The Hayloft. A 1950s Mystery

cooed.
    I was okay with it. I said, trying to sound casual, “Why do you want to beat Barney so badly?”
    Sylvia and Natalie looked at each other. Natalie said, “You have a right to know. Everyone else in the school knows. Barney humiliated me.”
    “She challenged him to a game last May and lost,” Sylvia said.
    That wasn’t the smartest play of the century. “May I ask why you did that?”
    “Because he was always taunting me…”
    “Barney is hot for her bod,” Sylvia said, “and she won’t give him the time of day. He doesn’t like being ignored. So he got on her back until she agreed to play him. And he got even with her.”
    “He made me run around the school naked,” Natalie said.
    So that’s where that came from.
    “It wasn’t so bad,” Natalie said. “He didn’t specify a time, so I did it at night. And he didn’t say I couldn’t wear shoes. Only a few people were there, and most of them were girls. And I can run fast.”
    “I would have been your bodyguard,” I said, before I could stop myself.
    Both girls smiled and Sylvia said, “I’ll bet you would.”
    This kind of happening was beyond my teenage experience. Maybe I had been missing out on life. Or maybe there weren’t any girls like Natalie at Atherton. There certainly weren’t any in the looks department. She didn’t seem to have suffered any psychological damage from her humiliation, but there was definitely bad blood between her and Barney. And I could get in good with her by helping her beat him. She was on Sylvia’s list, but I had my own reasons.
    “Everything that transpires within this room has to be kept secret,” Sylvia said, looking at us.
    We nodded in agreement. A few more secrets wouldn’t matter. I was already waist-deep in secrets, including the one with Dr. Graves, caught in a web of intrigue I hadn’t imagined a week ago.
    “And you two don’t know each other, at least not yet.”
    More nods. It was important that Barney didn’t catch on to what we were hatching, but in addition, I didn’t think Joe would like Natalie being holed up with me.
    I asked, “Did Joe beat up Barney or something?”
    Natalie said, “I wasn’t going with Joe when I played Barney. I-I wasn’t going with anyone. I didn’t have a white knight to protect me. But I got myself into this mess. And with your help, I’ll get even, myself.”
    Sylvia put out her hand and said, “Everybody swear to keep these meetings secret.”
    I placed my hand on top of hers. Natalie placed her hand on top of mine. It was exciting to have a secret with the most powerful girl and the most beautiful girl in the school. Until I remembered that I was the school stool pigeon. Dr. Graves had seen to that. Well, I wouldn’t tell him everything about Sylvia. And I hoped he wouldn’t find out that I was withholding information.
    “We’ll leave separately,” Sylvia said. “Gary, you go first. Make sure nobody is looking when you exit the auditorium.”

    CHAPTER 5
    I went through the lunch line, paid my money to Dolores, the cashier, noted that her sweater of the day was black, and wondered for the second time in as many days what it would feel like to touch said sweater. I quickly tried to banish this thought from my head, before it became obvious to everybody what I was thinking, and wondered where I should sit today.
    As I hesitated, a boy who had gone through the line behind me caught up to me and said, “Aren’t you Gary?” When I admitted as much, he said, “I’m your cousin.”
    I almost blurted out that my cousin was dead. Then I realized who he was. He certainly didn’t look like a cousin. He was shorter than I was and stockier. Not in an athletic way but in a pudgy way. He did have a somewhat pronounced nose, as I did. His hair was light brown, like mine, although a little longer. He had an English accent.
    “I’m Edward Drucquer—Ed,” he said. “Sit with me and I’ll explain.”
    As an athletic upperclassman, I could hold my tray with one hand, so I released my right hand to offer to shake hands with him. However, he continued to grip his tray with two hands, apparently not having enough confidence in his strength. I followed him to an empty section of a table, and we sat down, side-by-side. His clothes looked somewhat shabby. His flannel shirt was frayed at the cuffs. His corduroy pants had signs of wear at the pockets.
    While he was opening his milk carton and inserting a straw, he said, “Your Aunt Dorothy told