Free School Days by Robert B. Parker

and debonair. Otherwise, I might have felt ill at ease.
    There were booths along one side and in the back. A counter ran along the other side. I sat at the counter next to a couple of schoolgirls who were giggling and whispering, maybe about me. Oh, Spenser, you dashing rogue, you’ve still got it. The girls were wearing what I would eventually discover most Dowling schoolgirls wore: short, pleated skirts and sleeveless tops. One was blonde with a pink top. One was brunette with a white top. I ordered coffee, which took a while, because I had to reject a half a dozen special coffee drinks, which I also didn’t recognize. There were two high-school girls in tan uniforms working the counter and an older guy wearing a tan overseas cap that said COFFEE NUT on it, who was making the coffee.
    I turned and leaned my back against the counter.
    â€œYou girls go to Dowling School?” I said.
    â€œYeah,” Pink Top said and giggled. “You?”
    â€œCouldn’t pass the entrance exam,” I said. “Everybody in here from Dowling?”
    â€œSure,” Pink Top said. “ ’Cept them.”
    She nodded at the people working the counter.
    â€œYou here last year when the shooting happened?”
    â€œI guess so,” the girl said.
    They had thought it sort of fun to get into conversation with a large older man, especially because they were surrounded by friends. But now they were uncomfortable.
    â€œMy name’s Spenser,” I said.
    White Top poked Pink Top with her elbow.
    â€œSee,” she said. “I told you it was him.”
    Pink Top said, “We had an assembly about you.”
    â€œHot dog,” I said.
    â€œMr. Garner said we weren’t supposed to talk with you.”
    â€œWhy not?” I said.
    â€œMr. Garner said you were trying to ruin the Dowling School’s reputation, and if you succeeded, we’d never get into a good college.”
    â€œDo you believe Mr. Garner?” I said.
    They giggled again.
    â€œRoyce the Voice,” White Top said. “The People’s Choice.”
    â€œMay I take that as a ‘no, we don’t believe him’?” I said.
    â€œRoyce is gross,” Pink Top said.
    â€œOr Groyce,” White Top said, and they both giggled some more.
    â€œWhat would happen,” I said, “if he were right, and you didn’t get into a good college?”
    â€œMy mother would kill herself,” Pink Top said.
    â€œMy mother would call me a slut,” White Top said.
    â€œFor not getting into a good school?” I said.
    â€œShe calls me a slut whenever she’s mad,” White Top said.
    â€œYou are a slut,” Pink Top said.
    â€œTakes one to know one,” White Top said.
    They both giggled some more.
    â€œDid either of you know the guys involved.”
    â€œYou know, casually. Say hi in the hall.”
    â€œAny thoughts on why they did what they did?”
    The girls looked at each other for a moment. They were being asked to think.
    â€œYou know,” White Top said, “what’s amazing is it doesn’t happen more often. You know? I mean, do you remember school?”
    â€œI do,” I said.
    â€œDid you like school?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œGood. It’s all bullshit, you know. It’s all the official pious crap.”
    â€œThat’s my memory of it,” I said.
    â€œSo I don’t know why they did it. But everyone’s walking around, barely able to stand it, and”—she shrugged—“these guys went kaboom, I guess.”
    â€œAnything set them off?”
    â€œI don’t know,” White Top said. “You, Janey.”
    â€œNo clue,” Pink Top said.
    â€œAnyone in here knew them well?”
    â€œGuys at that table played football with Dell,” White Shirt said.
    â€œGrant,” I said.
    â€œYeah.”
    Pink Top swung her stool all the way around, which, given the shortness of her skirt, was