Miller's Valley - Anna Quindlen Page 0,39

at the Church of the Living Lord felt about the devil: everywhere, and the cause of all evil. So finally I hid all three books behind the little door at the back of my closet that led to the pipes and wiring, although I kept taking the one about the college girls out and rereading it, trying to figure out why they’d all had plans but the plans had amounted to nothing, and whether the one at the end was really having sex with another woman. I bet LaRhonda hadn’t even read that one. I didn’t have much time to read myself, what with Clifton and the diner and my school assignments, and I wasn’t much for made-up stories, but it was a good one, so good that somehow it didn’t feel made up at all.

The only person who was really happy about my car, other than me, was a boy named Richard Bachman, who was first in our class to my number two. “Dear Mimi,” Donald had written. “My grandfather says you’re going to be the valedictorian. Wow! I’m not surprised.” But that was just Donald’s grandfather talking out of loyalty. There was no question that Richard was going to beat me out, which was fine. He was the youngest son of the Presbyterian minister, and while his five brothers and sisters were fair-haired, fair-skinned, almost transparent people of Scandinavian appearance, Richard was Korean. His parents had adopted him, and it showed how idealistic the God crowd was that they thought he would fit right in in Miller’s Valley. I don’t know how he survived high school; I had two classes with him each year, science and English, and I heard more slant-eyes comments than I knew what to do with. “Don’t feel sorry for that boy,” my mother said. “He’ll leave the rest of them in the dust.” Last thing I heard Richard was the chair of the neuroscience department at one of the big state universities, so as usual my mother sussed out the future correctly. Although not about Tommy, who she said would surely have learned his lesson once and for all from his accident.

One afternoon a week Richard and I had special permission to drive to the state capital to work on our science projects. It was a little over an hour’s drive, and we kept the radio on so we wouldn’t have to make much conversation, although from time to time Richard would say, “Great song,” to show that he wasn’t a total loser. We had even been given a parking permit card for the Office of Mines, Soil, and Water. Richard was doing a project on plant life and the development of coal deposits in the region. I said I thought that sounded interesting, but I didn’t really think so. I had decided to do my project on the water table in Miller’s Valley and the effect the dam had had on it since its construction.

“So, what about it?” Richard said.

“I’m not sure yet.”

“You’re going to need a hypothesis soon,” he said.

“Well, hello there, young lady,” said Winston Bally.

I don’t know how Winston Bally knew I was working in the water offices. Maybe they let him know any time someone asked for information about the Roosevelt Dam. On our third visit to the state capital he walked into the conference room with a big smile as though we were old friends. He started picking up the dusty microfilm boxes stacked on the table next to the microfilm machine, which came on a little cart with wheels like the one we kept desserts on at the diner, so we could roll the cakes and pies around and show them to people. Finally he said, “I knew you were the smart one. I could tell from the beginning.”

“I’m doing a science project,” I said.

“So am I,” said Richard, reaching across the table for a handshake, like he was a grown-up, which is how he’d always acted. “Coal deposits. Are they a product of compressed plant material?”

“That’s not exactly a new idea, son,” Mr. Bally said.

“I’m going to show it’s false with data.”

“Good for you. And what about you, Miss Miller?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“You looking at the data, too? At this data? The dam and the valley? That should be interesting for you.”

“I haven’t decided what I’m doing yet.”

“I’d be happy to help,” Mr. Bally said. “I’m an expert on the subject you’re studying.” He picked up one of the microfilm boxes. “Judges in these contests