lower my lips, taste my sins, drink my unclean desires.’”
“You’re a nut bar,” Joey pronounced.
This time, despite the literary merits of what she’d just heard, Sandy was inclined to agree with Joey’s assessment. “Okay, Victor. I think we’ve heard enough. Much as I admire the skill with which you’re able to express your fantasies, this was supposed to be an exercise in recording what you actually did last night.”
Victor’s response was to extend his left arm and roll up the sleeve of his black shirt, revealing a long, jagged line that traveled up the underside of his flesh.
“Cool,” said Nancy.
“Holy crap,” said Greg.
“I think you better have the nurse take a look at that,” Sandy said, closing her eyes to the sight.
Victor laughed. “What for? I’m fine.”
“I’m not so sure,” Sandy countered. “Please, go see Mrs. Hensen. Now.” She made a mental note to call Victor’s parents at the end of the day, alert them to their son’s nocturnal activities. Was it possible she’d be telling them something they didn’t already know?
Mind your own business
, she could hear Ian scold. He’d always said she got too caught up in the lives of her students.
Worry about your own life
, he’d said.
Except at the time he’d said it, she hadn’t realized she had anything to worry about.
“Crazy faggot,” Greg muttered as Victor opened the door of the portable classroom and vaulted over the three steps to the pavement.
“Okay, Greg,” Sandy said, jumping to her feet and almost knocking over her chair. “That’s quite enough of that.” She returned to her former position at the front of the desk. “And since you seem so eager to speak, let’s hear what you wrote.”
“Uh, it’s kind of personal, Mrs. Crosbie. Wouldn’t want to embarrass you.”
“That’s all right. I’m not easily embarrassed.”
Greg looked slyly in Delilah’s direction. “I guess not.”
The rest of the class, except for Delilah, joined in, although there were a few gasps from some of the girls. “Can I see your journal please, Greg?” Sandy’s tone indicated this was not a request.
Reluctantly, Greg handed it over. Sandy opened the notebook, her eyes scanning the collection of mostly blank, lined pages. She flipped to the last page and was surprised to find it covered with a series of amazingly good, cartoonlike sketches of instantly recognizable people. There was Lenny Fromm, the so-laid-back-he-was-almost-supine principal of Torrance High, pictured with his blond comb-over almost completely covering his sleepy features; Avery Peterson, the science teacher, who, at thirty-eight, was the same age as Sandy, but who looked much older since he was almost completely bald, and who was portrayed in these drawings as an enormous bowling ball perched atop a pair of tiny, spiderlike legs; and Gordon Lipsman, the drama teacher, represented here by a square, boxlike head containing a large, bulbous nose, and a pair of vaguely crossed eyes.
Sandy was both flattered and appalled to find herself included in the group. She recognized herself immediately in the unruly curls of the caricature’s hair, the exaggerated point of her chin, the pronounced mole that nestled above her full upper lip. The sticklike torso was covered in a long, shapeless dress, and thin arms waved bony fingers high above her head. Is that how they see me? she wondered, scanning the curious faces of her students. A skinny, frazzled harridan?
Is that how Ian saw me?
Her eyes drifted toward the page beside it, where the frazzled harridan was fighting with an Amazon whose gigantic breasts, flowing blond hair, and high-heeled shoesclearly identified her as Kerri Franklin. In the background was a monstrous-sized girl, tears leaping from bulging eyes as she attempted to stuff an entire chicken into her gaping mouth. A second sketch showed the triumphant Amazon holding a man with an enormous erection above her flowing blond mane, her high