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you this so soon, because it would spoil the surprise. . . ."
Sean stared at Raymond. What surprise? Even Ashley looked intrigued.
"Surprise me," said Mr. Kerr skeptically.
Raymond swallowed hard and forged ahead. "As you know, we've been working on
Gavin Gun-hold. Well, Mr. Kerr, you see, we know Mr. Gun-hold, and-"
Sean felt a seizure coming on.
"Stop right there. Don't say another word. I know what's going on," the
teacher said sternly. "You people picked Gunhold right from the beginning
because you knew he could help you with your analysis. Why didn't you just
come to me and explain the situation instead of making up a story about how
you found this Canadian poet who caught your interest?"
"We - we thought you might not let us do him," said Raymond faintly.
"Nonsense," said Mr. Kerr. "Actually knowing the artist is an excellent
opportunity for study. You could do analyses both before and after discussing
it with Gunhold. Yes, that's what I'd like. Your project will, of course, be
much longer than the others, but there are, after all, three of you."
Out of the corner of his eye, Sean caught Raymond glancing up at the ceiling.
"Now," said Mr. Kerr, "exactly how much poetry has Gunhold published?"
"Just the one back in Canada," Raymond confessed. "He gave up poetry to be a
service station attendant full-time. But now that he lives in New York, there
are new poems, and more on the way."
Sean put the poetry text, open to "Registration Day," in front of the teacher,
and placed the typewritten sheets next to it. He held his breath and waited
for Mr. Kerr to say, "The one in the book is a poem, but the other three you
wrote."
Mr. Kerr scanned the work. "Yes, I see what you admire about the man. No vast
literary merit, but very sensitive and appealing all the same."
"Thank you," beamed Raymond. Hastily, he added, "On behalf of Mr. Gunhold."
"Well," said Mr. Kerr. "Now that everything's up front, we see that you still
have a very exciting project in the works. Next time we update, I want to see
a whole lot more on paper."
Another group was called, and Jardine, Delancey, and Bach returned to their
seats.
"I want to meet him," said Ashley in a whisper.
"Who, Steve?" said Sean. "Ashley, we'd help you if we could, but - "
"No!" Ashley dismissed this with a wave of her hand. "Gavin Gunhold! I want to
meet Gavin Gun-hold."
Most of the color drained out of Sean's face, and even Raymond looked
stricken.
"Y-you don't want to meet him," Sean stammered. "He's - not your type."
Raymond nodded vigorously in corroboration.
"Sure he is. I like all kinds of people. And besides, I've never met a
real-live poet. Come on. Please?"
"Well, there's a problem," said Raymond. "Gun-hold's eccentric. He doesn't see
very many people, and if we just brought along someone he didn't know, he
could freak out and stop helping us."
"Could you ask him?" Ashley pleaded. "Tell him I love his work."
"Okay," Raymond agreed finally. "But remember, we're not promising anything,
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so don't take it personally if he says no."
"Oh, thanks! And, you know, it's not only meeting a poet. You guys have been
doing all the group work for this class, which was okay at first, because I
had to get adjusted, and after that there was the party. But now I want to do
my share."
After class, when Ashley headed off to art, Sean lit into Raymond. "Didn't
anybody ever tell you about lies? Don't you remember George Washington and the
cherry tree? You'd be the guy who tried to say that the cherry tree was still
standing! I could kill you, Raymond, except that would leave me as the only
living personal friend of Gavin Gun-hold!"
"I can see why you're upset, Delancey, but when
I was standing up there in front of Kerr, I suddenly realized this was the
only way. Otherwise we'd have to make up stuff about the poems, and fake books
and magazines where they were published. We'd have tons of lies going, any one
of which could blow up in our faces. So it just came to me - a way to swap all
those little lies for a single big huge one. And Kerr's so sure he caught us
trying to use Gunhold to make our work easier that he'll never consider that
the guy's been dead for thirty-eight years. So, believe it or not, Delancey,
we're pretty cool here."
That explanation seemed so logical to Sean that it alarmed him. Why were there
no big gaping holes in Raymond's reasoning? There was only one explanation.
The boy whose former biggest risk in life was a jump shot from long range was
turning into a plotting, conniving, figuring-the-angles Jardine protégé. Yes,
only Jardine logic could dictate that they were "pretty cool here." A normal
person would be feeling like the blender operator of a nitroglycerine
milkshake.
"Well, what about Ashley?" Sean asked finally. "She wants to be in on the
project. Do we tell her?"
"Tell her what?"
"The truth, you idiot! That if she wants to meet Gavin Gunhold, she's going to
have to take a trip to Toronto with a shovel! And that we're writing the
poems!"
"God forbid!" said Raymond in horror. "I like Ashley as much as you do, but
she talks a lot, and to everybody. If she knew a secret like ours, she'd be so
proud of pulling off something that big that, sooner or later, she'd say it in
front of the wrong
person, and it would get back to Kerr."
"So what was all that about how we're going to try and fix it so she can meet
our friend, the dead poet?"
"Don't worry about that," Raymond shrugged. "We'll put her off a few times,
and pretty soon she'll forget the whole thing."
"Raymond, I feel like I'm drowning in this."
"Keep dog-paddling, Delancey."
"Good workout, group!" barked Coach Stryker at basketball practice that day.
"That's enough for now." To Sean he added, "Nice shooting. Let's hope the
slump is over."
In the locker room, Sean found himself beside Steve Semenski, and felt a bit
guilty about how little time he'd been spending with his friend lately.
"You've been hiding out these days," Steve said.
"It's schoolwork, believe it or not," Sean replied glibly. "I've got this
killer poetry assignment hauling me down." This was almost the truth. It was
Raymond who was hauling Sean down, and that was directly related to poetry.
"I've seen you hanging around with that Raymond guy - " Steve began.
"Hold it," Sean interrupted. "I'm not hanging around with him; 'he's hanging
around with me. He's like a virus. You can't shake him."
"Well, what I meant to ask - that girl, the amazing-looking one you guys are
always with. What's the story with her?"
Sean swallowed hard. What could he say? "She doesn't talk about herself too [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]