The Burning of the Palace at Versailles (or, Butterfly) [REWRITING]

Chapter 17 - Autumn in Michigan

Key was reassigned to a new lab partner, a quiet girl with freckles and a nervous habit of clicking her retractable pen every few seconds. The three days when Hartley was in suspension seemed to drag on. On the second day, Key realized his muscles were always tense, ready to respond to whatever witty remark Hartley was bound to say. Of course, the witty remark never came.

When Hartley did come back to a loud chorus of cheers and applause, things seemed different. Occasionally, Key would look across the room and make eye contact with Hartley. When the teacher scolded a student, or when one student was found cheating and dragged out of the classroom, Key and Hartley would glance at each other and grin.

One brisk autumn afternoon, the students were asked to check their grades online. Key's total grade was 97. Not terrible, but he frowned. He could do better. In a quick, accidental glance, Key's eyes fell on Hartley's computer screen.

56.

Key felt his jaw drop. He forced himself to look back at his own screen.

The test they had been sent to the principal's office over was worth half of the entire semester's grade. Getting a zero on it was damnation for his grades.

Key didn't hear a word for the rest of the lecture. When the bell rang, Key quickly stood and dropped a note on Hartley's desk. He had rewritten it four times over the past half hour.

The note was simple: just Key's phone number and the words, "I can tutor you." Key expected that to be the end of it, but five minutes later as he was running to his next class, his phone buzzed with a message.

He grabbed his phone from his pocket. It was a text from an unknown number and a message. Okay. Wait outside the Exit W after school.

So Key did, and five minutes after the final bell, Hartley exited out of the western exit and the two of them stared at each other for a long, awkward minute.

"So, are we actually doing this?" Hartley asked.

"Guess so."

That afternoon, the two of them sat in Hartley's room. The conversation began as study sessions usually do, with being focused on the subject. But after a snack, meeting Hartley's mother— a nice woman who seemed ready to adopt Key and leave Hartley alone in the community park forever— and watching the sun go down, their focus waned. They talked about high school, lacrosse, and their friends. It was dark by the time Key said he needed to home. Hartley's mother insisted on driving him home through the suburbia. As they drove, Key saw something happening to the houses on the street. He wasn't sure why he was seeing it, or what it meant, but it didn't bother him at the time.

When the white Ford passed a house, the lights in the house went out. One by one, like shattered Christmas lights and snuffed candles, they shut off. Subdivisions faded into the night, and Key watched as he heard Hartley and his mom arguing in the front row. He wondered if the lights would go out when he got to his own home, with its sky-blue siding and industrial Home Depot lights. The neighbor's houses went dark, one by one at a speed of twenty-seven miles per hour, then the car turned into the driveway. The lights in the kitchen and Eugene's bedroom stayed on. So did the front porch lights, designed to pathetically fake flickering torchlight.

Key got out of the car and closed the door behind him. It was odd to see the rest of the area pitch-black, but he didn't focus on it too much. That was the fate of all things, he thought, to turn dark and enter the night.

"See you tomorrow!" a voice yelled out into the darkness, and Key turned around. Hartley was waving out the window, a huge smile on his face. Key couldn't help himself: he laughed.