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Whirlwind

David Klass
Chapters (95)
  1. Title Page
  2. 1
  3. 2
  4. 3
  5. 4
  6. 5
  7. 6
  8. 7
  9. 8
  10. 9
  11. 10
  12. 11
  13. 12
  14. 13
  15. 14
  16. 15
  17. 16
  18. 17
  19. 18
  20. 19
  21. 20
  22. 21
  23. 22
  24. 23
  25. 24
  26. 25
  27. 26
  28. 27
  29. 28
  30. 29
  31. 30
  32. 31
  33. 32
  34. 33
  35. 34
  36. 35
  37. 36
  38. 37
  39. 38
  40. 39
  41. 40
  42. 41
  43. 42
  44. 43
  45. 44
  46. 45
  47. 46
  48. 47
  49. 48
  50. 49
  51. 50
  52. 51
  53. 52
  54. 53
  55. 54
  56. 55
  57. 56
  58. 57
  59. 58
  60. 59
  61. 60
  62. 61
  63. 62
  64. 63
  65. 64
  66. 65
  67. 66
  68. 67
  69. 68
  70. 69
  71. 70
  72. 71
  73. 72
  74. 73
  75. 74
  76. 75
  77. 76
  78. 77
  79. 78
  80. 79
  81. 80
  82. 81
  83. 82
  84. 83
  85. 84
  86. 85
  87. 86
  88. 87
  89. 88
  90. 89
  91. 90
  92. 91
  93. 92
  94. Also by DAVID KLASS
  95. Copyright Page

Title Page

For Madeleine

1

1

April Fool’s Day in Hadley-by-Hudson. Spring chill cutting sharp as a blade. Dusk descending. Musty smell of nearby river clotting my throat. Had enough sentence fragments? My English teacher said they were a weakness of mine. But that was nearly six months ago, when I was a senior at Hadley High School, leading a normal life. My biggest concerns then were chicks, flicks, and fast cars, roughly in that order.

Nothing normal about me now.

Parents gone. Friends lost. Old life vanished. Sense of security evaporated. Belief in the sanity of day-to-day existence drowned in the deep Atlantic.

But I still like sentence fragments. They generate pace. You want pace? Stick around.

Main street of Hadley. Six in the evening. People I know, or at least used to know, climbing in and out of cars. Buying groceries in the co-op. Picking up dry cleaning. Heading home to eat dinner with their families.

They pass me. Rub shoulders. None of them give me a second look. Don’t you remember me? Jack Danielson? Straw-colored hair, piercing blue eyes, and above-average brain power, except when I do something really stupid. Once gained three hundred and forty yards in a school football game.

No, they don’t remember.

Can’t blame them. So much has changed.

Swore I’d never come back here. Too many memories. There’s the Rec Center where I played hoops. The liquor store where we used to get Dan’s older brother to buy us six-packs. The ice cream shop where P.J. and I would split double-chocolate cones with sprinkles.

P.J. Her house is three blocks from here. Do I dare? Yes, that’s why I’m here. I tried my best to run away from this moment. Tried to pretend I could make a new life. Realize there’s no explanation I can give that will satisfy her. She’ll be furious at me for disappearing. Maybe we can never repair it. Never regain what we had.

Trust gone. Foundation of relationship caved in.

Doesn’t matter. Have to try. Because I still love her. That’s why I came back. Pure selfishness. Clinging to last possession. My love for P.J. is all I’ve got left.

Pass Mrs. Hayes. My third-grade teacher. Her eyes flick over me. And then away.

Not completely her fault she didn’t recognize me. I’ve taken a few precautions. Wearing a cap, tilted low. Dark scarf, wound high. Grown a scraggly mustache, my first. Hair hasn’t been cut in three months. It falls to my shoulders in straw-colored mop.

But I can’t hide my eyes. Supposedly the windows to the soul. That’s what Mrs. Hayes didn’t recognize as she walked by me holding a sack with toilet paper and cat food peeking out the top.