Page 52 of I Will Ruin You

There was a second shot of the team, the Lodge High crest emblazoned on an overhead banner, so obviously it had been taken on home turf. This must also have been when the regular wrestling coach was still on leave, because he wasn’t there and another Lodge teacher was in his place.

Herb Willow.

I had no memory that he’d also filled in around that time. Getting Herb to coach any sports activity would be like asking a caveman to oversee a computer studies class.

Finally, I went through the 2015 book. That year, Finster had been present when the class photos were taken. He’d changed since then, which was no surprise. The Billy Finster I’d met was fuller in the face, thicker in the neck, and his hair was much shorter than it was back then, when a lot of it was hanging over the left side of his face. A decade could do that to a person, especially after their school athletic career was over. I wished I looked as good today as I had ten years ago, as I did in that shot of the wrestling tournament. A little less weight, and definitely more hair, although even then I didn’t have a lot.

I wasn’t sure if there was a point to this. Maybe I was hoping refreshing my memory of who Finster was when he attended Lodge would provide some further insight into who he was now. I’d struck out there, but that picture of Herb with the wrestling team was something that stuck with me.

Trent appeared in my doorway.

“Belinda says you came by.”

“Yeah, but I wasn’t looking for you.”

He held his spot.

“Something up?” I said.

“Just wondered how it was going, after our talk Saturday.”

“I don’t have any news. Just... figuring out what to do.” I told him, briefly, about Bonnie’s sister and how her injury had overtaken other events.

He shook his head sympathetically. “One thing after another.”

“Yeah.”

“And there might be one more.”

Christ, what now?

“I had a call from a Violet Kanin,” Trent said. “You’ve got Andrew in your class?”

I nodded.

“She, and a few other parents, it seems, are looking to have a meeting,” he said.

“About?”

Trent sighed. “What you’re teaching.”

My mind raced as I tried to guess what this might be about. It didn’t take long. “A literary tour through a post-apocalyptic world’s not Andrew’s idea of a good time.”

“Go figure,” Trent said, and left the room.

Slowly, I bent over and touched my forehead to my desk.

Kill me now.

Twenty-Three

“Nice shoes,” Gerhard said.

“You think?” Andrea said, looking down at the Converse runners on her feet. “I was afraid they might pinch, but they’re actually maybe a half size too big, but that just gives my toes room to wiggle.”

They were leaning up against Gerhard’s shiny black Audi, parked in a Home Depot lot, Andrea smoking a Marlboro, Gerhard with his hands in his pockets, looking up into the sun with his shades on. They were waiting to meet one of their local distributors. Once they’d picked up a shipment from Billy, they’d keep some to sell themselves, but also divvy it up among a dozen other area dealers.

“That was pretty dumb,” he said.