They had a faint bluish hue where his beard would be if he grew one.

She wondered if he ever had trouble shaving the deep cleft in his chin.

She met his eyes for a moment. They were so blue. She looked away and said, "It's really amazing. I get more out of the play each time I read it."

"Well, old Billy Shakespeare was no slouch."

She laughed, then faced forward as Miss Swanson returned to the desk. The librarian held the tall, thin volume of a yearbook. Seeing Mr.

Kramer, she smiled and color came to her face. She suddenly looked softer, more feminine, younger.

"Good morning, Shirley." "Mr. Kramer. May I help you with something?"

He shook his head. "Just visiting with one of my ace students, here."

Miss Swanson nodded, and turned her smile to Lane. "You're in luck, young lady."

"Terrific. How long can I check it out for?"

"I'm afraid you won't be able to check it out. Rules of the house.

You may peruse it to your heart's content, but it remains in the library."

Lane wrinkled her nose. "Not even overnight?"

"I'm afraid not." She glanced at Mr. Kramer as if seeking approval.

"If we allow the yearbooks to leave the library, we soon won't have any at all. You understand."

"Yeah." Lane shrugged. "Well..."

"Now please, those are the rules."

"This is my fault," Mr. Kramer said. "I asked Lane to pick the book up for me."

"Oh?"

He reached out and slipped it from Miss Swanson's hands. He nodded. "Yes, this is it. 'Sixty-eight. Is there a problem with me checking it out?"

"Why, no. Of course not. Let me write up a card." She slid open a drawer, took out a blank card, and jotted down, "Buford Memories, 1968.".

"I really appreciate it," Mr. Kramer said as he signed the card.

Miss Swanson blushed even more. "Quite all right. Will you be able to return it tomorrow?"

He glanced at Lane. She nodded. "I should be done with it by then."

Lifting the book, he said, "Thanks again, Shirley." He tucked the book under his arm, gestured for Lane to follow him, and walked out to the quad. "Here you go." Handing it to her, he gave his face a silly, terrified expression. "For heaven's sake, don't lose it."

Lane laughed. "I'll be careful."

They walked together. "How come you're interested in a yearbook that old?" he asked.

"Oh, it's for Dad. He's planning a novel that has stuff happening in 'sixty-eight. He wants to check out the hair styles, clothes, that kind of thing. Thanks an awful lot for handling Miss Swanson."

"That's what friends are for."

Lane felt a pleasant glow spread through her. "I wish there was something I could do for you."

"Well, if you mean that, I can always, use an able hand to help me correct papers."

"Great. When?"

"Can you spare half an hour after school? I still have those spelling tests from Friday that need to be marked." "Sure." The bell rang.

"Uh-oh. We'd better get to first period. See you later."

Nodding, Lane watched him hurry away. She took a trembling breath, then forced her weak legs to carry her forward.

She set her lunch bag and drink down on the table beside Jim, then peered across the cafeteria. Henry and Betty weren't at their usual table. Someone else must've beaten them to it. But she spotted her friends at the other side of the crowded room. "Back in a minute," she told Jim.

"Forget something?"

"I have to see Henry and Betty."

Jim rolled his eyes upward, suffering.

Lane patted his shoulder, then hurried away.

She found them sitting across from each other, Betty ripping open a bag of taco chips with her teeth while Henry lifted a brown paper sack out of his briefcase.

"Hiya, guys," she said.

Henry twisted around and grinned up at her. "Salutations, my darling."

"Eat road apples," Betty told him.

"I have to stay after school today," Lane said. "I guess you'll need to get home under your own power."

"No prob-lem," Henry said.

"Detention?" Betty asked.

"Ha! Me? Don't you wish."

"So what gives?"

"I'm staying late to help Kramer grade papers."

Betty pounded a chubby hand against her chest. "Be still, my heart.

How'd you wangle that?"

"Just lucky, I guess."

"He's not Tom Cruise, you know," Henry pointed out.

"You wouldn't know a hunk if one fell on you," Betty said.

"They fall on me every time I go to RE. It's among their favorite sports."

"Anyway, I'd better get back to Jim. I just wanted to let you know."

Betty leered, advised, "Keep your shorts on," and jammed a taco chip into her mouth.

"Degenerate," Lane said.

The girl nodded eagerly as she chewed.

Lane made her way back to Jim's table and sat down beside him. "See? Back already."

"Have a nice chat with Tweedle Dee and Dumb-dumb?"

"If you aren't going to be nice, I'll scram."

"Okay, okay. Just kidding. So what gives?"

"Aren't you the curious one?"

Shrugging, Jim turned away and took a bite out of his apple. For lunch each day he ate two apples and a chocolate bar, and washed them down with Pepsi. He was on his second apple. Only a core remained of the first. It was turning brown. Glad that she had real food, Lane un-wrapped her salami-and-cheese sandwich. She bit into it and sighed.

Jim glanced at her. "You're eating poison, you know. All them preservatives."

"I'm counting on them preserving me."

"Ha ha."

"Cheer up."

"So what's the big deal with Hen-house and Betty Boob?"

"I'm staying after, that's all. I had to let them know."

"How come you're staying after?"

"I'm helping Kramer mark tests."

Jim wrinkled his face, baring his upper teeth. They were caulked with white mush from his apples. "Judas priest. Grades slipping, or something? Isn't enough, you giving up Saturday night for that bozo?

Now you're doing slave labor? Shit! All of a sudden you're sure into some major league brown-nosing."

"If you don't know what you're talking about," Lane said calmly, "you ought to keep your mouth shut. Besides, it's disgusting me."

He opened his mouth wide and shook his head at her.

"Real cute. God, you can be so juvenile sometimes. To think I've actually kissed you."

"And will again, no doubt." He closed his mouth and commenced chewing with a blissful smile on his face.

Why do I even bother with him? Lane wondered. She took another bite of her sandwich, looked at the cafeteria clock and wished sixth period would hurry up and come.

In her fifth-period physiology class, Lane had to scribble notes furiously to keep up with the lecture. The time sped by. When the bell rang, it took her by surprise.

She hurried into the hall and ducked into the smoky rest room.

There, she leaned close to a mirror and checked her teeth for remnants of her lunch. They looked fine. She brushed her hair, then opened her denim skirt and tucked in her blouse so that it slanted down, smooth and taut, from her breasts to her waist. The straps and lacy pattern of her bra cups showed faintly through the blouse's white fabric. She fastened her skirt, turned around once to make sure of every angle, then left the rest room and headed for class.

You'd think you were going out with him, she thought, feeling a little foolish. He's just a teacher. He's not interested in a kid.

So? It doesn't hurt to look nice.

Lane entered the classroom by its front door. Mr. Kramer wasn't there yet. She sat at her front-row desk, put away the books she wouldn't be needing, and waited.

Just before the bell rang, Riley Benson and Jessica came in.

Jessica's left arm was still in a cast, but her right arm was around Benson. She glanced at Lane as she sauntered by. Her face looked better: though she still wore bandages on her chin and left eyebrow, the swelling had gone down; her lips no longer bulged; her bruises had faded to a sickly greenish yellow; some of her scabs had come off, leaving patches of shiny pink flesh.

She stepped to the other side of her desk. Benson rubbed her rear end, then ambled down the aisle. Jessica sat down.

"How are you doing?" Lane asked.

The girl sneered at her. "What do you think?"

"Just asking. Sorry."

"Blow it out your ass," she said, and turned away.

Whoops, Lane thought. Obviously, Benson had told her about the quarrel. Why'd she wait a whole week to sound off about it?

Bitch, she thought. Never should've bothered trying to be nice to her.