Captain Quad

chapter one

“Oh, shit.”

“Knock ’em dead,” Kelly said, squeezing his hand. Then she was gone, down the steps and out through the stage-left exit.

“What most of you don’t know about Peter Gardner,” Laughren said, “is that academically he ranks among the finest students to have passed through Laurentian’s hallowed halls.”

In the decidedly unhallowed womb of the wing, Peter felt his face flush with blood.

“On top of all that, a certain Kelly Wheeler informs me that his musical talent approaches the level of genius.”

Now Laughren glanced toward the wing and Peter shrank into the shadows again.

“Somehow, Mr. Gardner has managed to escape us until now—but now we’ve got him. So before we at this final assembly bid him luck and adieu, let us welcome him, and lend him our keenest attention as he performs one of my personal favorites, Beethoven’s ‘Moonlight Sonata.’”

A scattering of unenthusiastic applause tinkled through the hall’s big belly, and that made Peter even more nervous. It was hot, it was late, and it was the last day of school. Summer waited outside like an acres-big carnival where all the rides are free. And in the face of all that, he was supposed to capture and hold the keenest attention of some twelve hundred hyped-up teenagers?

No small feat.

Grinning like a used-car salesman, Laughren waved him onstage. Reluctantly, Peter stepped into view, almost overcome by the urge to look down and see if his fly was done up...or if his pants were on at all.

The lights went down. A dramatically muted spot picked him up and followed him toward the piano. A fresh flourish of applause, punctuated by high hoots and happy hollers, swept against him from the orchestra seats, where the entire football team slouched in grinning disarray. Risking a sideward glance, Peter spotted his three best buddies, Rhett Kiley, Mike Gore and Jerry Jeter, frenziedly clapping their hands. Kiley’s dark eyes were bloodshot, and Jerry’s long, horsey face gleamed with a telltale beery flush.

“‘Stairway to Heaven,’” Rhett bellowed, shrinking in his seat as Laughren’s predatory gaze settled directly upon him.

Peter’s knees turned to Silly Putty. Maddeningly, the piano seemed to glide away as he approached it. His tie—he almost never wore a tie—felt like a gradually tightening noose around his neck.

Somehow he reached the stool. He sat. His fingers brushed the keys and he felt better, more confident. He waited for silence, his soft brown eyes fixed on the alternating pattern of keys.

From her seat near the front Kelly looked on, her excitement contaminated now by a new emotion. Tiptoeing down from the wing a half-minute earlier, she’d met eyes with Peter’s mother and had been struck by an open glare of resentment; brief but shockingly potent, it had rocked her like a savage backhand. And it occurred to her then that she’d seen that look before—glancing idly around while Peter played for her and finding those slate-colored eyes fixed on her back from the adjacent kitchen, lingering an instant too long before shifting away; turning on the moonlit front porch in time to see the living room curtain snap shut behind them while she and Peter sat chatting on the steps. And yet, when she spoke to Kelly, Mrs. Gardner was always pleasant, gracious and kind. Before today, Kelly had always managed to explain that look away, putting it down to her imagination or to some innocent quirk in a decidedly quirky lady. But on this occasion there had been no mistaking its authenticity—Kelly had felt something go slack inside her in its force. She’d dropped her gaze immediately, feeling sweaty, guilty and afraid, but angry, too. She knew what that look meant, and its very senselessness infuriated her. Jealousy was for other girls, not for mothers. The woman just wouldn’t give her a chance.