After Obsession Read Free Page A

there’s usually a body to bury if something happens.”
    “True.” Mrs. Wood starts to say more, but a bell rings and the hallway outside her office fills with teenagers. “First hour’s over. As soon as things settle down, Alan, I’ll have our office aide show you your locker and give you a quick tour of the school. Then he’ll take you to biology.”
    I watch the flow of students but try not to be obvious about it. I see that a lot of them are looking through the glass window at me. The differences are pretty obvious and I know they’re taking it in. My dusky skin and long black hair are very different from anything I see in the stream of humanity outside the office. The father I’ve never known is Navajo. I steel myself for the usual crap that comes with my emphasis on my Navajo heritage. They’ll call me “chief,” make reservation jokes, ask for cigars and wooden nickels until I lose my temper and kick some ass. After that there might be some grudging respect.
    Another bell rings and the last couple of students in the hall run for open doors where teachers wait. A tall guy with short black hair comes into the counselor’s office and drops some books on a small desk set off to the side.
    “Blake?” Mrs. Wood calls. “This is Alan Parson. Today’s his first day. Will you show him around?”
    “Sure,” Blake says. I watch him look me over, then nod at me. I nod back.
    I follow him out of the office. Mom calls “Bye” behind me but I only wave, still mad about the football issue. Blake is a little taller than me, and he walks fast. He’s wearing a blue T-shirt with GOFFSTOWN HIGH SCHOOL CROSS-COUNTRY printed on the back.
    “You’re in cross-country?” I ask.
    “Yeah. Do you run?”
    “I guess I do now,” I say. “I can’t believe you guys don’t have a football team. In Oklahoma, every high school has a football team, even the little country schools.”
    “Football just isn’t a big thing here,” Blake says as he leads me up a hallway. “Plus, it’s an expensive sport, and, in case you haven’t noticed, this isn’t a rich school. We have sports that don’t cost much.”
    “Oh.” I hadn’t thought about the cost. “Is the cross-country team good?”
    “Pretty good,” he answers. “I was all-state last year. We had two guys and three girls make all-state individuals. We’ll get the whole team in this year.”
    “That’s cool.” At least it was something.
    “Here’s your locker,” he says as we round a corner. He points to a tall yellow door. “Give the lock a try.” As I spin the dial to the numbers I’ve been given, he asks, “So, you’re from Oklahoma?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Why’d you come to Maine?”
    While I tell him why I left Oklahoma, I close the door and face Blake again. “Oh, Courtney. Yeah, that sucked about her dad,” he says.
    I follow Blake up and down hallways while he points out restrooms, the auditorium, classrooms, and the cafeteria. He offers commentary about various teachers as we walk, and I soon realize he’s one of the kids teachers love. Any negative thing he says about a teacher is followed with a positive. “Mrs. Bailey’s classes are hard, but she’s really cool. She brings cookies on Fridays.”
    Finally we come to a classroom door where Blake knocks. A guy sitting near the door jumps up and looks out at us through the narrow window before opening the door. He and Blake bump fists in greeting, and then Blake turns his attention to the teacher.
    “Mr. Swanson,” Blake says, “this is Alan Parson. He’s new here. He’s in your class for second hour.”
    More than a dozen pairs of eyes bore into me, watching, judging, making up stories about why I’m here. Mr. Swanson is a tall man with a thin white goatee and whitening blond hair. His eyes seem to sag, and he moves at a very leisurely pace as he comes to stand before me.
    “Hello, Alan,” he says. “Why don’t you take a seat right over here? I was about to give an assignment.