The Hayloft. A 1950s Mystery

thought that it was too dark to see, anyway. I made it onto the stage as Sylvia went into one of the wings where it was even darker. Then suddenly the whole stage became visible.
    “Let there be light,” Sylvia said, standing beside a switchbox. And then, gesturing, “We even have dressing rooms of sorts.”
    She led me into one of the small rooms. It wasn’t bad. It featured mirrors outlined with lights. She sat on one of the chairs and motioned for me to sit on another.
    “I have some questions to ask you,” she said.
    She had some questions to ask me. That was a laugh. “Don’t you have to go to class?” I asked for the second time.
    “Oh, I have history first period. It’s usually pretty boring. I can read about it later.” She dismissed history with a wave of her hand. “But let’s talk about you. Why did you transfer here just two weeks into the school year? Did you move?”
    I should have rehearsed the answer to that question more. I hesitated, and then managed to say, “Well, I didn’t exactly move. I’m staying with my aunt and uncle. My…father’s sick, and my mother’s spending most of her time taking care of him.” It wasn’t a very good lie, but I hoped it would satisfy her.
    “I’m sorry to hear that. I hope…I hope he gets well soon.”
    I accepted her sympathy as gracefully as I could, since I had obtained it under false pretences. At least, it had sidetracked her from asking the name of my aunt and uncle. Thankfully, they had a different last name from mine. I wasn’t emotionally ready to acknowledge a relationship to Ralph yet.
    She asked more questions and ascertained that I played basketball. She looked at me and exclaimed, “I remember you from the Carter-Atherton game last year. You were the reason we lost. You killed us.”
    “Well, I wouldn’t go that far…”
    “Don’t be modest. I was right beside the court and saw the whole thing. You never missed a shot. I’m glad you’re on our side now.”
    One reason I had enjoyed the victory was because Ralph had been playing for Carter. I had finally beaten him at something.
    I said, “Thanks. Are you a cheerleader?”
    “Was. I retired at the end of last year. It takes too much time.”
    “I remember you.” It was the diplomatic thing to say. And I was nothing if not a diplomat. Well, at least I was practicing to be one.
    “You don’t have to say that just to make me feel good.”
    “No, I do. I guess being student council president must take a lot of time.”
    “You know, Gary, that’s mostly an honorary position. We attend a lot of meetings, but we don’t actually do very much except to rubberstamp what Dr. Graves wants. It’s what goes on behind the scenes that I’m interested in.”
    I wanted to ask her more about this behind the scenes stuff. Maybe I’d find out something to report to Dr. Graves. A wave of nausea swept through me. I was a fink. The most contemptible kind of person. But I had to do it if I wanted to stay here at Carter. Before I could think of a leading question, Sylvia changed the subject.
    As we talked about other things, I remembered the Carter-Atherton game and especially the Carter cheerleaders. Because one of them—not Sylvia—had been the most beautiful girl I had ever seen in my short life. She had made it difficult for me to concentrate on the game, and it had been fortunate that we had outclassed Carter, which was the real reason we had won. I wondered if that girl was still in school or whether she had graduated. I had an urge to ask Sylvia about her but stopped myself as I realized how uncool that would be.
    Sylvia looked at her watch and said, “I want to show you around the school a little. I promised to get you back to the office by second period. And I need to go to my second period class today. We’re having a pop quiz.”
    I wondered how she knew about the quiz. Wasn’t a pop quiz supposed to be a surprise? She turned off the lights. I jumped down from the stage and turned to help her, but she was too quick for me and jumped down on her own. We exited the auditorium and headed along the corridor.
    As we approached the girls’ locker room, the door suddenly swung open and a girl stumbled out, apparently pushed, clad only in a white bra and white panties. Then she ran back inside, and the door closed behind her. I didn’t see her face.
    I turned to look at Sylvia. She was looking at me with a half-smile. “Does that happen very often?” I asked, trying to