The Hayloft. A 1950s Mystery

Use your own judgment as to what to report. Anything subversive to the country—or the school. You’re a smart boy. And remember—talk only to me about this. Nobody else.”
    I heard quick footsteps approaching from behind. Dr. Graves looked past me toward the door to the office.
    “Sylvia,” he said. “You’re just in time.”
    “Good morning, Dr. G.”
    A girl swished into the room so fast that I expected to feel the air from her wind stream.
    “Sylvia,” Dr. Graves said, “I’d like you to meet a new student, Gary Blanchard. He’s a senior transfer from Atherton. Gary, this is Sylvia Doran.”
    Sylvia turned and held out her hand to me, saying, “Welcome aboard, Gary.”
    I belatedly stood up and shook her hand. I wasn’t used to shaking hands with girls, any more than I was with principals. I mumbled something in return.
    “Sylvia will show you around,” Dr. Graves said to me. And to Sylvia, “I told him that you’re president of the student council and know everybody.”
    “At least, everybody who’s worth knowing,” she said with a grin. “Come on, Gary, let’s blow this joint before the bell rings for first period. I know a place we can hide out until the stampede is over.”
    “Have him back here at the end of first period,” Dr. Graves said. “He needs to meet with Miss Thoman to get his classes set up. And I expect you to attend some classes today, too, young lady.”
    Sylvia turned and waved at Dr. Graves as we left his office, saying, “Don’t worry. I have everything under control.”
    I thought I heard him say, “That’s what I’m afraid of,” as we went through the doorway from the administration area into the hallway.
    “Don’t you have to go to class?” That was just one of many questions I wanted to ask this perky blond who was whisking me down an endless corridor with brand new lockers on either wall toward destinations unknown. The air had a fresh, clean scent to it, unlike the vague smell of mildew at Atherton, which was a much older school.
    Sylvia was wearing a long, straight skirt, a loose sweater, bobby sox, and saddle shoes, and her hair was short. Meaning that she looked a lot like many other girls I knew, except that she was cuter and shorter than most of them, a petite dynamo. But she walked so fast that I had to strain to keep up with her, and my legs were a lot longer than hers.
    The bell had just rung, and students poured out of the cafeteria as we passed the entrance. It must be acting as a homeroom, but I knew it was the cafeteria because I could see the tables set against the walls and because Sylvia gestured toward it and said the word, “Cafeteria,” as we flew by. From the sizes of the kids and the fact that many of them said hello to her, I gathered they were seniors. She greeted some of them and in an aside to me said, “I’ll introduce you to the people you need to know later.”
    We got clear of the throng and turned down another corridor. Sylvia pointed out the entrances to the boys’ and girls’ locker rooms. We continued to the end of this corridor and into a foyer where multiple doors lined one wall, as if for an auditorium entrance. Sylvia opened one of the doors and went through the opening into the dark. I followed her and was immediately blinded, but after a few seconds, I could see that this was indeed the auditorium.
    “Isn’t it beautiful?” Sylvia asked. “It’s got a balcony and everything. The school’s only a year old.”
    “You’re lucky. Atherton High is pretty ancient.”
    “Well, now you’re lucky, too. But there’s one bad thing about this auditorium.” She pointed up at the balcony. “Last year a student fell from there. He was killed.”
    My cousin, Ralph. So this was the place where he had met his death. I shuddered but tried to hide it. I said, “That’s terrible.”
    “Yeah. Ralph was a nice boy. Everybody liked him. He broke one of the seats in the middle there when he fell. It’s been fixed.” Her mood brightened. “Come on.”
    Sylvia plunged down the aisle in the dark. I wondered whether we were supposed to be here. I didn’t want to get into trouble on my first day. And I didn’t want to upset my parents any more than they were upset already. When we got to the stage, instead of stopping, she placed her hands on it and, with an athletic move, she vaulted up onto it.
    This so took me by surprise that I didn’t even look to see how much leg she exposed. I consoled myself with the