The Temptations of St. Frank Read Online Free PDF Page B

sometimes three when “business was brisk,” as Whalley liked to say with his evil little walrus laugh. With all the time Gdowski had spent walking around the quad, he should have been in good shape, but surprisingly he was still the pudgy butterball he’d been when he was a freshman.
    â€œHave a blessed day, gentlemen, ” Whalley said, signing off, but the radio inside the intercom box kept playing just loud enough to be annoying. Mr. Kinney opened his copy of
Vol de Nuit
, turning to the page where they had left off translating yesterday, but it was obvious from the sour expression on his face that the radio was bugging him.
    Vitale and Gdowski were on the verge of exploding, doing everything they could to keep from breaking up, and Frank couldn’t understand why Mr. Kinney couldn’t figure out that they were the culprits. It was obvious to everyone else in class. But Kinney was the kind of teacher who always tried to be a Mr. Nice Guy with the students and never called anybody on anything.
    Richard Bauerman, the brownest of the brown-nosers at St. A’s, was sweating bullets. He was obviously dying to tell Mr. Kinney about the radio prank, but Gdowski was giving him the evil eye, balling his fists so that Bauerman could see. Gdowski was Vitale’s muscle, and he never needed a whole lot of provocation before he started swinging. That’s why he got jug so much.
    Bauerman looked like the skinny missionary heating up in the cannibals’ cauldron. He desperately wanted to be the good boy and squeal to Mr. Kinney, but he knew his ass was grass if he did. He was the smartest kid in their section, 4A, but not the smartest kid in the senior class because 4A was the Avis rent-a-car class—number 2 but trying harder—the so-called “divinity class,” which was a joke because no one in 4A had the slightest intention of ever becoming a priest, not even Bauerman.
    Once upon a time, back before World War II, St. A’s actually did have a divinity class for guys who wanted to go on to the seminary and become priests and brothers and monks. But that was way back when. Still, St. A’s kept the term—St. A’s was
big
on tradition—and made 4A the dumping ground for boys who were kind of smart but not smart enough for 4H, the honors class. Frank had been in the A class all four years at St. A’s—1A, 2A, 3A, and now 4A. Sort of smart but not the smartest. It pissed him off, even though the last thing he wanted was to be stuck all day with the geeks, nerds, and social rejects in 4H. Even though he did hang out with a few of them.
    A new song came out of the intercom box. Roy Orbison’s “Pretty Woman.” Larry turned around in his seat and lipsinked along with it. Stealthy snickers rose from the back of the room. Bauerman bit his bottom lip.
    â€œOkay, settle down,” Mr. Kinney said. “Turn to page fourteen in your Saint-Exupery.”
    Larry played an imaginary guitar along with the “Pretty Woman” riff—dah-dah-dah-dah-DUM. Frank knew how to play that riff. Unconsciously he played it on the inseam of his pants with an imaginary pick between his fingers.
    Gdowski buried his face in his arms on top of his desk to muffle his belly laughs.
    â€œAll right,” Mr. Kinney said with a frown. He was mad—well, as mad as he ever got— but not at Vitale or Gdowski or the snickerers. His glare was aimed at the intercom box.
    â€œO’Keefe,” he said, pointing to Brian O’Keefe, St. A’s star long-distance runner. “Go down to Mr. Whalley’s office and tell him he left the intercom on.”
    O’Keefe, who was short and wiry, kept a poker face as he nodded and headed for the door.
    â€œAnd come right back,” Mr. Kinney added before O’Keefe left.
    Roy Orbison kept singing, and Frank strummed along with his phantom pick. It was a great song. Pretty woman… He thought of Yolanda as he