The Neon Jungle by John D. MacDonald Read Free Book Online Page B

and…” He stopped and stared at his secretary. “Teena Varaki? There must be a mistake.”
    “From the girl’s attitude I hardly think so.”
    “Get me her record first. She’s due to graduate in a few weeks.”
    The secretary sighed and plodded out. Mr. Wentle sat and remembered what he knew of Teena. Bright, capable, friendly. A good worker. Active in extracurricular activities. A rather sturdy, merry-eyed blonde, well liked by classmates and teachers.
    The record brought to him was, surprisingly, up to date. The monthly grades had been posted. March had been her last good month. The grades for April and May were close to failing. He put the record aside. “Send her in. Tell Miss Forrest to return to study hall. It will be a shambles down there.”
    Teena came in. He saw at once that the look of sturdiness was gone. She was much thinner. Her face looked shallow. She sat facing him, without invitation, and her stare was bright and hostile.
    “This doesn’t sound like you, Teena.”
    “Doesn’t it?”
    The tone of her voice angered him. He waited until his temper was under control. “Suppose you tell me what happened.”
    “I was reading a book. Forrest came along. It’s none of her business what I do as long as I keep quiet. She took hold of my hair. So I stood up and slapped her.”
    “You mean she just came along and took hold of your hair?”
    “I knew she was standing there. She told me to put the book away. I didn’t answer her. It’s none of her business what I’m reading so long as I keep quiet. She took my hair to make me look at her. So I slapped her and she brought me here. I’ll do it again the same way if she tries it again.”
    “This isn’t like you, Teena.”
    “You said that once.”
    “I looked at your record. You were doing splendidly. What happened to you in March?”
    “My brother died.”
    “I’m sorry. I didn’t know that. This is a big school. It’s hard to keep track of—”
    “Don’t sweat.”
    “What did you say?”
    “I said don’t sweat yourself up about it. March was a long time ago. He got killed in Korea. That’s got nothing to do with this.”
    “With how your attitude has changed?”
    “My attitude is all right. I like it fine.”
    “Others might not be as fond of it as you are.”
    “My attitude is my business. You want to expel me or send me back to study hall? Either way suits me. It doesn’t matter.”
    “You don’t care if you don’t graduate?”
    “Not particularly. I’ll be eighteen this summer. I’m done with school.”
    “If you get your grades up during exams, I’m almost certain I can get you a university scholarship.”
    “Do I go home or go back to study hall?”
    He looked into the hostile blue eyes and felt a sense of defeat. Sometimes you thought you had them, and then suddenly they were lost. There seemed to be more and more of them these last few years. Full of a new sullen hostility. Full of disrespect. He felt the weariness of his years and his position. In the dream he had planned to be a full professor by now, a departmental head at a college with a wide green campus, Gothic stone, chimes at sunset.
    That was the dream. The reality was this ugly brick school, the hostile eyes, the evil, the obscenities. The reality was this girl who sat insolently slumped, insolently staring.
    “Teena, if something is bothering you, I wish you’d tell me.”
    “Something is bothering me.”
    “What?”
    “How the story comes out. The one I was reading when Forrest yanked on my hair.”
    “You come from a decent family, Teena.”
    “You want somebody should play soft on violins about now?”
    “Go back to your study hall.”
    She got up and looked at him for a moment without expression, then turned and left his office, swinging her thin hips in the plaid skirt.
    She got to the study hall just as the bell rang for the end of the period. Miss Forrest gave her a look of unadulterated hate. Teena looked back with the flat indifference