Free Carrie by Stephen King Page A

lucky to get a job selling encyclopedias door to door.”
    Grayle also rose, angrily, and the two men faced each other across the desk.
    â€œLet it be court, then,” Grayle said.
    He noted a faint flick of surprise on Hargensen's face, crossed his fingers, and went in for what he hoped would be a knockout—or at least a TKO that would save Desjardin's job and take this silk-ass son of a bitch down a notch.
    â€œYou apparently haven't realized all the implications of
in loco parentis
in this matter, Mr. Hargensen. The same umbrella that covers your daughter also covers Carrie White. And the minute you file for damages on the grounds of physical and verbal abuse, we will cross-file against your daughter on those same grounds for Carrie White.”
    Hargensen's mouth dropped open, then closed. “You can't get away with a cheap gimmick like that, you—”
    â€œShyster lawyer? Is that the phrase you were looking for?” Grayle smiled grimly. “I believe you know your way out, Mr. Hargensen. The sanctions against your daughter stand. If you care to take the matter further, that is your right.”
    Hargensen crossed the room stiffly, paused as if to add something, then left, barely restraining himself from the satisfaction of a hard doorslam.
    Grayle blew out breath. It wasn't hard to see where Chris Hargensen came by her self-willed stubbornness.
    A. P. Morton entered a minute later. “How did it go?”
    â€œTime'll tell, Morty,” Grayle said. Grimacing, he looked at the twisted pile of paper clips. “He was good for seven clips, anyway. That's some kind of record.”
    â€œIs he going to make it a civil matter?”
    â€œDon't know. It rocked him when I said we'd cross-sue.”
    â€œI bet it did.” Morton glanced at the phone on Grayle's desk. “It's time we let the superintendent in on this bag of garbage, isn't it?”
    â€œYes,” Grayle said, picking up the phone. “Thank God my unemployment insurance is paid up.”
    â€œMe too,” Morton said loyally.

    From
The Shadow Exploded
(Appendix III):

    Carietta White passed in the following short verse as a poetry assignment in the seventh grade. Mr. Edwin King, who had Carrie for grade seven English, says: “I don't know why I saved it. She certainly doesn't stick out in my mind as a superior pupil, and this isn't a superior verse. She was very quiet and I can't remember her ever raising her hand even once in class. But something in this seemed to cry out.”

    Jesus watches from the wall,
But his face is cold as stone,
And if he loves me
As she tells me
Why do I feel so all alone?

    The border of the paper on which this little verse is written is decorated with a great many cruciform figures which almost seem to dance. . . .

    Tommy was at baseball practice Monday afternoon, and Sue went down to the Kelly Fruit Company in The Center to wait for him.
    Kelly's was the closest thing to a high school hangout the loosely sprawled community of Chamberlain could boast since Sheriff Doyle had closed the rec center following a large drug bust. It was run by a morose fat man named Hubert Kelly who dyed his hair black and complained constantly that his electronic pacemaker was on the verge of electrocuting him.
    The place was a combination grocery, soda fountain, and gas station—there was a rusted Jenny gas pump out front that Hubie had never bothered to change when the company merged. He also sold beer, cheap wine, dirty books, and a wide selection of obscure cigarettes such as Murads, King Sano, and Marvel Straights.
    The soda fountain was a slab of real marble, and there were four or five booths for kids unlucky enough or friendless enough to have no place to go and get drunk or stoned. An ancient pinball machine that always tilted on the third ball stuttered lights on and off in the back beside the rack of dirty books.
    When Sue walked in she saw Chris Hargensen immediately. She was