It’s blank.

11:01 a.m.

Turns the blank page.

Sees the familiar scrawl.

Smoothes out the page.

And then her stomach lurches, and she slams the notebook shut.

Puts it back in the box.

Into the closet.

11:59 a.m.

Janie calls Carrie. “Do you feel like going bowling?” She imagines Carrie shaking her head and laughing, telling Stu, coming back to the phone. “You are such a dork, Hannagan. Hell yeah, why not. Let’s go bowling.”

NITTY GRITTY

February 13, 2006

The names and schedules of Chem. 2 students are burned in Janie’s brain. But the problem is, most science nerds don’t sleep in school.

And even if they did, the issue remains of how Janie can be in the same room with them when—if—it happens. It appears impossible.

And seeing how it’s winter, it’s futile to creep around outside their bedroom windows at night. She has high hopes for the chemistry fair.

It’s all she has to bank on.

Cabel tries making a connection with each student on the list. He has more of them in his classes than Janie does. But they remain aloof, associating him with the popular Hill crowd, because of his past ties to Shay Wilder. He’s frustrated.

There are eighteen Chem. 2 students in all this year. There were thirteen Chem. 2 students last year. All thirteen graduated and went to college, Cabel discovers, some of them as far away as southern California. Doggedly, Cabel tracks them, in case their lives changed somehow in the nine months since graduation. He spends hours each evening on the computer, checking their blogs, their Facebook and Myspace pages, looking for any wild tales they may have thought they were keeping semiprivate.

And together, they have a whole lot of nothing.

The one and only lead Janie has at the moment is Stacey O’Grady from first semester of Chem. 2. She’s in Janie’s study hall. Stacey has horrible nightmares, if she sleeps at all. Which is rare.

But lots of people have horrible dreams, and it doesn’t mean anything, as far as Janie can tell. Even if the dream is about a rapist. Janie knows that a dream about being chased by a rapist could possibly be literal, but more likely it’s a hint of an underlying fear in some other part of your life. The fear that something’s catching up to you, or that you can’t run fast enough, or that you’ve lost your voice and can’t scream

—all could simply indicate being overwhelmed with school or home pressures or feeling helpless to change things. Being a senior could do that to many people.

Still, Janie wills Stacey to fall asleep in study hall again, so she can get a better look.

Six of the ten students in Janie’s Chem. 2 class are female. She doesn’t know any of them well, although they’re friendly enough with one another. None of them are going to the chem fair.

When Desiree Jackson suggests a study group night at her house before an upcoming test, Janie jumps at it. Maybe she can get some information that way. Several others like the study group idea too.

They agree to meet Thursday night at seven at Desiree’s.

Mr. Durbin hands out the flyers for the March 4 party, and Janie raises a question. “What do you think about inviting the first semester group to join us? More people, more fun, I’m thinking. Or maybe you don’t have room for so many in your house, Mr. Durbin.” Janie has driven by Mr. Durbin’s house. Cabel managed to snag the floor plan from the township office. She’s got it memorized. It’s a three-bedroom home with a large kitchen that overlooks the spacious great room. With its finished basement, the house is easily large enough for twenty or more.

Mr. Durbin scratches his chin. “I like that idea. Class, what do you think? You guys good with that?”

The class wants to know who those people would be. Mr. Durbin flips through the eight names by memory, and the consensus is affirmative.

“Cool,” Janie says. “I’ll make some more flyers. We should get a head count on how many are planning on coming.”

“Good idea. Sheesh, eighteen kids. You guys are gonna break my bank account,” Mr. Durbin jokes.

Several girls offer to bring appetizers, and Mr. Durbin gratefully accepts the offer. Janie’s puzzled now. She thought he might balk at the idea. But he’s giving no indication of this being anything other than a cool party for science geeks.

“Don’t let me see you bringing any alcohol,” Mr. Durbin says lightly, and grins like he’s young enough to be hip with the thoughts of seniors and wants to nip it in the bud. But the mere acknowledgment sets several students exchanging mischievous glances.

He said that on purpose, Janie thinks. To get the students thinking about it.

After class Mr. Durbin stops Janie. “Good idea for the party, Janie.

Maybe a few of you girls could come early to help set it up?” He’s giving her a helpless bachelor look.

The back of Janie’s neck is prickling, but she smiles excitedly.

“Awesome. This is going to be a blast! You are such a cool teacher.

You’re just like one of us, you know?”

Mr. Durbin grins. “I try. It’s only been eight years since I was a senior in high school. I’m not some old geezer, you know.” He’s languid, leaning against the side of his desk, arms crossed in front of him.

And then he’s reaching out his hand. “Hold still,” he says. “You’ve got an eyelash.” He brushes lightly across Janie’s cheek with his thumb, and his fingers linger at her hairline just a second longer than necessary.