“He wanted to help me study,” said the boy, struck by the oddness of it. “We went over vocabulary after dinner. He wanted to make a game of it.”

Kate was impressed by Hawthorne’s willingness to devote all his waking hours to school business. Was this the man that George accused of going after his ex-wife? When would he have time? And in her question to herself Kate saw that becoming involved with Hawthorne didn’t strike her as strange or inappropriate, which was followed by the feeling she sometimes got from too much caffeine or when her car swerved suddenly on wet leaves. It almost frightened her.

Tank and another boy were wrestling on the blacktop for the ball. Hawthorne knelt beside them with a hand on each and talking calmly, or at least his face appeared calm. Tank gave the other boy a shove as he stood up, and the ball rolled away. Grabbing it, Hawthorne tossed it to Rudy Schmidt and the game resumed. Several onlookers wandered off and others appeared, but Jessica was still among them, sitting with her arms around her knees and looking toward the mountains. Harriet Bennett also continued to watch with folded arms. Even from this distance Kate could see her big black shoes. On Sundays the Reverend Bennett preached about moderation and the need for equilibrium, as if her enemy were not Evil but Excess. In her vestments and with her bulk and wispy gray hair, she looked very eighteenth century. Kate had attended chapel a few times in the spring but had yet to go this fall. She wasn’t a believer but it was expected of faculty to set an example for the students.

Kate happened to glance over at Douglas Hall, diagonally across the Common. There, at a second-story window, Fritz Skander stood with his hands in his pockets, watching the game. Kate recalled he had a geometry class that met in the afternoon. Skander had a faintly benign smile but there was a concentration about him, especially in the way he leaned forward as if listening for some delicate noise far in the distance. He was below Kate and to her left. For no reason she could think of, she moved back so he wouldn’t notice her. To Kate, Skander’s actions always seemed as if they were in fact reactions to the people around him, unspontaneous outbursts followed by small jokes and a sort of delayed ebullience. Now, framed by the window, he appeared unusually expectant, almost eager.

Bennett was trying to get the ball from Hawthorne, pressing him close and waving his hands in Hawthorne’s face. Hawthorne passed the ball back between his legs to Tank, then dodged around Bennett, who turned quickly and stumbled. Tank passed it back to Hawthorne, who jumped and scored with a hook shot. Bennett got to his feet, then took the ball out again, his hair bouncing as he ran. Hawthorne’s white shirt was pulled from his waist and the top buttons were undone. He wore black leather shoes that didn’t seem to interfere with his game.

Kate noticed that a new person had sat down next to Jessica and was chatting with her. It was the assistant cook. Whatever he said, Jessica began to laugh. It made her look quite pretty. Kate recalled Chip Campbell’s suggestion that Hawthorne was sexually involved with the girl—“doing the dirty with that little ex-stripper.” Seeing Jessica laugh, Kate found it not quite so impossible. Jessica’s roommate had continued to complain about Jessica whenever she and Kate happened to talk—how Jessica ignored her and refused to respond to the name Jessica, saying instead that her name was Misty. In Spanish, though, the girl was turning out to be the best in the class.

Hawthorne was running in for another layup and Bennett was trying to catch up, sprinting across the court as several students got out of his way. Hawthorne jumped and Bennett jumped after him, attempting to block the shot, but he was too late and the basket scored. But in jumping Bennett collided with Hawthorne in midair, knocking him sideways so he fell. Bennett landed on his feet but Hawthorne was twisting, trying to regain his balance. He went down, slid on the blacktop, and rolled onto his back. Kate could see he was in pain, then she noticed that the fabric of his khaki pants was torn at the knees. He sat up, holding his legs. Bennett stood for a moment, watching, then he and Tank leaned in closer to him. The nurse, Alice Beech, was in the small crowd of onlookers and she ran onto the court, as did the assistant cook. Hawthorne was pulling up his pant leg and Kate thought she could see blood, but she was too far away to be sure. The game had stopped. The students were talking among one another and looking uncomfortable, as if they were afraid of being yelled at. Hawthorne’s face was white. Gravel must have gotten embedded in the cut because he was picking at a spot on his left knee. Alice Beech knelt down beside him. The cook was saying something and helping him roll up his other pant leg. Bennett was talking to Ted Wrigley. His face was very earnest.

Kate glanced over to where Skander was standing. The afternoon sun reflecting against the windows of Emerson cast back its light to the windows of Douglas Hall, making them shine. Skander was chuckling. At first Kate thought she must be mistaken and she moved to the right, trying to see him more clearly. But he was grinning, she was sure of it. Kate looked down at the basketball court. Now both Hawthorne’s pant legs were pulled up above his knees. The cook was helping him to his feet. Bennett was helping as well. When Hawthorne was standing, the two men each held one of his arms. Tank was arguing with one of Bennett’s teammates. Then Hawthorne and the others began to hobble off the court. Judging by their direction, Kate guessed they were going to the infirmary. She looked again at Skander. There was a cheeriness to his grin, a lightheartedness, as if he had just heard a funny story. He was rubbing his chin and beaming. Then, as if he sensed he was being observed, he glanced up and saw Kate watching him. Kate stepped back, then waved, rather ineffectually. She felt she had to make some response. Skander didn’t wave back.

—

Wednesday evening after dinner Frank LeBrun was hurrying out the back door of the kitchen to meet Jessica when his cousin called to him. Frank slid on the tiles, stretched out his arms, and wobbled, making a little joke of it. Larry didn’t seem amused. They stood by the back door looking out on the Common, which was dark except for the lights along the walkway. Frank had taken off his white jacket and wore his brown winter coat.

“Where you going?” asked Larry. His voice was quiet and serious.

“Out for a smoke. Why d’you want to know?”

“You’re up to something. I can tell. What’s going on?” Larry wore his white jacket. His anger made him especially red in the face. He was taller than his cousin and stood calmly while LeBrun always seemed agitated.

“Meaning what?” LeBrun leaned back against the doorjamb. He put a cigarette in his mouth but didn’t light it. The cigarette waggled between his lips when he spoke.

“You called me looking for a job. I didn’t mind helping you, even on short notice. And I didn’t make a fuss when you wanted me to tell everyone that your name was LeBrun. I figured you needed the work and Skander came up with the money. Now I think it’s something else. You didn’t come here just for a job.”

“Then what am I up to, smart guy?”

“Like why’d you put those tacks in the bread?”

LeBrun grinned. “What makes you think it was me?”

“You’re the only one who touches it.”

“Somebody could have snuck in.” LeBrun took the unlit cigarette from his mouth and looked at it as if it didn’t taste right. He put it back in his pocket.

“Don’t give me that shit.”

LeBrun’s smile faded. “I put a tack in a chunk of dough and I put in a piece of chocolate. It was an experiment. You don’t hear anyone bitching about the chocolate, do you? They find a tack, they let everybody know. They find some chocolate, they keep it to themselves. What’s that say about human nature? It teaches you something, that’s what I like about it.”