They wait, crouched and panting. Marya’s breath comes in desperate gasps, her head is ringing, swaying. If it wasn’t for someone holding her up she’d fall forward into the weeds. And the mosquitoes, the mosquitoes . . . she feels them biting at a distance . . . at a great distance . . . but can’t stop them. Dear God one side of her face is swollen, how will she look tomorrow morning . . . ?

There’s nobody there, Bob Bannerman says angrily.

The stand of pine is perfectly silent except for the wind, and the raindrops falling heavily.

What time is it, someone asks, the park closes at twelve.

The hell it does! This is a free country!

This is a fucking free country!

What happened to the police? Kyle asks wonderingly. You think it was a helicopter or something?

I didn’t see any lights.

They were right there, I saw them.

Well—are we going or not? Is there any beer left?

A flying saucer, maybe it was a flying saucer: Kyle’s such an asshole he wouldn’t know a flying saucer if he saw one!

There wasn’t anything there, you cocksucker.

Them lights—them red lights that go around—

You saw them, Marya, didn’t you?

Marya shakes her head to get it clear. But she isn’t quick enough, she can’t manage to speak.

Marya wants to go home, one of the boys says.

Marya’s sick, she smells like puke.

Has to get up early, don’t you?

Going to Port Oriskany, huh? To college?

Got a scholarship!

I-got-a-scholarship!

Ain’t-I-hot-shit!

Hey Marya where’re you going—

Marya is running across the empty parking lot, whimpering. One of the straps of her red dress has broken, she doesn’t remember when.

Marya nobody’s going to hurt you—

Hey Marya, one of the boys laughed, there’s nothing down that way.

She’s looking for Emmett! big-deal hot-shit Schroeder!

Schroeder and his fancy Buick prick!

Lester Hughey, or is it Kyle Roemischer—or the boy from Mt. Horne—jumps whooping upon her. Bob Bannerman—she knows it is Bob, she can smell him—comes running up, panting, his shirt flapping open, his chest gleaming pale behind curly kinky black hairs. He’s rubbing his hands together in imitation of the principal on assembly days. Well now what have we here, let’s just see what we have here, boys and girls quiet down let’s just see—

Marya fights them but she doesn’t scream.

She doesn’t scream, she knows enough not to waste her breath; not to tire herself out. On the basketball court, playing girls’ softball—keep your mouth shut, don’t breathe through your mouth—