“They must have been in a real fight about something,” says a man sitting behind Davey. “He probably had a reason unless he was, you know, special needs.”
“All he can hope for is an insanity defense,” says the driver. “I’ve used it before. Lesser charges, obviously.”
“Insanity?” The lunch lady grunts. “Having spent time at Cloudy Meadows, I’d say crazies prefer the term misunderstood.” Cloudy Meadows is an insane asylum about an hour away. Everyone knows about it.
“Can we talk about something else?” Davey asks.
It’s quiet for a moment and I can feel myself sweating. Silence with these people is full of tension; so many bullies on one bus makes for possibilities like random wrestling matches or just getting punched in the face out of nowhere.
“Yes,” Miss Rosa says. It comes out as “Jayse.” “We will talk about reasons.” She turns her head the other way against her hands, so that she’s looking at Davey. “Tell me, why you are violent?”
“Because she a bitch,” booms the driver. We all jump in our seats.
“That is very good with feelings, Marion,” Miss Rosa says. “But we are talking Davey’s reasons, not Marion’s.” She gestures toward me. “Banzai has bitten back, amputating Davey’s finger with her teeths.” The other members of NVCG make a collective, impressed noise, as if watching fireworks. “But why you have provoked her, Davey? You knew these risks, no?”
Davey shrugs. We talked about his demeanor in the car. None of the wife beaters come in repentant. I’m pretty sure that Miss Rosa takes it as a challenge.
“I’m not sorry,” he says.
More oohing and aahing. A small smile creeps across Miss Rosa’s face.
Davey reaches across the aisle and squeezes my knee. “This little tiger gets me all bent out of shape. Maybe if she weren’t so naughty—”
“No touching,” Miss Rosa snaps.
“Perhaps Davey could better articulate his reasons if other people went around and shared first,” I offer, my leg all hot where Davey’s fingers were. “I mean, maybe he just doesn’t know how to put it, or feels embarrassed and alone.”
In the rearview mirror, I see Marion nod soulfully.
“Yes,” Miss Rosa says. “For example, once when I am fat, I join sex dungeon to be spanked for problems. I am ashamed, for example.” She lifts her hand straight above her head and flicks her wrist. “Please, we begin. Reasons. Marion?”
Marion clears his throat. “Well, thanks a bundle for sharing, Miss Rosa. I want to apologize for using my man voice earlier. Sometimes the yelling just explodes and I feel like a broken lawn mower.” His voice is friendly now, slow like syrup. He reaches behind him for his ponytail and puts the tip of it thoughtfully into his mouth. “I suppose I stand by that, though—what I said—Jennifer does bring a lot of it on herself. She nags and screeches. The lady is like a velociraptor.”
“But Marion.” Miss Rosa moves her hands in front of her as if packing a large snowball. “What is inside you for this? For example, there is no contract saying, ‘If you are like dinosaur I smack you.’”
Marion gnaws harder on his ponytail. “I guess the thing in me would be that hyena you’re always talking about.”
“Very good—next!” Miss Rosa nods at the lunch lady, who looks nervous.
“This is all confidential, right?” she asks, staring straight at me.
Miss Rosa makes an exasperated sound. “Mildred! Yes. To NVCG we only bring secrets and trust.”
“Okay.” Mildred sighs and flops back into her seat. “Most of the reason I buy antique dolls on eBay and blow them up in my yard is for reasons I can’t understand. All I know is it’s getting expensive. The shipping and handling and cost of dolls, that is. Not the explosives because those are homemade from ingredients at Walmart.”
Miss Rosa raises her eyebrows. “It is satisfaction you are wanting. You destroy into pieces for wholeness.”
Mildred looks like she’s going to cry. “I’m a monster.”
“Next!”
I reach for my pen. It seems like they all think someone or something else is triggering their outbursts. I guess the conclusion here, so far, is that whoever did this thing to Ruth thought they couldn’t help themselves, or that she deserved it, like that guy behind Davey said.
I guess it could have been another girl, like Libby, maybe—someone jealous of her. Someone who wanted Colt. But why would a girl have fiddled with her bra like Sheriff Staake pointed out?
Potential suspect types
1. Racist-ish
2. Can justify what they’ve done
3. Homicidal lesbian?
“Hi, I’m Jason,” says a guy with greasy black hair. “The two of you new kids can call me Big Jason. And my reason for violence—most of the time—is just to get my wife to look at me. That’s why I grab her by the hair. To position her head better.” He nods, satisfied, and rolls his T-shirt sleeves up higher over his muscles.
“Welcome home, Miss Rosa,” says Marion. We pass a large, wooden sign, painted black, with NEKOOSA in white block letters. Pretty soon there’s smog from smokestacks rolling across the sky. Friendship is known for good corn and good schools. Nekoosa’s known for less good corn, due to its primary industry: paper mills.
“I’m Luther,” says the last guy. “I brought an ax to the grocery store and attacked a watermelon display.”
“But why?” Miss Rosa asks, once again packing an invisible snowball.
Luther gives this some thought. “God told me to do it.”
“So Luther,” I say, tapping my list. “What are your hobbies, exactly?” I need more attributes for my list and “delusional” won’t cut it. Too vague.
“I am group leader!” Miss Rosa slaps the fake leather upholstery and wriggles angrily in her seat. “I ask questions!”
Davey and I jump.
“Yeah and how come she gets to take notes?” Mildred asks.
“I always write things down,” I blurt. “It’s, uh . . . so I can remember all the insightful stuff people said. And as for the question I asked—I’m sorry, it’s just maybe Davey has some of those hobbies and should cut them out so that he doesn’t end up ax murdering a bunch of fruit—no offense, Luther.”
Luther says, “None taken. It was the lord’s work.”
“I’m this close to axing the watermelons,” Davey says. He pinches together his thumb and what remains of his forefinger, and winks at me. I giggle despite myself.
“You guys seem pretty in love to be at NVCG,” Mildred says grumpily.
“What?” I blush so hard my ears pop. I try to catch Davey’s eye, but he’s gazing out the window.
“We’re here,” Marion barks.
I hear the clicking of the bus’s turn signal and look out the window. The smog in the air is hanging over a large cornfield, set back behind an empty parking lot. Next to the entrance is some kind of observation deck, and a large, red sign that says MAZE OF TERROR in green, dripping letters.
“Fantastic!” Miss Rosa says. She slides off her seat and glances at me. “No worries about the interruption, Banzai.
“But no more interruptions,” she adds quietly.
Marion cranks open the door and Miss Rosa turns and hops down the steps on her stumpy legs. I let everyone pass by me down the aisle and click my pen nervously, looking after them.
“You coming?” Davey asks.
“Hold on a second,” I say.
Potential suspect types
1. Racist-ish