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Desjardin could only look at her helplessly。
Carrie left。
For a moment there was silence； Morton and Desjardin watched her go。 Then； with an awkward throat…clearing sound； Mr Morton hunkered down carefully and began to sweep together the debris from the fallen ashtray。
'What was that all about？'
She sighed and looked at the drying maroon hand…print on her shorts with distaste。 'She got her period。 Her first period。 In the shower。'
Morton cleared his throat again and his cheeks went pink。 The sheet of paper he was sweeping with moved even faster。 'Isn't she a bit； uh…'
'Old for her first？ Yes。 That's what made it so traumatic for her。 Although I can't understand why her mother。。。' The thought trailed off； forgotten for the moment。 'I don't think I handled it very well； Morty； but I didn't understand what was going on。 She thought she was bleeding to death。'
He stared up sharply。
'I don't believe she knew there was such a thing as menstruation until half an hour ago。'
'Hand me that little brush there； Miss Desjardin。 Yes； that's it。' She handed him a little brush with the legend Chamberlain Hardware and Lumber pany NEVER Brushes You Off written up the handle。 He began to brush his pile of ashes on to the paper。 'There's still going to be some for the vacuum cleaner； I guess。 This deep pile is miserable。 I thought I set that ashtray back on the desk further。 Funny how things fall over。' He bumped his head on the desk and sat up abruptly。 'It's hard for me to believe that a girl in this or any other high school could get through three years and still be alien to the fact of menstruation； Miss Desjardin。'
'It's even more difficult for me； she said。 'But it's all I can think of to explain her reaction。 And she's always been a group scapegoat。'
'Urn。' He funnelled the ashes and butts into the wastebasket and dusted his hands。 'I've placed her； I think。 White。 Margaret White's daughter。 Must be。 That makes it a little easier to believe。' He sat down behind his desk and smiled apologetically。 'There's so many of them。 After five years or so； they all start to merge into one group face。 You call boys by their brother's names； that type of thing。 It's hard。'
'Of course it is。'
'Wait 'til you've been in the game twenty years； like me；' he said morosely； looking down at his blood blister。 'You get kids that look familiar and find out you had their daddy the year you started teaching。 Margaret White was before my time； for which I am profoundly grateful。 She told Mrs Bicente； God rest her； that the Lord was reserving a special burning seat in hell for her because she gave the kids an outline of Mr Darwin's beliefs on evolution。 She was suspended twice while she was here … once for beating a classmate with her purse。 Legend has it that Margaret saw the classmate smoking a cigarette。 Peculiar religious views。 Very peculiar。' His John Wayne expression suddenly snapped down。 'The other girls。 Did they really laugh at her？'
'Worse。 They were yelling and throwing sanitary napkins at her when I walked in。 Throwing them like。。 like peanuts。'
'Oh。 Oh； dear。' John Wayne disappeared。 Mr Morton went scarlet。 'You have names？'
'Yes。 Not all of them； although some of them may rat on the rest。 Christine Hargensen appeared to be the ringleader 。。。 as usual。'
'Chris and her Mortimer Snurds；' Morton murmured。
'Yes。 Tina Blake； Rachel Spies； Helen Shyres； Donna Thibodeau and her sister Fern； Lila Grace； Jessica Upshaw。 And Sue Snell。' She frowned。 'You wouldn't expect a trick like that from Sue。 She's never seemed the type for this kind of a … stunt。'
'Did you talk to the girls involved？'
Miss Desjardin chuckled unhappily。 'I got them the hell out of there。 I was too flustered。 And Carrie was having hysterics。'
'Um。' He steepled his fingers。 'Do you plan to talk to them？'
'Yes。' But she sounded reluctant。
'Do I detect a note of…'
'You probably do；' she said glumly。 'I'm living in a glass house； see。 I understand how those girls felt。 The whole thing just made me want to take the girl and shake her。 Maybe…there's some kind of instinct about menstruation that makes women want to snarl。 I don't know。 I keep seeing Sue Snell and the way she looked。'
'Um；' Mr Morton repeated wisely。 He did not understand women and had no urge at all to discuss menstruation。
'I'll talk to them tomorrow；' she promised； rising。 'Rip them down one side and up the other。'
'Good。 Make the punishment suit the crime。 And if you feel you have to send any of them to； ah； to me； feel free…'
'I will；' she said kindly。 'By the way； a light blew out while I was trying to calm her down。 It added the final touch。'
'I'll send a janitor right down；' he promised。 'And thanks for doing your best； Miss Desjardin。 Will you have Miss Fish send in Billy and Henry？'
'Certainly。' She left。
He leaned back and let the whole business slide out of his mind。 When Billy deLois and Henry Trennant； classcutters extraordinaire； slunk in； he glared at them happily and prepared to talk tough。
As he often told Hank Grayle； he ate class…cutters for lunch。
Graffiti scratched on a desk in Chamberlain Junior High School：
Roses are red； violets are blue； sugar is sweet； but Carrie While eats shit。
She walked down Ewin Avenue and crosssed over to Carlin at the stoplight on the corner。 Her head was down and she was trying to think of nothing。 Cramps came and went in great； gripping waves； making her slow down and speed up like a car with carburettor trouble。 She stared at the sidewalk。 Quartz glittering in the cement。 Hop…scotch grids scratched in ghostly； rain…faded chalk。 Wads of gum stamped flat。 Pieces of tinfoil and penny…candy wrappers。 They all hate and they never stop。 They never get tired of it。 A penny lodged in a crack。 She kicked it。 Imagine Chris Hargensen all bloody and screaming for mercy。 With rats crawling all over her face。 Good。 Good。 That would be good。 A dog turd with a foot…track in the middle of it。 A roll of blackened caps that some kid had banged with a stone。 Cigarette butts。 Crash in her head with a rock； with a boulder。 Crash in all their hearts。 Good。 Good。
（saviour Jesus meek and mild）
That was good for Momma； all right for her。 She didn't have to go among the wolves every day of every year； out into a carnival of laughers； joke…tellers； pointers； snickerers。 And didn't Momma say there would be a Day of Judgment。
（the name of that star shall be wormwood and they shall be scourged with scorpions）
and an angel with a sword？
If only it would be today and Jesus ing not with a lamb and a shepherd's crook； but with a boulder on each hand to crush the laughters and the snickerers； to root out the evil and destroy it screaming … a terrible Jesus of blood and righteousness。
And if only she could be His sword and His arm。
She had tried to fit。 She had defied Momma in a hundred little ways； had tried to erase the red…plague circle that had been drawn around her from the first day she had left the controlled environment of the small house on Carlin Street and had walked up to the Baker Street Grammar School with her Bible under her arm。 She could still remember that day； the stares； and the sudden； awful silence when she had gotten down on her knees before lunch in the