The Seal of Solomon (Alfred Kropp 2)

“There aren’t any knights anymore,” I said. “Well, except certain guys in England, like Paul McCartney; I think he’s a knight. But that’s more an honorary title.”

Suddenly, the left side of my face felt warm while the right side, the side unlooked at by Ashley, felt cool—cold even. It was weird.

I told her where the Tuttles lived, and she pulled next to the curb to let me out. We sat there a minute, looking at the house slouched there behind the weed-choked lawn and overgrown shrubbery.

“This is where you live?” she asked.

“No,” I said. “Just where I exist.”

I got out of the car. “Thanks for the ride.”

“No problem. See you around.”

“Sure. See you.”

I watched her little yellow Miada rip down Broadway.

Then I went inside and found some ice for my head.

6

Over the next couple of weeks, I saw Ashley, the tall, tan, blue-eyed senior, all over campus. One day I looked up and there she was, sitting across from me at lunch. She smiled and I smiled back, but I was a little disturbed, for some reason.

“Hey, Alfred,” she said. “How’s it goin’?”

I glanced around. “You sure you want to be seen with me?”

“Why not?”

“It could have an adverse effect on your social life.”

She laughed and flipped her hair. Maybe I’m wrong, but blond girls seem to flip their hair more than brunettes or redheads. “I’ll risk it.”

“I know what it’s like,” I said, “being the new kid. Only when I came last year I wasn’t a senior, I didn’t drive a hot car, and obviously, I wasn’t much to look at.”

“Why do you put yourself down all the time?”

“I don’t put myself there. I just recognize that I am there.”

I noticed she was hardly touching her lunch. When she did take a bite, she balanced the food on the very end of her fork.

“I guess you’ve heard the rumors by now,” I said. “That I’m a terrorist or CIA agent, or the one about me being crazy.”

She shook her head. “The only thing I heard was that your uncle was murdered last spring.”

“He was.”

“I’m so sorry, Alfred,” she said, and sounded like she meant it too. Then she changed the subject.

It wasn’t until sixth period, right before the final bell rang, that something odd about that whole encounter struck me: the lunch period for seniors was thirty minutes after mine.

That afternoon I saw Ashley on the way to my bus.

“Hey, Alfred,” she said.

“Hi, Ashley,” I said.

“Where you goin’?”