All that Miss Price knew about the new transfer boy was that he had basically been a sort of orphan, that the gray-haired "aunt and uncle" with whom he now lived were actually foster parents, and that his living expenses were paid for by New York City Welfare. Department to pay.A less dedicated or imaginative teacher might ask for more details, but Miss Price felt that the rough generalization would suffice.In fact, from his first morning in fourth grade, it was enough to fill her with a sense of mission and love clearly in her eyes. He arrived early, sat in the last row—back straight, feet just crossed under the table, hands folded in the middle of the table, as if only symmetry could make him less conspicuous—other children followed Come in, sit down and settle down, everyone stared at him blankly for a long time.

"We had a new classmate this morning," said Miss Price, overemphasizing the obvious and making everyone want to laugh. "His name is Vincent Sabella and he's from New York City. I know all of us will do our best to make him feel at home." This time everyone immediately turned to stare at him, so he had to lower his head and shift his weight from one hip to the other.Usually, someone from New York might have some sort of prestige, because New York is an awesome place for most kids, a place for grown-ups.Every day the fathers were engulfed there, and they themselves were rarely able to go, and once in a while they would put on their best clothes, like a festival.But anyone who glanced at him knew that Vincent Sabella had nothing to do with skyscrapers in any way.Even if you could ignore his chicken coop hair and gray complexion, his clothes would give him away: the corduroy pants were ridiculously new and the espadrilles were ridiculously old, the yellow sweatshirt was too small, Only a few traces of the Mickey Mouse print on the chest remain.Apparently he's from somewhere in New York that you have to go through on the way to Grand Central Station on the train - where people hang their sheets on the window sills and hang out of the window all day bored, and you see the straight, dark streets , one after the other, all the same, crowded and jumbled sidewalks where gloomy boys were playing some kind of hopeless ball.

The girls decided he was being unfriendly and turned away; the boys were still watching carefully, looking him up and down with a faint smile on their faces.The boy was the kind of boy they would normally find "difficult," the kind of stare they'd once unnerved in an unfamiliar neighbourhood; now came a unique opportunity for revenge. "What would you like us to call you, Vincent?" Price asked. "I mean, do you think it's better to be called Vincent, or, or—what?" (This is a purely impractical question; Miss Price also knows that boys will call him "Sabella", girls They don't call anything at all.)

"Just call me Vinny," he replied in a strange, hoarse voice, obviously hoarse from shouting on the ugly streets of his hometown. "I'm afraid I didn't catch you," she said, thrusting her beautiful neck forward, a great lock of hair falling over one shoulder. "Did you mean 'Vince'?" "I'm talking about Vinny," he said again awkwardly. "Vincent? Well then, Vincent." Several people in the class "giggled" and laughed, but no one bothered to correct her: it might be more fun to keep it wrong. "I won't take the time to introduce everyone to you by name, Vincent," continued Miss Price, "because I think it's easier for you to remember them yourself in your dealings with all of us, yes. No? Well, we don't ask you to actually attend the class for the first day or two; take your time, take your time, and if you don't understand anything, just ask."

He muttered something indistinctly, and the smile on his face disappeared after a flash, just showing the green roots of his teeth. "Very well," said Miss Price, and the lesson began. "It's Monday morning, so 'report' is the first thing on the schedule. Who wants to be the first?" Vincent Sabella was temporarily forgotten, six or seven hands were raised, and Miss Price took a step back in feigned bewilderment. "My God, we had so many students wanting to 'debrief' today," she said. The idea of ​​"debriefing"—fifteen minutes each Monday morning to encourage the children to tell about their weekend experiences—was Miss Price's own idea, and no wonder she was so proud of it.The principal praised her at a recent faculty conference, noting that debriefing deserves credit for building a bridge between school and home and a great way for students to learn to stay calm and build confidence.It requires sensible supervision—to guide the shy ones to speak out, to curb the showy ones—but all in all, as Miss Price assured the principal, it will be fun for every student.She especially wanted today's presentation to be interesting and to put Vincent Sabella at ease, so she let Nancy Pike start: no one was as good at grabbing an audience as Nancy.

The rest of the class fell silent as Nancy stepped gracefully up to the podium, and even two or three of the girls who secretly hated her had to pretend to be fascinated when she began to speak (she was so popular).The boys in the class liked nothing more than screaming and shoving her into the mud during recess, and now they couldn't help but look at her and giggle. "Well—" Nancy began, and immediately put her hand over her mouth, and everyone laughed. "Oh, Nancy," said Miss Price. "You know the rule about starting reports with 'um'." Nancy knew the rules, she just broke them on purpose to make everyone laugh.When the laughter gradually died down, she stroked down the creases on both sides of the skirt with two slender index fingers, and started speaking in the correct way. "On Friday we all went for a drive in my brother's new car. Last week my brother bought a new one and he wanted to take us out for a walk -- you know, to try out the new car or something, so we went and there A restaurant for dinner, and then we all wanted to see the movie Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, but my brother said it was too scary or something, that I was too young to see it - oh, he made me mad! Then , let me think about it. I stayed home all day Saturday and helped my mother make my sister's wedding dress. You see, my sister is engaged and getting married, and my mother is making her wedding dress, so we did it. Then on Sunday, I One of my brother's friends came over for dinner, and they had to go back to college together that night, so I was allowed to stay up late and say goodbye to them and all. I think that's all." She always had a surefire instinct that made her performances Simplicity—or, rather, apparent simplicity.

"Very well, Nancy," said Miss Price, "now, next..." Next up was Warren Berger, still holding up his trousers carefully as he walked down the aisle. "I'm at Bill Stringer's for lunch on Saturday," he began, as Bill Stringer squirmed sheepishly in the front row.Warren Berger and Bill Stringer are very good, and their reports often overlap. "After lunch, we went to White Plains, riding bicycles. But we watched Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde." At this point, he nodded in the direction where Nancy was sitting, and Nan Sissy snorted jealously, earning another burst of laughter. "It's really nice," he went on, growing more excited, "meaning a guy..."

"A man," corrected Miss Price. "Say a man concocts some medicine, such as what he drinks, anyway, as long as he drinks this medicine, he becomes a real monster, for example, after you watch him drink this medicine, his hand And it starts to get scales all over his hands, like reptiles or something, and then you see his face start to look horrible--and the sharp teeth--sticking out of his mouth--" The girls were all shuddering with joy. "Well," said Miss Price, "I see how wise Nancy's brother is not to let her see the picture. Warren, what did you do after seeing the picture?"

There was a disappointed "Ooh!" from the class - everyone wanted to hear more Scales and Fangs - but Miss Price didn't want the debriefing to be reduced to a movie brief.Warren went on, but without much enthusiasm: After the movie, they played in the Stringer's backyard until dinner. "And then Sunday," he said, beaming again, "Bill Stringer came to my house and my dad helped us tie the tires to a tree with a long rope. There was a steep hill behind our house, and you Knowing it’s like a deep ditch, we hoisted the tire so you just grab the tire, trot for a while, put your feet up on the tire, and you can swing out a long way, over the ditch, and back again.”

"That sounds like fun," said Miss Price, glancing at her watch. "Oh, yes, it was great fun," Warren admitted.But then he pulled up his trousers again, frowned, and added, "Of course, it's extremely dangerous. If you don't hold on to a tire or something, you'll fall off. Hit a rock or something, and you might break your leg, or spine. But my dad said he trusted us to watch out for our own safety." "Well, I think we'll have time to try sometime, Warren," said Miss Price. "Now, there's still time for one to speak. Who's ready? Arthur Cross?"

There was a small sigh from below, for Arthur Cross was the biggest idiot in the class and his reports were always dull.This time it was a boring report about a visit to his uncle's house in Long Island.At one point he slipped his tongue--he said "motorboat" instead of "motorboat"--and the class roared with laughter, the kind of vitriol they reserved for Arthur Cross.But when the rough and hoarse laughter sounded from the back of the classroom, the laughter of the whole class stopped abruptly.Vincent Sabella laughed too, showing his green teeth, and everyone stared at him until he stopped laughing. After the report, everyone calmed down and prepared for class.Recess came when everyone thought of Vincent Sabella again, and they thought of him only to make sure he was excluded from everything.He was not among the boys who crowded around the horizontal bar and took turns turning the horizontal bar, and he was not among the group of boys whispering in the far corner of the playground, plotting to push Nancy into the mud.He was also absent from a much larger group of students, even Arthur Cross, and they chased each other in a big circle, which was a crazy variation of the .Of course, he couldn't join the girls' group or the boys from other classes, so he had to stay alone on the edge of the playground near the teaching building.When he just took a break, he pretended to tie his running shoes, squatted down to untie the shoelaces, and then tightened them again; stood up, tried to run a few steps and jumped a few times like an athlete; then squatted down again, and was busy tying the shoelaces again.After five minutes of working on the laces, he gave up.Instead, he grabbed a handful of stones and began flinging them rapidly at an unseen target a few yards away.Another five minutes passed, but with five minutes left, he couldn't think of anything else to do but stand there with his hands first in his pockets, then out on his hipbones, and then act like a man. Cross your arms across your chest. Miss Price had been standing at the door watching, and wondered all through the break if she should go out and do something.She thought it was better not to go out. The next day, and the rest of the week, she resisted the same urge at recess, though it got a little harder each day.But one thing she couldn't control was when she started showing anxiety in class.She publicly forgives Vincent Sabella for all his homework mistakes, even those that have nothing to do with his being a new student.Also, as long as he has some achievements, they are all singled out and specially mentioned for praise.It was too obvious that she had gone to great lengths to enhance his image, especially when she was trying to be subtle.For example, once, explaining an arithmetic problem, she said: "Well, suppose Warren, Berger, and Vincent Sabella each go to the store with fifteen cents, and the candy costs ten a piece. They each How much can I get?" By the end of the week, he was almost the victim of the worst kind of teacher pet, teacher sympathy. On Friday, Miss Price decided it would be best to talk to him in private, and tried to get him to talk.She could talk about the pictures he made in art class—that was an opportunity, and she decided to talk to him at lunch. The only trouble was that since lunch was followed by a lunch break, this time was the most uncomfortable time of Vincent Sabella's day.Instead of going home for the hour like other students, he brought his lunch to school in a crumpled paper bag and sat in the classroom to eat it.Eating like this is always a bit embarrassing, and the students who leave last will see him sitting on his seat with a paper bag in his hand, apologetic on his face.If a student happened to be straggling back to pick up a hat or sweatshirt left in the classroom, he would suddenly come across him eating his lunch—perhaps trying to hide an overcooked egg or sneaking a hand at the corner of his mouth to wipe mayonnaise.Miss Price walked up to him when the room was still half full and sat down at the desk next to him.It made it clear that she had cut her lunch in half in order to be with him, but that she had done nothing to improve the situation. "Vincent," she began, "I've been meaning to tell you how much I love these pictures of yours. They're beautiful." He muttered something, and turned his eyes to a group of classmates who were about to leave at the door.She went on, smiling, praising his drawings, so detailed and careful.He didn't pay attention to her until the classroom door finally closed behind the last student. At first he was a little hesitant, but as she talked more and more, he began to relax.In the end she felt that she had put him at ease, as easy and pleasurable as petting a cat.After she finished talking about the painting, she continued happily, expanding the scope of her praise. "Coming into a new place," she said, "it's not easy adjusting yourself to a new course of study, a new way of learning. I think you've done a very good job so far. I really do. But tell me, Do you think you'll like it here?" He looked at the floor just in time to answer the question: "It's okay." Then he looked straight into her eyes. "I'm very happy. Vincent, please don't let me interfere with your lunch. That is, if you don't mind me sitting with you, please go ahead." But Vincent obviously didn't care, and he put red The sausage sandwich opened.She figured this must be his best appetite of the week.Even if there are classmates coming in at this time, it doesn't matter if they see it, but it's better if no one comes. Miss Price moved back on the desk, looking very comfortable.Her legs were crossed, and one slender, stockinged foot was half protruding from the moccasin. "Of course," she went on, "it always takes time to find your place in a new school. First, well, it's never easy for a new student in a class to make friends with other students. I mean, If other people are a little rude to you at first, don't mind too much. In fact, they are as eager to make friends as you are, but they are embarrassed. It will take a lot of time and effort from you, and them. Of course , not too much, just a little. For example, our Monday morning debriefing—is a good way to get to know each other. Not that everyone has to debrief, but he can if he wants to. Then Just one way to let someone know who you are, and there are many, many ways. It's important to remember that making friends is the most natural thing in the world, you can make all you want Friends, it's only a matter of time. Meanwhile, Vincent, I hope you consider me a friend, and if you need advice or anything, feel free to ask me. Will you?" He nodded and gulped down the sandwich. "Okay." She stood up and smoothed the skirt on her slender thighs. "I have to go now, or I won't have time for lunch. This chat made me very happy, Vincent, and I hope we can do it again in the future." chat." She stood up, probably lucky in doing so, because if she had been at her desk one minute longer, Vincent Sabella would have wrapped her arms around her and buried his face in the warm gray flannel of her lap That's enough to confuse even the most dedicated and imaginative teacher. No one was more amazed than Miss Price when Vincent Sabella raised her dirty hand at Monday's debrief as one of the first and most motivated students.She was a little worried and wanted the others to speak first, but she was afraid of hurting his feelings, so she said in as normal a voice as possible: "Very well, Vincent." There was a snicker in the classroom as he stepped up to the podium and faced the audience.He looked confident, if anything, overly confident: there was panic in the slanted shoulders, in the twinkle in the eyes. "Saturday I go to the movies," he announced. "Saw the movie, Vincent," Miss Price corrected him gently. "That's what I mean," he said, "I axed that movie. The Doctor and Mr. Hyde." The whole class burst into laughter and corrected in unison: "Dr. Jekyll!" It was so loud that he couldn't go on.Miss Price stood up, angry. "It was a natural mistake!" she said. "There is no reason for any of you to be so rude. Go on, Vincent, and please forgive this very stupid interruption." The laughter died down, but the students continued. Shaking his head and laughing at him.Of course, this is not a natural error at all: first, it shows that he is hopelessly stupid; second, it shows that he is lying. "That's what I meant," he went on, "Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. I kind of got it mixed up. Anyway, I saw how his teeth came out of his mouth, and I watched them all, I thought it was pretty. My mom and dad came to see me on Sunday in the car they bought. It was a Buick. My dad said, 'Vinny, do you want to drive around?' I said, 'Sure, you're going to Where to?' He said, 'Go where you want to go.' Then I said, 'Let's go out, into the country, where there's a lot of roads, on one of those wide roads, and play for a while.' So we went out— — oh, fifty or sixty miles, I guess — and we were driving leisurely on the highway when this cop followed us. My dad said, 'Don't worry, we'll get rid of him.' He hit the gas, get it? My mom was terrified, but my dad said, 'Don't worry, honey.' He wanted to make a turn, get it? Get off the freeway, get off the cops. But as he was turning, The police opened fire, started shooting, understand?" By this time, the few students in the class who could keep looking at him had their heads tilted to one side, their mouths slightly opened, the kind of expression you get when you see a broken arm or a circus monster. "We almost made it," Vincent went on, eyes sparkling, "a bullet hit my dad in the shoulder. He didn't hurt too badly—just a scratch. My mom gave him Bandaged, but he can't drive anymore, we have to take him to the doctor, see? So my dad said, 'Vinny, do you think you can drive?' I said, 'Of course, if you tell me how to drive ’ So he told me how to hit the gas, where the brakes were, all the driving stuff, and I drove to the doctor’s. My mom said, ‘Vinny, I’m so proud of you, you drove this all by yourself.’ So whatever Well, we got to the doctor, healed my dad, and he drove us home." He was out of breath, and after an uncertain pause, he said, "That's it." After speaking, he walked quickly back to his seat, his new stiff corduroy pants rustling with each step. "Well, that's very—interesting, Vincent," said Miss Price, trying to pretend nothing had happened. "Now, who's next?" But no hands were raised. For Vincent, that day's recess was worse than usual, at least until he discovered a hiding place—a narrow concrete alley between two school buildings, connected only by The other end of the closed fire exits is blocked, which is very hidden.It was bleak there—he could lean his back against the wall and stare at the exit, the noise of recess as distant as the sun.But the bell rang and he had to go back to the classroom, and in an hour it was lunch time. Miss Price ignored him and finished her lunch first.Then she stood by the door of the classroom, holding the doorknob with one hand, and stood there for a full minute before plucking up the courage to come in, sit beside him, and have another heart-to-heart talk while he was about to swallow his last mouthful. Bell Pepper Sandwiches. "Vincent," she began, "we all enjoyed your report this morning, but I think if you told your real life—we'd like it a little more, a lot more. I mean," she said. Speech speeded up, "For example, I found out that you were wearing a new trench coat this morning. It's new, right? Your aunt bought it for you this weekend, right?" He didn't deny it. "Well, why can't you tell us about your trip to the store with your aunt to buy a trench coat, and some of the things you did afterward. That would be a great debrief." She paused, staring firmly for the first time. looking into his eyes, "You know what I'm talking about, don't you, Vincent?" He wiped the crumbs from his lips, looked at the floor, and nodded. "You'll remember next time, right?" He nodded again. "May I step away, Miss Price?" "Of course you can." He went to the men's room and threw up.After washing my face and drinking some water, I went back to the classroom.Miss Price was busy sitting on the podium now, not looking up at him.In order to avoid messing with her again, he wandered into the cloakroom, sat on a bench, picked up someone's thrown overshoes, and rummaged in his hands.Not long after, he heard the classmates who came back make tinkling noises.Not wanting to be spotted here, he stood up and walked to the fire door.Pushing open the door, he found that it just led to the alley where he hid in the morning, so he slipped out.He stood in the alley for a minute or two, looking at the narrow concrete walls.Then he found that he had a piece of chalk in his pocket, and with it he wrote on the wall every swear word he could think of, in print, a foot high.He finished writing four words, and when he was thinking about the fifth word, he heard the door behind him being pushed open.Arthur Cross was at the door, the door was open, and he read the words with wide eyes. "Man," he murmured terrified, "man, you'll be fine. Really, you'll be fine." Vincent Sabella was startled, then calmed down, and put the With the chalk hidden in the palm of his hand, two thumbs hooked on the belt, he turned and looked at Arthur menacingly. "Really?" he asked. "Is someone going to report on me?" "Well, no one's going to denounce you," said Arthur Cross uneasily, "but you shouldn't be writing..." "Okay," said Vincent, taking a step forward.His shoulders slumped, his head thrust forward, his eyes narrowed into a line, it looked like. "Okay. That's all I want to know. I don't like snitches, understand?" As he was saying this, Warren Berger and Bill Stringer appeared at the door—just in time to hear Vincent and see the writing on the wall before Vincent turned to face them. "You too, understand?" he said, "You two." Surprisingly, they both had foolishly defensive smiles, just like Arthur's.It wasn't until they glanced at each other that they met his gaze with just the right amount of contempt, but it was too late. "You think you're smart, don't you, Sabella?" Bill Stringer said. "It's none of your business what I think," Vincent told him. "You heard me. Now let's go in." There was nothing they could do but stand aside to let him pass, and follow him into the cloakroom without a word. The whistleblower was Nancy Peck--of course, to someone like Nancy Peck, people would not think it was a snitch.She overheard their conversation in the cloakroom, and stole a peek into the alley as soon as the boys came in.Seeing the writing on the wall, with a serious face, frowning, he went straight to Miss Price.Miss Price was about to tell the class to be quiet for the afternoon when Nancy stepped forward and whispered something in her ear.They disappeared into the cloakroom—from which, a moment later, the sound of the fire door being slammed shut—and when they returned to the classroom, Nancy was flushed with justice and Miss Price was as pale as ever. Ashes.She didn't say anything, and went to class as usual all afternoon.Although Miss Price was visibly unhappy, she did not bring the matter up until school was dismissed at three o'clock. "Vincent Sabella, would you please stay?" She nodded to the other students. "that's it." After everyone in the classroom was gone, she sat on the podium, closed her eyes, and stroked the fragile bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger.She once read a book about children with severe mental illness.At this time, she was sorting out some fragments in her mind that she could not remember clearly.Perhaps, after all, Vincent Sabella was alone for which she had no responsibility at all.Maybe the whole thing needs to be handled by an expert.She took a deep breath. "Vincent, come here and sit next to me," she said, and when he sat down she looked at him. "I want you to tell me the truth. Did you write those words on the outside wall?" He stared at the floor. "Look at me," she said, and he looked at her.She has never been so beautiful: her cheeks are slightly flushed, her eyes are shining, and her sweet mouth is consciously drawn down. "First," she said, handing him a small enamel basin lined with advertising paint, "I want you to take this to the men's room and fill it with hot soapy water." He did as she said, and when he came, he held the basin carefully, for fear of spilling the soapy water, and she picked out a few rags from the drawer under the podium table.She picked a piece, said "here," and closed the drawer solemnly. "To do this, soak the rag first." She led him to the fire exit at the back, stood in the alley and watched, and she didn't say anything as he erased the words. When the work was done, and the rags and enamel basins put away, they sat down again at Miss Price's desk. "Vincent, I think you thought I was going to be mad at you," she said. "Well, I'm not. I wish I was—that would be so much easier. Instead, I'm sad. I try to Wanting to be your friend, I thought you wanted to be my friend too. But this kind of thing—well, it's hard to befriend someone who does it." She was relieved to see tears in his eyes. "Vincent, maybe there are some things I know more than you think; maybe I understand that sometimes a person doesn't really want to hurt anyone when he does that, but because he's unhappy. He knows it's not good , and he knew that he wouldn't be happier after doing it, but he still insisted on doing it anyway. Then he found out that he lost his friend, and he was very sad, but it was too late. Things have been done gone." She let the somber tone echo in the silent classroom before she said, "I can't forget about it, Vincent. But maybe just this once, we'll still be friends—as long as I know you're not trying to hurt Me. But you have to promise me that you won't forget it either. When you want to do something like this, never forget that you're hurting someone who wants to like you so much, and you're hurting yourself. Can you Promise me to remember this, dear?" The word "dear" was as inadvertently as if her slender hand was stretched out casually and rested on his shoulder in the sweatshirt.The word, the movement made his head drop even lower. "Okay," she said, "you can go." He took the trench coat from the cloakroom and walked away, avoiding her tired and hesitant eyes.The aisle was empty, and there was silence save for the hollow, rhythmic tapping of the doorman's broom against the wall somewhere in the distance.The sound of the soles of his rubber shoes as he walked, the monotonous screeching of his windbreaker, the faint, dull sigh of the heavy front door deepened the stillness.The silence made his next discovery all the more startling, and after walking a few yards down the concrete sidewalk, he found walking beside him two boys: Warren Berger and Bill Stringer.They smiled at him ingratiatingly, almost friendly. "What the hell did she do to you?" Bill Stringer asked. Vincent was so caught off guard that he barely had time to put on the Edward G. Robinson mask. "What's your business?" he said, walking a little faster. "No, listen—wait, hey," said Warren Berger, as they trotted after him, "but what did she do to you? Did she give you a bad name or something? Wait, hey , Vinny." The name made him tremble all over.He had no choice but to put his hands tightly in the windbreaker pockets and force himself to continue walking.When speaking, he tried to calm his voice, "I said, it's none of your business, don't follow me." But they followed him step by step. "Dude, she must have punished you for your homework," Warren Berger persisted. "Anyway, what did she say? Go ahead, tell us, Vinny." This time, the name really made him unbearable.It made him lose his resistance, his knees went limp, and his steps slowed down to an easy, chatty walk. "She didn't say anything," he said finally, adding after a dramatic pause, "she let her ruler do the talking for her." "Ruler? You mean she moved it on you?" "They were terrified, neither believing it was true nor admiring it, and the more they listened, the more they admired it. "Knuckles," Vincent said, biting his lip. "Five strokes on each hand. She said, 'Make a fist and put it on the table.' Then she took out the ruler and pop! pop! pop...five. If you don't think it hurts, you must be crazy .” Miss Price could hardly believe her eyes as she gently closed the front door behind her and began buttoning her coat.It couldn't be Vincent Sabella—the perfectly normal, very happy boy walking the sidewalk ahead, surrounded by two attentive friends.But this was him, and the sight made her want to laugh out loud with joy and relief.Anyway, he'll be fine.She had never expected such a scene when she was groping in the shadows with good intentions, and it certainly didn't make it happen.But it happened, and it just reaffirmed that she could never figure out how children behaved. She quickened her pace, passed them gracefully, and turned to smile at them. "Good night, children," she called, trying to make the words a happy blessing.However, seeing the embarrassment on their three stunned faces, she smiled more enthusiastically, "God, it's getting colder, isn't it? Vincent, your windbreaker is so beautiful and warm, I I envy you." Finally, they nodded shyly at her.She said good night again, turned and continued on towards the station. She left, leaving a meaningful silence behind her.Warren Berger and Bill Stringer stared at her until she disappeared around the corner before turning to Vincent Sabella. "Ruler, bullshit!" Bill Stringer said, "Ruler, bullshit!" He pushed Vincent in disgust, and Vincent bumped into Warren Berger, who again Push him back. "My God, everything you say is false, don't you, Sabella? Everything you say is false!" Vincent stumbled and lost his balance, his hands clenched in his pockets, trying in vain to preserve his dignity. "You think I care if you believe it or not?" he said, and then, having nothing else to say, he said it again, "You think I care if you believe it or not?" He walked on alone.Warren Berger and Bill Stringer were on the opposite sidewalk, walking backwards, looking at him contemptuously. "It's like lying when you say the police shot your dad," Bill Stringer yelled. "Even going to the movies is a lie," Warren Berger interjected, then broke into another smirk, bent over, put his hands to his mouth, and yelled, "Hey, Dr. Jack-o'-Lantern! " This nickname is not very good, but it sounds very authentic-this kind of name can spread quickly, be remembered quickly, and keep calling it.They pushed and fucked, and went on shouting together: "What's going on, Dr. Jack-O-Lantern?" "Why don't you run home with Miss Price, Dr. Jack-O-Lantern?" "Goodbye, Dr. Jack-O-Lantern!" Vincent Sabella walked on, ignoring them, and when they were out of sight, he turned back and went back to the school the same way, around the playground, back into the alley, where the wall he had just used抹布擦过的那个地方还是湿的。 他挑了块干地方，掏出粉笔，开始非常仔细地画一个人头，是侧面的，长而浓密的头发，他花了好长时间来画这张脸，用湿手指擦了重画，直到画出他所画过的最漂亮的脸：精致的鼻子、微微张开的嘴唇、长睫毛的眼睛，线条优美像小鸟的翅膀。他停下来，以恋人般庄重的神情欣赏它。然后，他在嘴唇边画了个大大的对话气球框，在气球框里，他写下中午写过的每一个字，他如此愤怒，粉笔都折断在手里。再回到头部，他画下纤细的脖子、柔和的削肩，接着，他用很粗的线条，画了个裸体的女人：大大的乳房，硬而小的乳头，线条简洁的腰部，中间一点是肚脐，宽宽的臀部、大腿，中间是三角地带，狂乱地画了阴毛。在画的下面，他写上标题：“普赖斯小姐”。 他站在那里，喘着粗气，看了一会儿，回家了。

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Notes: