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gnation and fortable death drifted before his face； whispering their agreement。
In Nothing's English class the next day； Mrs。 Margaret Peebles plunged her hypodermic of higher learning into Lord of the Flies and sucked out every drop of its primal magic； every trace of its adolescent wonder。 Nothing knew haft the class hadn't even read the book。 If they were judging it by what the teacher said； he could hardly blame them。 But he'd read it three years ago； one summer afternoon in bed with a fever； and when he had put the book down； his hands had been shaking。 Those wild salty…skinned little boys had tumbled through his head； and he had cried for them； so young； grown old so fast。
He looked at the blank page of notebook paper in front of him。 Pink and blue lines； neatly ruled。 He began to count them but lost track of the number。 The clock said 9：10。 Twenty more minutes left of class。 His head ached from last night's whiskey； and he wanted to sleep。 He began drawing in his notebook。 Swirls。 The first vestiges of a face。 An eye； green because his pen was green。 A tooth。
〃Jason〃
Outside； far away across the wide green front lawn； past the pink granite sign that looked like a gravestone except for the snarling tiger carved on top （Gift of the Senior Class； 1972）； a black van sped by。 The road past the school was long and straight； and the van was going too fast for Nothing to catch more than a snatch of the singing that blew back on the wind out the open windows of the van； borne on the wings of the sweet September day。 But he was sure it was Bowie。 Someone in that van was singing a song by David Bowie。 The voices were clear and loud and drunken。 Nothing watched the van disappear and wished more than anything else in the world that he were going with it； going with those happy singers； drinking and singing and going away on the
open road。
〃Jason。〃
He sighed。 Peebles was staring at him。 The rest of the class paid no attention； they were elsewhere too； in their own worlds； driving away on their own roads。 〃What？〃 he said。
〃We were discussing William Golding's Lord of the Flies。 You have read the book？〃
〃I have。〃
〃Then perhaps you can tell me about the rivalry between Jack and Ralph。 What allows it to grow so bitter？〃
〃Their attraction for each other；〃 Nothing said。 'Their love for each other。 They had this fierce love； they wanted to be each other。 And only when you love someone that much can you hate them too…〃
A ripple of laughter went through the class。 A couple of boys rolled their eyes at one another…what a fag！
Peebles pressed her thin lips together。 〃If you had been paying attention； instead of doodling and staring out the window…〃
Suddenly he was too tired to care what happened to him。 This was empty； all empty useless crap。 〃Oh fuck you；〃 he said； and felt the class suck in its breath and silently cheer him on。
Half an hour later； sitting in the principal's office waiting for the hand of petty academic fate to descend upon him； he thought again of the ghosts that had visited him last night。 Visions； or whiskey vapors？ It didn't matter。 You've got to get out of here； they'd told him。 You've got to get out of here。
After school； a bunch of kids met in the parking lot and went over to Laine Petersen's house to get stoned。 Laine's older brother had gone off to college and left behind his water…bong； an elaborate ceramic affair shaped like a skull with worms twining in and out of the empty eye sockets。 You put your finger over one of the nostrils to hold the smoke in。
Laine's girlfriend Julie had a bag of pot； real ragweed； the kind of stuff that scoured your throat and made your lungs feel like parchment if you held the smoke in too long。 Still； it was all these kids knew； and within fifteen minutes they were stoned out of their minds； Someone put a Bauhaus tape on and turned it all the way up。 Laine and Julie rolled around on the bed； pretending to make out。
Nothing had his doubts about how much Laine really liked girls。 The walls of his room were plastered with posters of the Cure； he had seen them in concert three times； and once he had sneaked backstage to present Robert Smith； the singer； with a bouquet of blood…red roses into which he had tucked two hits of blotter acid。 Julie wore her hair wildly teased in all directions； and she favored lots of black eyeliner and smudged red lipstick。 Nothing suspected that Laine liked her mainly because of her superficial resemblance to Robert Smith。
He looked around the room。 Several of the kids were groping each other ineptly； kissing each other with sloppy wet mouths。 Veronica Aston had pulled Lily Hartung's skirt up and had two fingers inside the elastic of Lily's panties。 Nothing stared at this for several minutes； dully interested。 Bisexuality was much in vogue among this crowd。 It was one of the few ways they could feel daring。 Nothing himself had made out with several of these kids； but though he had tasted theft mouths and touched their most tender parts； none of them really interested him。 The thought made him sad； though he wasn't sure why。
He lay back on the floor and stared up at a poster tacked on the ceiling above Laine's bed： Robert Smith's lips enlarged several thousand limes； smeared with hot orange…red lipstick； shiny and sexual。 Nothing wished he could fall into them； could slide down Robert Smith's throat and curl up stile in his belly。 The marijuana made him feel restless； he wanted to do a hundred things at once； but none of them here。 He realized that among these kids he called his friends he felt much more alone than he had felt in his room last night。
The Bauhaus tape ended； and no one put anything else on。 The party began to break up。 A hippie…looking girl Nothing didn't know flashed a peace sign at Laine as she left。 Julie got up to leave too； she was supposed to be grounded； she explained； because her mother had smelled beer on her breath when she came home from a party last weekend。 〃Bummer；〃 said Laine； not sounding as if he cared very much。
Nothing stared at the floor； feeling depressed。 He had seen Julie so strung out on acid that she thought the flesh was melting from her bones； and her parents couldn't even deal with her drinking beer。
As she was about to leave； Julie reached into her purse。 〃You can have this；〃 she told Nothing。 〃You said you liked it； and I never listen to it…sounds like shitkicker music to me。〃 She handed him a cheap home…produced cassette tape。 The crayon writing on the liner said LOST SOULS？
Nothing's heart quickened。 When he had heard this tape at Julie's house； something in it had sung out to him。 He remembered a snatch of lyrics： 〃We are not afraid 。 。 。 let the night e 。 。 。 we are not afraid。〃 The singer's golden voice chanting those words had awakened in him a courage he didn't know he had； a belief that someday his life would be more than this。 But to show an excess of feeling in this crowd was considered uncool； as far as Nothing could tell； you were supposed to act bored all the time。 He only smiled at Julie； said 〃Thanks；〃 and stuck the cassette in his backpack。
As soon as Julie was gone； Laine got up and put on a Cure tape。 Then he came and lay beside Nothing on the floor。 His bleached white…blond hair fell in long strands over his eyes。 His hand found Nothing's and squeezed。 Nothing didn't squeeze back； but he didn't pull away。
〃Do you want a blowjob？〃 said Laine。 He was one of the youngest of the crowd； only fourteen； but he cultivated arcane talents。 Nothing had seen the legend Laine Gives Killer Head inscribed on more than one bathroom wall at school。
〃What about Julie？〃
〃Julie doesn't turn me on much；〃 said Laine。 〃I like you； though。 I think you're really cool。〃 lazily he propped himself on his elbow and reached over to touch Nothing's face。 Nothing closed his eyes and let himself be touched。 The contact felt good。 Laine hugged him； buried his face in Nothing's shoulder； he smelled of shampoo and clove cigarettes。
〃Seriously；〃 he said。 〃I haven't given you a blowjob since August。 I want to。〃
〃Okay；〃 Nothing told him。 He pulled Laine's face to his and kissed him； nudging his mouth gently open。 Laine's mouth tasted delicately salty； like tears。 He suddenly felt terribly sad for Laine； who was too young to know so much。 He wanted to show Laine some gesture of tenderness； something that might make them both feel as young as they really were。
But Laine's tongue was already tracing a wet path down Nothing's chest； Laine's hands were already unfastening Nothing's jeans and tugging them open。 Nothing stared up at Robert Smith's magnified mouth。 The singer's lush clotted voice surrounded him； making him feel again as if he were tumbling between those lips。 Laine's hands and tongue worked him with a skill born of practice。 Nothing felt something twist inside him。 He put his hand down to touch Laine's brittle hair； and Laine looked up at him with clear； guileless eyes。
As he began to e； Nothing thought again of the black van that had driven past the school today； of the snatch of song he had heard trailing from its windows。 He wondered where the van was now。
Whe