November 4

I don't know how it happened.

After I bought my new alarm clock, I had unplugged the old one and stashed it in my closet. I know I did this. I remember it distinctly. But just as I settle into a normal sleep, I am abruptly awakened.

My radio is back on my nightstand, plugged in, and it is blaring "Don't Fear The Reaper" at top volume.

I let out a shriek and fumble to switch off the radio.

I can't figure out how it got there.

Mom shows up at my door.

"Sorry," I say. It seems easier to shoulder the blame than to try to explain.

"It's two in the morning," Mom says.

"Sorry."

Mom seems to accept it as a fluke, and that further scolding is not necessary. It could be that I set the machine for the wrong time or that my headphone chord had gotten yanked out. If I explained, she would reason, with the same practicality, that I actually had forgotten to put away my clock radio.

I know I didn't forget.

I know I put the radio away.

But I don't know what could have returned it to the nightstand, and I don't know why it keeps playing that song.

HH

In the morning at school, Chelsea reprimands Bree and Melanie for missing the funeral. Principal Garrick announces on the intercom that a grief counselor is available to any of us who want to talk about the "tragic demise of our beloved classmates."

The rest of the week is full school days. Annie Brackett and Lynda Pfeifer's funerals haven't even been scheduled. The county is keeping the bodies to scan for clues that could lead to Michael Myers' whereabouts.

In English, Mrs. Randall tries to carry on class as usual. She lectures on about Macbeth. Then Darcy, the class showoff, interrupts.

"Shakespeare is sexist."

Mrs. Randall lowers her chalk. "What do you mean?" she asks, puzzled but not yet nervous.

"He's blaming the women in the play for the murders Macbeth commits in the play. First when the witches prophesy he'll be king and then his wife urges him to kill Duncan."

A couple of guys snort. Richard Connolly quips under his breath. "So the moral is, 'Don't listen to crazy women.'"

Darcy glares in his direction before she continues. "Shakespeare makes it sound like it's their decision, not Macbeth's. And Macbeth's the helpless tragic hero, whining about how fate is against him when he's the one that committed those crimes."

"So you think that Macbeth doesn't take responsibility for his own actions," Mrs. Randall says, using more gender neutral terms. "That he relies on the prophecy to excuse what he did."

"Exactly."

"How is that sexist?" Hector Acevedo asks. "Macbeth is only mentally distancing himself from his crimes. He's not blaming the witches or Lady Macbeth, he's blaming fate."

"Who is traditionally personified as female. And don't forget that Shakespeare has good triumph through a man not born of woman. In other words, MacDuff has had the least influence of women, especially after his wife and kids are killed, so he becomes the good guy of the story."

"So Shakespeare is suggesting that the women corrupt Macbeth?" Chelsea sums up. She is intrigued by the idea.

"Lady Macbeth pressured him to murder the king," Hector points out.

"And that excuses the fact that Macbeth did it?" asks another girl. "Because he otherwise couldn't tell right from wrong?"

"Women," Richard says. "There's just no pleasing them."

Several guys grunt in agreement.

"And men are always blaming everything on women," Darcy says. "That's why so many serial killers are men. To them, it's the victims that provoke them to kill. Because they can't control their own actions."

The only answer is a few stifled chortles.

"Maybe he only did it because his mother and his sister played with his dong," Richard mutters. His red face belies his supposed ease with the subject.

"You think this is a joke?" Darcy screeches. "You think Annie Brackett and Lynda Pfeifer deserved to die?"

"Richard Connolly," Mrs. Randall scolds. "You are being disrespectful. I am sending you to Principal Garrick to explain your behavior."

By the time she scribbles out a slip for Richard, the chortles die down. Darcy is in tears For once, no one comments on it.

After a short pause, Mrs. Randall tries to steer us back to Macbeth. "Darcy brings up a good point. Was it really beyond Macbeth's means to change his fate? Any opinions, anyone?"

No one speaks.

HH

"You look tense."

I am submerged in rereading Dr. Loomis's book, when Ben Tramer approaches me. His voice is quiet.

"I do?"

Brilliant, Stella, I chide silently. Brilliant conversation start. I sound like Alice, faking illness so Ben Tramer can play doctor on me.

"Can I sit here?" Ben asks.

I nod. He sits, though his legs do not relax. He looks like he's ready to spring up again.

"I've never read that book," he says.

"It's very clinical," I mention. "You would probably understand more of it than I would." Realizing how insipid that sounded, I add. "I mean the medical jargon and everything. This isn't like other true crime books. Most of those are written by reporters, not doctors."

OK. Breathe, Stella. Let him get in a damn word.

"You must read a lot," Ben says.

I nod again. "How about you? What do you like to read?"

"I don't have much time for reading," Ben admits. "Sometimes when things get slow at the hospital, I sneak a look at the short story magazines. They have Asimov's."

"Cool."

We talk for a while longer, mostly about inconsequential things like books and music. Before I know it, the bell rings, and we have to leave for our next classes.

HH

I should explain. I'm not really used to talking to guys: any guys. The closest guy my age I hang out with is Scott and I never hang around him unless Joanne's there. So talking to Ben Tramer, in that ordinary way, is kind of a novelty. It's not like I have a thing for him.

Ben's not my type. Actually, I don't have a type. I don't spend a lot of time mooning over guys. Some of my friends (Alice) think it's unnatural. It's not that I don't appreciate the occasional fantasy of a guy. But that's all it is: a fantasy.

I don't date either. I just don't put in the effort. I'm not that interested in sex, either. I find it hard to think of it as romantic. It's a biological need. It feels good, but totally unconnected to romance. Or so I always have thought.

I am not trying to be sanctimonious about it. I'll be the first to admit that my views about sex are not the healthiest. But because they never enter into my daily life, they aren't really a problem.

Still, when I talked to Ben, I have felt my heart palpitate in a way it never has before. But like I said, it's only the novelty of the experience.