Chapter 34

The rhythms of his junior year established themselves by October and held through the year.

School in the morning. The Jeep to Keiko’s gate, then Sheila’s porch, then Katherine’s door. The drive had become its own small daily ceremony. Sheila in the front because she always called it, the other two in the back, the conversation running on yesterday’s dramas.

School required the maintenance level of his attention and left the rest for other things.

After school, the Jeep journey in reverse — Katherine, Sheila, Keiko, each deposited at their door. Then downtown. California Street. The fourteenth floor.

Work until eight or nine. Then his dinner that Maria kept warm for him.

The girls were doing their own thing. Exploring new experiences, which he watched with interest.

Katherine had run for junior class president in October. She did it with the organized efficiency that she applied to all her projects.

Her campaign had been the new version of herself, not merely relying on the social position she already held. That surprised some kids who expected her to go the popular girl’s route to a popularity contest. She’d had well-thought-out positions on things that mattered to kids. She won by fourteen points, which was larger than the margin anyone had predicted and way smaller than Quinn had.

He’d told her, the evening after the election: “Fourteen points.”

She looked at him across the lunch table. “You thought it would be more?”

“I thought it would be way more,” he said.

“Because?”

“Because you’re better at this than people know,” he said.

She’d been quiet for a moment. “The honor society is less interesting than the presidency,” she said. “But my father wanted me to do it. so it’s on my list. These days I don’t do things halfway.”

“I know,” Quinn said. “That’s one of your better qualities.”

She threw a napkin at him. “One of?”

“You have several.”

“Name them.”

“Nah, you already know them,” he said.

She looked at him for a moment and then laughed, “You are so annoying.”

Sheila’s second play was Antigone. She was the lead, not by accident. She’d spent two weeks researching the production history before auditions and had arrived with an idea about Antigone that she’d developed.

That pleased Ms. Favreau, the drama director, to no end. Encountering unexpected depth in a student she’d already assessed as talented was one of her deepest pleasures.

Sheila talked about it at lunch before her audition.

“Antigone dies for a principle,” Sheila said. “She knows she’s going to die and she does it anyway. Most people read it as tragedy.” She looked at her lunch. “I don’t think it’s tragedy.”

“What is it?” Katherine asked.

“It’s clarity,” Sheila said. “She’s the smartest person in the play. She knows exactly what she values, and she doesn’t compromise. The consequence is that she dies, but the clarity is not the tragedy. The tragedy is everyone else.”