and shot Larry an evil look. Frau Göckermann said nothing until the bell rang. "Marilee, I'd like to talk to you as well. Please wait for me outside in the hallway."
"Shit," mumbled Marilee, as Larry passed her on his way to the front of the classroom. She stalled until most of the others had left, arranging and rearranging the papers in her notebook. Occasionally, she sneaked glances at Larry as he stood in front of their teacher's desk, his weight balanced on one leg, thumbs hooked in his pockets the way she imagined James Dean would have stood before a woman who wore patent leather spike heels and spoke German. Marilee strained to hear Frau Göckermann, but the woman's voice was drowned out by the din from the hallway. She got up slowly and left the room.
The hall was buzzing. Students swarmed the stairwells, slamming books into lockers, switching on radios, calling to one another from the building's opposite ends. She leaned back against the wall, her neck and shoulders tight and aching. Eau de School Bus permeated the air, a heavy mingling of diesel fuel and road grime that wafted down the corridor like slow poison. Cars sped by in front of the flagpole, splashing rainwater as they screeched out of the parking lot, running on high octane and testosterone. Kevin Thacker asked Marilee if she wanted a ride home, but she declined. In a few minutes, Larry emerged from the classroom.
"As ye sow, so shall ye reap," he said, holding the door wide open. They were the first words he had ever spoken to her in English.
She brushed past him into the room. Frau Göckermann sat at her desk. "You have an admirer," she said with a tight smile. "Don't think I'm not aware of what goes on in my classroom."
"I'm sorry," said Marilee.
"Don't apologize, dear. But do be careful. I've seen his type. I know what a boy like that can do to a young girl. Take my advice, dear, forget about him."
Marilee was speechless. She hardly knew whether to be insulted by the woman's presumption or flattered by her concern. She looked down at the desk, hoping to be dismissed.
"At any rate," Frau Göckermann continued, "it's time to break up your little tea party. I've moved Herr Johnston (she pronounced it Yonschton) to the front of the class, where, I hope, he will be less inclined to be disruptive."
Marilee's heart sank.
"Das ist Alles," said Frau Göckermann, turning her attention to the papers on her desk.
Marilee walked out of the classroom. She trudged down the empty hallway and outside into the rain, her books heavy in her arms. "You missed your bus," said a voice behind her. Larry stood leaning against the red brick wall of the building, much as she imagined James Dean would have leaned against a red brick wall. "I'll take you home," he said. He walked her to his car, talking to her about Hemingway. About big game hunting. The running of the bulls at Pamplona. Existential suicide. He said nothing about having kissed the back of her neck.
"Why'd you do that in there?" she interrupted, once they were seated in his red Pinto.
"I like Robby," he said, misunderstanding. He jammed his Pinto into gear and squealed out of the parking lot.
On the way home, he told her about his car: '71. A good year. Four on the floor. Twenty-five miles to the gallon, a real gem. You couldn't buy cars like that anymore. Pulling into her driveway, he threw his stick shift into neutral and pulled up on the emergency brake. The Pinto screeched to a halt. "She's old, but she's loyal," he said, running his hand along the steering wheel. Guys were weird about their cars.
"Thanks for the ride," said Marilee, flinging open the passenger door.
Larry shrugged. "Frau G. changed my seat."
"I know."
"So, I'll pick you up tomorrow morning around eight," he said, as if one thought led naturally to the other.
"Quarter to eight," said Marilee, gathering her books, trying to remain cool.
"Sehr gut," said Larry.
"See ya," said Marilee. As she stepped out of his car, her skirt rose up high on her thigh; she made no effort to pull it down.
"It's all yours," said a voice at her driver' s-side window. She opened her eyes. Enoch thrust the stick end of a windshield scrubber at her. "Excuse me?"
"Can't reach across the windshield. Sorry."
Marilee smiled weakly, then took hold of the dripping apparatus.
"I'll go pay," said Enoch. "Want anything?"
She shook her head no.
Enoch entered the building awkwardly on his crutches. Marilee stepped out of her car and went to work scraping bugs from her windshield. Occasionally, she sneaked glances at Enoch standing in line for the cashier. He stood no taller than the two little boys in front of him, one staring, the other giggling, both holding tightly to their father's hand. The man wore cowboy boots and an orange Broncos hat. Enoch smiled at the boys. The smaller one said something back, and the man whisked him into his arms.
When she was finished with her windshield, Marilee wetted some paper towels and wiped road grime from her headlights. Old as it was, she was fond of her Dart, a gift from her mother after Larry had left L.A. Ramona Levitay had picked up her daughter after work one day and driven her down to Aspromonte's. Ramona knew Nick Aspromonte from the club where she worked as a coat checker. Nick had a brother, Philly, who owned a car lot down on Van Nuys Boulevard.
Philly cut Ramona a sweet deal on the Dart. The car was unique, he said, because it had a clock on the dashboard. This model Dart never came with a clock, but the previous owner had installed one, special. She could have it for three-fifty. Marilee knew nothing about cars, but she liked its shade of blue. Amazingly, the Dart ran like a dream. It got twenty miles to the gallon and its clock kept time.
Both boys in his arms now, the man in the Broncos hat emerged from the building and headed toward a white pickup truck with a gun rack mounted in its rear window. Enoch moved up to the counter, barely tall enough to see over its edge. He pulled his wallet out of one of his socks and handed the cashier some bills. Having finished cleaning her headlights, Marilee polished her side mirror, then resumed her place behind the wheel.
Enoch struggled to open the glass door. A woman in line studied him as he propped the door open with one crutch, then hobbled through on the other. It would always be this way, thought Marilee: People staring, too absorbed in Enoch's awkwardness to avert their eyes. Too ill at ease to lend a hand. Too self-contained in their safe little spaces to make contact with a dwarf. And they would wonder about her. Were she and Enoch friends? Lovers? What weird things did they do in bed?
A Tootsie Pop came flying through the open passenger-side window. Marilee caught it between her knees. "Jack up your endorphins," said Enoch, tossing his crutches into the back and reclaiming his seat next to her. "Like heroin. Or being in love."
Marilee looked over at the small stranger sitting next to her, white stick protruding from his mouth. She wondered if he had ever been in love, or if anyone had ever been in love with him. She started her engine, pulled out of the filling station, and headed north on White Sands Boulevard. She had no idea where they were going. Annoyed, she tossed her Tootsie Pop on the seat between them where the melons had been. Enoch picked up the sucker, unwrapped it, and inserted it between her lips.
"Thanks," she mumbled, working the stick with her tongue.
"My pleasure," said Enoch.
It was grape, a flavor Marilee hated.
They headed north toward Albuquerque. A few miles out of town, just past North 54 Salvage, Marilee pulled over to the side of the road.
"I can't do this," she said. She took the Tootsie Pop from her mouth and switched off the car's motor. "I can't just take off like this. This is crazy."
"Okay," said Enoch.
"I've got to go back," she continued. "I'm sorry. This has nothing to do with you. It's just that I can't walk out on Larry like this. He's—"
"No