilled when I opened my mouth, but this time, every one of their heads swiveled toward me, almost in unison.

"Her what?" what?" asked Jade. asked Jade.

"Have you seen Citizen Kane?" Citizen Kane?" I asked. I asked.

"Sure," said Nigel with interest.

"Well, Rosebud is what the main character, Kane, searches for his entire life. It's what he's desperate to get back to. An unrequited, aching yearning for a simpler, happier time. It's the last thing he says before he dies."

"Why didn't he just go to a florist?" asked Jade distastefully.

And thus Jade (who, although sometimes very literal, had a flair for the dramatic) enjoyed fashioning all kinds of exciting conclusions out of Hannah's mysteriousness whenever Hannah happened to be out of the room. Sometimes Hannah Schneider Hannah Schneider was an alias. At other times, Hannah was a member of the Federal Witness Protection Program after testifying against crime-tsar Dimitri "Caviar" Molotov of the Howard Beach Molotovs, and was thus chiefly responsible for his being found guilty of sixteen counts of fraud. Or else, she figured Hannah was one the Bin Ladins: "That family's big as the Coppolas." Once, after she happened to watch was an alias. At other times, Hannah was a member of the Federal Witness Protection Program after testifying against crime-tsar Dimitri "Caviar" Molotov of the Howard Beach Molotovs, and was thus chiefly responsible for his being found guilty of sixteen counts of fraud. Or else, she figured Hannah was one the Bin Ladins: "That family's big as the Coppolas." Once, after she happened to watch Sleeping with the Enemy Sleeping with the Enemy at midnight on TNT, she told Leulah Hannah was hiding in Stockton in order to avoid detection by her ex-husband, who happened to be both physically abusive and clinically insane. (Naturally, Hannah's hair was dyed, her eyes, colored contacts.) at midnight on TNT, she told Leulah Hannah was hiding in Stockton in order to avoid detection by her ex-husband, who happened to be both physically abusive and clinically insane. (Naturally, Hannah's hair was dyed, her eyes, colored contacts.) "And that's why she hardly ever goes out and pays cash for everything. She doesn't want him to trace her credit cards."

"She doesn't pay cash for everything," said Charles.

"Sometimes she does."

"Everyone on the planet sometimes pays cash."

I humored these wild speculations, even designed a few interesting ones of my own, but of course, I didn't genuinely believe them.

Dad, on Double Lives: "It's fun to imagine they're as epidemic as illiteracy or chronic fatigue syndrome or any other cultural malaise that graces the covers oiTime oiTime and and Newsweek, Newsweek, but sadly, most Bob Joneses off the street are just that, Bob Jones, with no dark secrets, dark horses, dark victories, or dark sides of the moon. It's enough to make you give up on Baudelaire. Mind you, I'm not counting adultery, which isn't dark in the slightest, but rather cliched." but sadly, most Bob Joneses off the street are just that, Bob Jones, with no dark secrets, dark horses, dark victories, or dark sides of the moon. It's enough to make you give up on Baudelaire. Mind you, I'm not counting adultery, which isn't dark in the slightest, but rather cliched."

I thus secretly concluded Hannah Schneider was a typo. Destiny had been sloppy. (Most likely because she was overworked. Kismet and Karma were too flighty to get anything done and Doom couldn't be trusted.) Quite by accident, she'd a.s.signed an outstanding person of breathtaking beauty to a buried mountain town, where grandeur was like that slighted tree always falling in the woods and no one noticing. Somewhere else, in Paris, or Hong Kong probably, someone named Chase H. Niderhann with a face compelling as a baked potato and a voice like a throat clearing, happened to be living her her life, a life of opera, of sun and lakes and weekend excursions to Kenya (p.r.o.nounced "keen-YA"), of gowns that went "Shhhhh" across a floor. life, a life of opera, of sun and lakes and weekend excursions to Kenya (p.r.o.nounced "keen-YA"), of gowns that went "Shhhhh" across a floor.

I decided to take control of the situation (see Emma, Emma, Austen, 1816). Austen, 1816).

It was October. Dad was dating a woman named Kitty (whom I hadn't yet had the pleasure of swatting away from our screen), but she was of no consequence. Why should Dad settle for a Standard American Wirehair when he could have a Persian? (I can blame Hannah's croony music taste for my wayward vision, old Peggy Lee and her incessant whining about the crazy moon and Sarah Vaughan sniveling about her lover man.) I acted with uncharacteristic vehemence that rainy Wednesday afternoon as I set my Disney-inspired plan into action. I told Dad I had a ride and then asked Hannah to drive me home. I made her wait in the car, giving her a lame excuse ("Hold on, I have a great book for you.") before I ran inside to pry Dad away from Patrick Kleinman's latest tome published by Yale University Press, The Chronicle of Collectivism The Chronicle of Collectivism (2004), so he'd come outside and talk to her. (2004), so he'd come outside and talk to her.

He did.

In short, there was no world on a string, no tender trap, no wee small hour of the morning and certainly no witchcraft. Dad and Hannah exchanged moonless pleasantries. I believe Dad even said, "Yes, I've been meaning to attend one of those home football games. Blue and I will see you there," in an effort to clothespin the silence.

"That's right," said Hannah. "You like football games."

"Yes," said Dad.

"Don't you have a book to lend me?" Hannah asked me.

Within minutes, she was driving away with my only copy of Love in the Time of Cholera Love in the Time of Cholera (Garcia Marquez, 1985). (Garcia Marquez, 1985).

"Touched as I am by your efforts to play Cupid, my dear, in the future, please allow me to do my own riding into the sunset," Dad said as he walked inside.

That night I couldn't sleep. Even though I'd never said anything to Hannah, and she'd never said anything to me, a certain foolproof Thesis had been floating around in my head, that the only plausible explanation for her including me in the Sunday soirees, for her brutally shoehorning me in with the others (determined to pry open their airtight clique like a frenzied housewife with a jar opener) was that she wanted Dad. Because I couldn't have mistaken, at least back at Surely Shoos, her eyes hovering a little fretfully over his face like green dragontails over a flower (Family Fapilionidae), Fapilionidae), that sure, she'd smiled at that sure, she'd smiled at me me back at Fat Kat Foods, but it was Dad whom she wanted to notice her, Dad whom she wanted to stun. back at Fat Kat Foods, but it was Dad whom she wanted to notice her, Dad whom she wanted to stun.

But I was wrong.

I tossed and turned, a.n.a.lyzing every look Hannah had thrown me, every word, smile, hiccup, throat clear and distinctly audible swallow until I was so confused, I could only lie on my left side staring at the windows with its swollen blue and white curtains where night melted so slowly it hurt. (Mendelshon Peet wrote in Loggerheads Loggerheads [1932], "Man's wobbly little mind isn't equipped for hauling around the great unknowns.") [1932], "Man's wobbly little mind isn't equipped for hauling around the great unknowns.") Finally I fell asleep.

"Very few people realize, there's no point chasing after answers to life's important questions," Dad said once in a Bourbon Mood. "They all have fickle, highly whimsical minds of their own. Nevertheless. If you're patient, if you don't rush them, when they're ready, they'll smash into you. And don't be surprised if afterwards you're speechless and there are cartoon tweety birds chirping around your head."

How right he was.

IX.

Pygmalion

The legendary Spanish conquistador Hernando Nunez de Valvida (La Serpiente Negra) (La Serpiente Negra) wrote, in his diary entry of April 20, 1521 (a day he allegedly slaughtered two hundred Aztecs), wrote, in his diary entry of April 20, 1521 (a day he allegedly slaughtered two hundred Aztecs), "La gloria es un millon ojos asustados" "La gloria es un millon ojos asustados" roughly translated as, "Glory is a million frightened eyes." This never meant much to me, until I became friends with them. If the Aztecs regarded Hernando and his henchmen with fright, then the entire St. Gallway student body (more than a few teachers too) regarded Charles, Jade, Lu, Milton and Nigel with awe and outright panic. roughly translated as, "Glory is a million frightened eyes." This never meant much to me, until I became friends with them. If the Aztecs regarded Hernando and his henchmen with fright, then the entire St. Gallway student body (more than a few teachers too) regarded Charles, Jade, Lu, Milton and Nigel with awe and outright panic.

They had a name, as all choice societies do. Bluebloods.

And daily, hourly (possibly even minutely) that posh little word was whispered and whined over in envy and agitation in every cla.s.sroom and corridor, every lab and locker room.

"The Bluebloods catwalked into the Scratch this morning," said Donnamara Chase, a girl who sat two seats away from me in AP English. "They stood in the corner and went, 'Ew' to everyone who walked by to the point that Sam Christenson-you know that mannish soph.o.m.ore girl? Well, she actually broke down at the beginning of Chemistry. They had to cart her off to the Infirmary and all she'd say was that they made fun of her shoes. She was wearing Aerosole pink suede penny loafers in a size nine and a half. Which isn't even that bad." bad."

Obviously at Coventry Academy, at Greenside Junior High, there'd been the popular ones, the VIPs who cruised the halls like an arcade of limousines and invented their own tongue in order to intimidate like fierce Zaxoto tribesmen in the Cote d'Ivoire (at Braden Country I was a "mondo nuglo," whatever that meant), but the asthma-inducing mystique of the Bluebloods was unparalleled. I think it was due in part to their diva foxiness (Charles and Jade were the Gary Cooper and Grace Kelly of our time), their for-real fabulousity (Nigel was so tiny he was trendy, Milton so vast he was vogue), their trippy confidence (there goes Lu proudly across the Commons, her dress on inside-out), but also, most singularly, because of certain tabloidal rumors about them, a HI' somethin' somethin' and Hannah Schneider. Hannah kept a surprisingly low profile; she taught only the one cla.s.s, Intro to Film, in a squat building at the edge of campus called Loomis, famous for laundering credit fillers like Intro to the Fashion Business and Woodshop. And as Mae West is quoted in the out-of-print Are You Just Happy to See Me Are You Just Happy to See Me (Paulson, 1962): "Y'ain't n.o.body 'til you've had a s.e.x scandal." (Paulson, 1962): "Y'ain't n.o.body 'til you've had a s.e.x scandal."

Two weeks after my first dinner at Hannah's, I overheard two senior girls slinging such sleaze in my second period Study Hall, held in the Central Reading Room of the Donald E. Crush Library, monitored by crossword-puzzle enthusiast, Mr. Frank Fletcher, a bald man who taught Driver's Ed. The girls were fraternal twins, Eliaya and Georgia Hatchett. With curly auburn hair, stout frames, shepherd's-pie potbellies and alehouse complexions, they resembled two oily portraits of King Henry VIII, each painted by a different artist (see The Faces of Tyranny, The Faces of Tyranny, Clare, 1922, p. 322). Clare, 1922, p. 322).

"I don't get how she got a job at this school," said Eliaya. "She's three sandwiches short of a picnic."

"Who're you talking about?" asked Georgia absentmindedly as she poured over colored photos in a magazine, VIP Weekly, VIP Weekly, her tongue sticking out the side of her mouth. her tongue sticking out the side of her mouth.

"Duh. Hannah Schneider." Eliaya tipped her chair backward and drummed her fat fingers on the cover of the textbook on her lap, Hannah Schneider." Eliaya tipped her chair backward and drummed her fat fingers on the cover of the textbook on her lap, An Ill.u.s.trated History of Cinema An Ill.u.s.trated History of Cinema (Jenoah, 2002 ed.). (I could only a.s.sume she was enrolled in Hannah's cla.s.s.) "She totally wasn't prepared today. She disappeared for fifteen minutes 'cause she couldn't find the DVD we were supposed to watch. We were supposed to watch (Jenoah, 2002 ed.). (I could only a.s.sume she was enrolled in Hannah's cla.s.s.) "She totally wasn't prepared today. She disappeared for fifteen minutes 'cause she couldn't find the DVD we were supposed to watch. We were supposed to watch The Tramp, The Tramp, but she comes back with friggin' but she comes back with friggin' Apocalypse Now, Apocalypse Now, which Mom and Dad would go mental over- the movie's three hours of harlotry. But Hannah was like which Mom and Dad would go mental over- the movie's three hours of harlotry. But Hannah was like planetary planetary-didn't have a clue. clue. She puts it in, doesn't even She puts it in, doesn't even think think about the rating. So we see the first twenty minutes and the bell rings, and then that kid Jamie Century, he asks her when we're gonna see the rest and she says tomorrow. That she's changing the syllabus around a little. I'll bet by the end of the year we're watching about the rating. So we see the first twenty minutes and the bell rings, and then that kid Jamie Century, he asks her when we're gonna see the rest and she says tomorrow. That she's changing the syllabus around a little. I'll bet by the end of the year we're watching Debbie Does Dallas. Debbie Does Dallas. It was ghetto." It was ghetto."

"Your point?"

"She's tweaked. Wouldn't be shocked if she went Klebold."

Georgia sighed. "Well, everyone and their grandmother knows she's still banging Charles after all these years -" "Like a screen in a tornado. Sure." Georgia leaned closer to her sister. (I had to be very still to hear what she said.) "You really think the Bluebloods go all Caligula on the weekends? I'm not sure if I believe Cindy Willard."

"Of course," said Eliaya. "Mom said royals only only bed royals." bed royals."

"Oh, right," right," said Georgia, nodding, then breaking into toothy laughter, a sound like a wooden stool being dragged across a floor. "That's how they keep their gene pool from getting contaminated." said Georgia, nodding, then breaking into toothy laughter, a sound like a wooden stool being dragged across a floor. "That's how they keep their gene pool from getting contaminated."

Unfortunately, as Dad pointed out, there's often a seed of Truth within the Flash and Trash (he himself wasn't above perusing a few supermarket tabloids while standing in line: " 'Plastic Surgery Smash-ups of the Stars'- there's something rather compelling about that headline.") and I'll admit, ever since I saw Hannah and Charles together in the courtyard on the first day of school, I suspected there was was something clammy going on between them (though I'd decided, after a Sunday or two, while Charles was almost certainly infatuated with Hannah, her att.i.tude toward him was pleasantly platonic). And though I was in the dark regarding the Bluebloods' weekend activities (and would be until the middle of October) I something clammy going on between them (though I'd decided, after a Sunday or two, while Charles was almost certainly infatuated with Hannah, her att.i.tude toward him was pleasantly platonic). And though I was in the dark regarding the Bluebloods' weekend activities (and would be until the middle of October) I did did know they were quite preoccupied with maintaining the superiority of their line. know they were quite preoccupied with maintaining the superiority of their line.

I, of course, was the one contaminating it.