The Storyteller

On Monday morning, she suffered through two long hours of history class in a suffocating, lightless room in the school’s basement, in which Abel Ta

A

Abel turned up later, during lit class, looking like he hadn’t slept much the night before. He put his head on his arms and fell asleep instantly; Mr. Knaake noticed but didn’t say anything. In fact, he never said anything to Abel, as if they had an unspoken agreement not to disturb each other. They hadn’t exchanged a word for a year and a half. A

He stayed back after class, as if waiting for something. A

“No,” Abel said. “No way.”

“You could pay me back later,” the deeper voice of Knaake said.

“I don’t wa

“After seven?” Knaake asked. “What’s that about?”

“That’s my business,” Abel answered, and A

“You’re working nights already,” Knaake said. “That’s why you’re sleeping in class. It’s okay with me; you can go ahead and sleep. It’s fine. But it won’t work with the other teachers. And somehow, you’ve got to get the grades you need in your other classes. You can’t make up for everything by doing well in literature.”

“I know,” Abel replied. “That’s why I want to stop working nights and in the evenings instead. At the university … aren’t there assistant jobs a student can do? Like … paperwork … copying things … you can do that in the evening …”

“For those kinds of job, you have to be enrolled.”

“I do have a student ID.”

“I didn’t hear that,” Knaake said. “All right, I’ll ask around. I promise. But I can’t do more than ask. You need to be more flexible. It would be a lot easier to find something in the afternoons.” The voices were moving toward the door now, so A

“A

“I wanted to … to discuss the reading list with you,” A

And it wasn’t on any list.

During lunch break, it began to snow. It snowed in soft, heavy flakes that fell for a while before anybody noticed them. The sky was full of white snow clouds that pushed cold air down onto the city. A

Life seemed to consist of collecting points, points that were tallied into your final grade, like dollar bills in a strange game of Monopoly. A

Out the window, she caught sight of someone padding through the new snow, someone in a military parka and a black knit cap. It was Abel walking over to his bike. Abel took French, just like Gitta. A

When she reached him, he was already sitting on his bike and shaking the earplugs of his old Walkman out to untangle the wires—she wanted to snatch those damn earplugs out of his hands. “Where …” She had to catch her breath after ru

Abel looked at her. “That’s my business.”

“Sure, right,” A

“Crap,” he said, putting the earplugs into his ears, laying his hands on the handlebars of his bike.

“If you don’t take this test, you’ll get a zero, and you know it.”

“Have you ever thought that maybe there are more important things in life than a checkmark next to your name?”

“Yes,” A

He gri

“What’s the matter?”

He took his hands from the handlebars. “I’m not ru

“What’s the matter?”

“Micha,” Abel said. “She forgot her key. I just realized it. I found it in my backpack. She put it in there or it just found its way in somehow. She usually walks home from school by herself. I don’t want her to wait outside all afternoon … people have seen her father around lately, and I don’t want … do you understand? And now just forget about it. Tell that friend of yours that I’m sick.”

A

“Excuse me?”

“Give me the key. I’ll go. I’ll only miss a regular music class. No test.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “A

“I believe,” she said, “that you’ve got seven minutes before the French test starts. And that you need all the time you can get to pass it. I don’t eat little children. Or at least, not often. Give me the key.”

It wouldn’t work. He’d just tell her that she was completely crazy. Of course, he would. She knew it. He said, “You’re completely crazy.” Then he got off his bike.

“Six minutes until the test,” A

Abel gave her the ring with the key. She closed her fingers around it.

“Take my bike. Do you know the Aldi supermarket in the Seaside District? We live on Amundsen Street. It’s just behind it. Number 18. The entrance is in a huge backyard; you have to walk between the concrete blocks, behind the parking lot.”