Chapter 4

Marigold woke several times during the night, trying to snatch at the remnants of a dream already half-forgotten. It seemed like every time she closed her eyes, she dreamed that she was being made love to--sometimes by Thule, sometimes by Elliot, sometimes by a man whose face she couldn't see. And sometimes... well, they were just dreams, not to be dwelled on.

She woke for the last time wrapped up in sheets soaked with sweat. Even so, she lay there for a few minutes gathering her thoughts. In the bathroom, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her breathing was ragged, her skin flushed. She was, she realized, fully aroused.

Placing both hands on the cool porcelain of the sink, she stared at herself intently, as if expecting to see some obvious physical change. She felt her shoulders trembling. Then, she was crying. Not wanting to alert her parents, she tried to stifle the sobs until they came out as little mewling noises. Some detached part of her mind noticed how much they sounded like her pleasure noises. Inside of her, some small dam of resistance burst. She laughed at the absurdity of it all.

Stepping into the shower, she tried to collect her thoughts as they caromed off of each other in her head. She found it nearly impossible to concentrate. Every time she closed her eyes, she started to think about what Thule had done to her the night before, what he had promised to do to her this weekend.

Giving up any pretense of a fight, she ripped the shower head clear of its holder. With fingers and water pressure, she brought herself off quickly, glad to see that she hadn't lost the old touch. Then, she brought herself off again, just for good measure. She hadn't masturbated so unabashedly in years.

Of course, that didn't leave much time for quiet contemplation. She stepped out of the shower and dried off quickly. As she was dressing for school, a realization came to her. She had figured out a way to get everything she wanted out of life.

Elliot was a cold fish, but a good Christian boy that Jonas would approve of her marrying. Thule made her feel so good it was like a drug, but he was, to put it gently, the devil incarnate. Marigold sensed that there was some truth behind Thule's accusation of Elliot's latent homosexuality. She'd often suspected it herself. Even if he were straight, he was bound and determined to be hopeless as a lover.

If there was no hope of turning Elliot into a lothario, all she needed to do what get Thule to come back to church. After all, wasn't it written that even Lucifer himself could have forgiveness if he would just ask for it? And she'd seen the power she could exert over Thule last night. Her plan was flawless.

She must have had an extra spring in her step when she came down to breakfast. Her mother Holly noticed it almost immediate, "Looking forward to being fitted for your prom dress today?"

Marigold had completely forgotten, but nodded her head. "I sure am. But, I think that the ideas we talked about are all completely wrong."

Holly sighed, "Marigold, sweetie. We've been over this. I don't think we can do any more about your chest than we talked about. You're just going to have to accept..."

Marigold waved her off, "No, mother. I was thinking about going in an entirely different direction. Do you remember that dress you were fingering at Nordstrom?"

Holly's brow creased, "The one you said would make some streetwalker very happy?"

"Yeah," said Marigold, starting to peel an orange, "the silver one. How do you think that design would look in gold?"

"I..." Holly was clearly at a loss for words. Before she could form another word, Jonas came into the kitchen dressed for work. As if welcoming Marigold into some secret conspiracy, Holly closed her mouth, put on a mask of normalcy, and said, "Good morning, Jonas. Coffee should be ready."

Marigold didn't get another chance that morning to talk to her mother about her dress. It was probably just as well. What she had in mind probably wouldn't shock Holly, but she was liable to protest if she thought Jonas would object.

Her friend Jenna noticed her good mood as soon as she stepped into the other girl's car to go to school.

"What the fuck do you have to be so cheerful about?" asked Jenna in her usual abrupt style.

"Oh, nothing," said Marigold. "I was just talking with my mom about my prom dress."

"So," asked Victoriya from the back seat, "you haven't said a word about the dress yet. What's the big secret?"

"I don't know if there is a secret," said Marigold. "It's just that my mother and I weren't seeing eye-to-eye on what the dress should look like and I'm getting fitted today."

Natalya, also in the back seat, laughed, "I know what you mean. My mother is all, 'You can't go backless. You need to wear a bra!' Just because her tits droop does not mean that mine do."

"So," asked Jenna all-too-innocently, "who are you going with?"

Marigold looked at her, surprised, "Elliot, I assume. We've only been going out forever."

There was silence in the car. Obviously, the other girls knew something more than they were willing to say... Before Marigold could formulate a question, Jenna said, "Are you sure? Word is that Elliot is pretty pissed at you right now."

Marigold tried to laugh, "Ah. Bad news travels fast but rumor and innuendo travel at relativistic speeds."

The blank looks she got from the others told Marigold that she was pushing her luck. All three were cheerleaders, Of the three, only Natalya seemed liable to graduate in the top half of their classes. Giving any indication to a cheerleader that you had retained anything from class was a good way to get your popularity knocked down.

Marigold found that it didn't matter to her so much anymore. There was no way she was going to remain popular and give Thule what he demanded anyway. Heedless of the result, she said, "So, who's been spreading lies about me? Brianne?"

"June Kane," said Victoriya. Jenna turned to glower at her.

Marigold laughed, "Same difference. What Brianne eats, June Kane shits."

The double whammy of hearing Marigold speak heresy and profanity pretty much killed any real conversation for the remainder of the ride to school. When they reached the senior parking lot, Jenna and Natalya couldn't be away fast enough, trotting up towards the steps. Victoriya just watched them go, "What's their hurry?"

"They just figured out that I'm about to become social poison. They want to be as far away from me as they can get before it happens."

"Ahh..." said Natalya thoughtfully. "Slow down a minute then, will ya? I'm dying for a cigarette."

Marigold looked up the road to the front steps, "I should probably get going. There's no reason for you to get dragged down with me."

Natalya waved her off, "Fuck that. If I've got to choose between a couple of phony cunts like them and you, it's not a hard choice."

Marigold was a little bit stunned. She'd always thought of Natalya as a quiet and reserved team player. Still, she persisted, "It's not just going to be those two. It's going to be Brianne and June Kane too. And, with them, everyone else."

Natalya seemed pensive as she lit her cigarette. Then, she asked, "So, is it true?"

"What?"

"Are you fucking Thule Roemer?"

"No!" said Marigold automatically. Then, looking around herself to see if anyone was within earshot, she added, "Well, not yet, anyway."

Natalya laughed, "Good for you."

"You're not repulsed?"

Natalya laughed hard, "God, no. Jealous, maybe. Amazed, certainly. I thought you were Miss Christian priss."

"Things are... complicated," said Marigold. "Wait. Are you saying that you would sleep with Thule?"

Natalya shook her head, "No. Not in high school. If I did, I might as well pierce my eyebrow and stop washing my hair for all the popularity I would have left. But, the boy is hot. I mean, the hair would probably have to go and the clothes, but he's got kind of a Glen Danzig thing going."

Marigold had no idea who Glen Danzig was, but didn't bother to ask. Instead, she asked, "Are you saying you've got a thing for Thule?"

Natalya shook her head, "No, no, sweetie. I'm not after your man. I'm just saying I admire your gumption for going for it." She took a long drag on her cigarette, "The truth of it is that I just can't wait to get out of this fucking berg with its gold-plated provincial attitude. I'm not going away to college so that I can keep dying my hair, being a cheerleader, and fucking socially acceptable guys."

It occurred to Marigold that she wouldn't have to face as much social opprobrium if she weren't the only defector from Brianne's clique. She said, "You know, there's only like six weeks left of school. If you've got a thing for someone, you should just go for it. You may never get another chance and it's not like Brianne can do much in the time we have left.

Natalya got a faraway look on her face then reached out with her cigarette-free hand, placed it under Marigold's chin, and traced her cheekbone with her thumb. The whole motion took less than a second, but it made Marigold shiver.

"No, sweetie," she said sadly. "I really don't need the shitstorm. And, I'm not as brave as you are."

Suddenly, Marigold didn't feel at all brave. Instead, she felt like a complete fraud. Worse, in a moment of weakness, she'd used a friend to try to bolster her own social situation--something that she promised herself she would never do again. She felt absolutely worthless.

As she was trying to think of what to say next, Marigold saw Elliot striding angrily towards her. Natalya saw it too and looked ready to interpose herself between the two of them. Marigold whispered urgently to her, "No. Go find Thule."

Elliot strode past Natalya as if she weren't there, his hand gripping Marigold's arm bruisingly hard, "Come on."

Marigold tried to pull away from him, but found herself dragged along, "Dammit, Elliot! What is your problem?"

"My problem?" Elliot sputtered. "It's all over the school that you're dumping me for Bart Roemer. Why am I the last goddamned person to hear about it?"

Marigold stared at him incredulously, "Elliot, where the hell did you hear that?"

"I knew I never should have left the two of you alone in that office," Elliot snarled. "June Kane told me that Doug Foeller saw you two making out in Roemer's rusty, piece-of-shit car."

"Doug Foeller's a goddamned liar," shouted Marigold. She was outraged. Just because she was guilty of the general gist of the accusation didn't mean that she was going to cop to a clear fabrication, "He gave me a ride home--a completely innocent ride home."

"Dammit, Marigold," he shouted back. "I don't need this shit. I'm under a lot of pressure this year and we're this close," he held up two fingers with a tiny gap between them, "to going to the state championship. I don't have time to deal with my girlfriend hanging around with some dirtbag computer nerd. I don't want to hear about it happening again."

Marigold glared at Elliot and realized that any lingering affection she might have for him was completely gone. She didn't even know who he was anymore.

As children, they'd been best friends. Elliot had been calling her his girlfriend since they were eight. But, he'd grown increasingly distant over time. This year, she saw him maybe three or four times a week, rarely more than ten minutes at a time. She'd complained about their lack of time together last year. He'd made it sound like he stayed away for her sake. Since then, it had gotten increasingly worse. Senior year, she hadn't really had time for dating, but they'd gotten to the point where they hardly spoke. And now, out of the blue, he'd tried to lay claim to her, to his right to decide who she could associate with.

When she spoke, each word was clearly enunciated and laced with menace, "Are... you... forbidding... me?" she asked.

"Yes," he shouted, "I can't have my girlfriend off gallivanting with dirtbags."

Marigold was so angry, she started to actually see a red glow around everything. She searched her mind for the most hurtful, personal thing she could say to Elliot, thought of every secret she knew, every bit of innuendo that she'd heard. And then she knew, "How do you think I feel? Everybody feels sorry for me because they know my boyfriend would rather fuck the quarterback than me?"

Elliot's arm shot out, catching her backhand across the face. Marigold felt the faint, metallic tang of blood in her mouth. She screamed, mostly in rage, but a little bit in triumph too. Until today, she'd always allowed herself to believe that Elliot really was a nice, Christian boy and that anything she did to displease him must be her own fault. Now, she saw him for the snarling animal he really was. Her triumph was short-lived, though, as his fingers latched around her throat. She was off her feet, her back on the hood of a car, being slammed backwards repeatedly. She was dimly aware of him screaming at her. Then, she was aware of nothing at all.

It wasn't long until the world came sharply back into focus as the pressure on her windpipe abruptly ceased. Pushing herself up on her elbows, she saw Elliot being restrained by his coach and several of his teammates as he continued to scream at her, "You fucking cunt whore. I'll see you in hell, bitch." His face was beet red and his hair a mess.

She stood up unsteadily. Elliot slowly stopped struggling, courtesy of a choke hold applied by the coach. He signified his submission and was slowly released. As he stood, Marigold caught a meaningful glance passing between Elliot and Ian Kelley. Shocked, she realized that she had not just made Elliot angry, she had been right, even guessing which player Elliot had a thing for. That Ian was Brianne's boyfriend only made the whole thing funnier to her.

Randy Vandevoort was walking over to her, looking concerned, offering her a hand up, when Marigold saw the parking lot side door of the gym burst open and Thule come barreling out. He immediately ran towards Marigold, worry etched heavily on his face. Elliot, who had been screened away from Marigold had a clear path for Thule and took it. He blindsided Thule, screaming incoherently. The impact was so strong that Thule was slammed back into the glass door to the gym, which spiderwebbed.

Elliot rabbit-punched Thule hard in the gut. Thule, barely standing, had the mental presence to stomp down hard on Elliot's insole, giving himself a little bit of breathing room.

Marigold lost track of the action, then. The team scattered, most of them running to pull Elliot off of Thule, the rest running to help her up.

"Are you all right?" Randy Vandevoort asked, giving her a hand up.

Marigold gingerly felt her neck and nodded, "I think so."

Randy took her chin in his hand and turned her head so he could see, "That's going to be an ugly bruise, I'm afraid."

The gesture seemed frightening intimate. Marigold pulled away and looked over his shoulder. She couldn't see what was happening with Thule. He was surrounded by people. She did see Elliot being held away from the crowd by a couple of defensive linemen, though, and breathed a sigh of relief. Randy took a couple of steps past her and took inventory of what she now realized was his car.

"Did I... ?" she asked.

Randy looked back at her, "The hood will probably have to be replaced. I wouldn't worry about it, though." He rubbed his hand along the finish, "If you're feeling guilty, you can finally accept an invitation to one of my parties as penance. I would consider us even."

"I, uh..." said Marigold. This close, she had to admit that Randy was awfully handsome. Rumor was that he'd worked his way through most of the girls at Mannsborough. For a moment, Marigold felt like a bird caught in a cobra's glare.

"Marigold," Thule called out to her.

She ran to where he was holding himself upright by leaning on the black iron railing. As she got close, Thule let go of the railing and staggered towards her. Marigold threw her arms around him. The way they both slumped into the embrace made her wonder who was holding who up.

"Are you all right?" Thule asked. "Did he hurt you badly?"

Marigold nodded. Thule, apparently finding her answer too ambiguous, did a quick hands-on search of all her vital areas. Satisfied that she was all right, he said, "Well, I suspect that you will have to engage in some hickey-hiding measures for a few days, but you look okay."

Marigold's heart sank, "Hickey-hiding?"

The coach chose that moment to interrupt, "Thule, Marigold. I need to go and talk to the team. But, I want to talk to you two as well. I really appreciate if you would head over to the Spoon and wait for me there. I'll cover breakfast and make sure you two are excused from your classes until we can talk. Please, don't discuss this with anyone until we get a chance to talk."

Thule nodded, "Sure, coach. I can do that for you." He put emphasis on the last two words.

The coach nodded grimly, "You ever get a chance to run anymore, Bart?"

Thule gave a crooked half smile, "Not as often as I would like, coach."

The coach nodded remorsefully, then headed into the gym.

"Thule," asked Marigold as they got into his car. "What's the Spoon?"

Thule laughed, "It the diner all the kids go to when they want to skip class--good food, cheap prices, and high booths that let you have a certain degree of anonymity."

Marigold gave him an ironic stare, "And, just how do you know about this place."

Thule chuckled, leaned across the seat, and kissed her on top of the head, "Little flower, you may well be the only one at the whole school who doesn't know about it."

Feeling his lips pressed reassuringly to her head, Marigold finally gave in to the shock of what had just happened. She began crying and shaking. Thule gathered her into his arms, stroking her long, blonde hair, kissing her, and whispering her name comfortingly.

He held her until she stopped crying. As she felt him loosening the clutch to break away, she said, "No, Thule. Please hold me some more. I... I have something I want to say and I don't want to lose my nerve."

Thule pressed his forehead to hers so that their faces were mere inches apart, "What is it, my tethered goddess."

"I just wanted to tell you that... Thule, I don't feel like what you're doing to me is punishment. I... I like being with you. Please, don't send me away at the end of summer, Thule. We're both going to school in Boston..." She let her words trail off.

Thule looked at her a long time, his expression unreadable. When Marigold couldn't pretend that he was just taking time to formulate his answer, she tried to escape his arms. Reluctantly, he let her go.

"Marigold," he said flatly, his voice almost a monotone. "I'm not done punishing you yet. You still have a lot to answer for. I'm going to do things to you and make you do things that could well make you hate me. Let's leave the question of Boston open until then."

Marigold nodded, fighting back another wave of tears. She had a feeling in her gut that was part queasiness, part arousal, and part fear that came from wondering what he had planned for her.

At the Spoon, over breakfast and tea, Marigold asked, "So, why did you quit the track team?" The question that was really burning in her mind was, "What are you going to make me do?" but she knew it would get no answer.

"Freshman year," he said between bites of sausage, "my parents got divorced. My girlfriend, Maya, had some trouble and moved away. I couldn't handle it all and run track."

Marigold shook her head. Deliberately steering the conversation away from any discussion of Maya, she said, "I still can't imagine you as a jock."

"I never fit in well with the culture," he said, drizzling syrup on his pancakes. "I was on the track team and a kicker for the football team. But, I was already known for my grades and my computer acumen, so I never really got much acceptance. The jocks tolerated me because I was good at the sports I played. None of the others entirely trusted me because I was a jock. It wasn't hard to give up."

"Do you think you might run again in college?"

Thule shook his head, "MIT doesn't leave much time to be on a track team."

"It's definitely MIT then?"

"If the financing comes in," Thule answered. "I've got enough put away for almost two years. I've got a few irons in the fire to try to raise the rest."

The front door opened admitting the coach. Thule stood and waved him over. As he sat down, Marigold slid around until her thigh was pressed up against Thule's.

"I'm glad you two agreed to see me," said the coach. "I want to make a deal with you."

Thule didn't put his fork down, "I'm listening."

"I don't know what happened back there," said the coach, "but I think we would all be best served if this whole thing stayed under wraps. You know how the damned administration is. If they get wind of this, they'll end up taking action against everyone involved. I'm under a lot of pressure to bring the team to states this year. And, I'm sure you two don't want to be suspended over your involvement in this little dust-up."

Thule cut a neat triangle out of the edge of his stack of pancakes, shook it free of excess syrup, and popped it in his mouth. He chewed slowly and deliberately. The process went on long enough that Marigold felt she should say something to fill the gap. As she shifted to speak, Thule kicked her gently underneath the table.

"I don't know," he said lazily. "I could use a few days off. I've already got my acceptance letters. It doesn't seem like I'm getting much out of the deal."

"Does your girlfriend feel the same way?"

"My girlfriend," Thule put heavy emphasis on the word, "would like to see the cocksucker in jail. He just tried to kill her."

Marigold felt a little frisson at being called Thule's girlfriend.

The coach raised his hands, "I really don't think it's necessary to bring the cops into this. You know, you may have done permanent damage when you kicked Elliot."

Thule took a quick sip of coffee, "I'm sure it will be a great loss to the team if Elliot's dick doesn't work any more. On the plus side, I didn't touch that purty mouth of his."

"Christ on a cracker, Bart," the coach said explosively. "Don't fuck with me. If you want something, spit it out."

Thule counted off on his thumb, "Jenny Collins."

The coach looked a little stunned, "Should I know that name?"

"Who's fucking with who now, coach? I want all the information you gathered on her."

"I don't have much."

"Fair enough. I also want what you have on Sarita Malloy."

The coach paled, "Christ, Bart. What are you after?"

Thule shook his head in the negative, "That's my business. Those are my terms."

The coach stared at Thule. His eyes flickered to Marigold to see if he had any support there. She kept her expression cautiously neutral. Finally, he said, "One condition. Whatever you're going to do with this information, you wait until after the state championships to do it."

Thule shook his head, "That's too late. I can give you until the team qualifies for state."

The coach sighed, "You're not making this easy for me, Bart."

"You?" Thule's laugh was not kind. "I've spent four years in the monkey house with these animals. Half the Mannsborough PD is made up of your little thugs who never should have made it out of high school without a record. Do you think these guys become angels because they graduate?"

"All right," said the coach, sounding defeated. "I've got a folder in my office. It covers all of my investigations. There's more going on here than you know about. I'll give you a copy of everything. Just, don't use it until the state championships."

Thule gave the coach a suspicious look, "Tell me what I don't know."