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enlightenment.”
    Under her guidance most kids who graduated from Cedar Bay went to college. If they needed financial support, she and her staff would help them find scholarships and grants. And Maggie would follow up on the grads, providing additional assistance and encouragement when it was required. The college matriculation rate of the district’s graduates looked more like that of a fairly tony suburban school than that of a small, class “D” rural school.
    “Hey,” Maggie said, her voice gravelly from years of heavy smoking, “Late start today. I thought crime never sleeps.”
    “Up here in the woods it occasionally naps. What can I do for you?”
    “What’s happening with Clay? What’s he been charged with?”
    “Initially he will probably be overcharged—assault with intent to commit murder. Who knows what he’ll end up with— possession of a firearm while intoxicated, reckless use of a firearm, minor in….”
    “Then what?” Maggie asked.
    “Can’t tell you for sure. But I can say with great confidence that Clay is going to get more than a slap on the wrist. But he’s lucky it isn’t an election year. Right now the prosecutor, John Tyrrell, won’t need to go for the maximum to show he’s tough on crime.”
    “How long are you going to keep Clay?”
    “He may be out on bail later today.”
    “So he could be in school tomorrow?” she asked, rhetorically, her grey eyes locked on Ray’s. He knew the high school kids called her theowl, and the name fit. Her thick, gray-black hair surrounded her face, and the black-rimmed glasses perched on her stubby nose magnified her unusually large eyes.
    “Do I let him go back to…?” she stopped.
    Ray remained silent, allowing her to muse over her question.
    “Maybe I should have him go to the alternative program for a few weeks, at least until Thanksgiving,” she said more to herself than to Ray.
    “Tell me about Clay, what kind of kid is he?” Ray asked.
    “He’s not a bad kid, but he’s incredibly lazy. We’re constantly monitoring his progress, trying to keep him focused. It’s been a bit easier in the fall because he needs to keep his grades up to play football.”
    “Is he a good player?”
    “Coach Fronz says Clay could be if he worked at it. He’s big and strong, but Fronz says he never really gets in shape, he’s always carrying a gut and doesn’t spend enough time in the weight room.”
    “So he’s not too good?”
    “Fronz says Clay has great physicality,” Maggie paused for a moment. “I have no idea what that means. Physicality,” she repeated the word, carefully enunciating each syllable. “Fronz also says that if he could find a log as big as Clay, he’d play the log. He’d always know where the log was. He never can count on Clay. The kid doesn’t seem to follow the play or keep his blocking assignment.
    “I’ve heard from some of the students that Clay was partying with a couple of friends,” Maggie continued.
    “Yes,” Ray responded. “I think we will be able to identify them. Perhaps, that has happened already.”
    “How about dope?” she asked.
    “Wouldn’t be surprised.”
    “It’s part of the ritual, isn’t it,” Maggie said. “They drink some beer, smoke some grass. It’s the complete evening. I can’t control what they do away from school, but I want to be damn sure it’s not being sold or used at school. I’m passionate about that.”
    “I know you are,” said Ray. “You’re vigilant, and you’re very close to the students. You do a wonderful job with that problem.”
    “I do my best,” she shot back, “but there are so many ways kids can screw up their lives. And kids like Clay, they just don’t get it. They don’t understand that there are consequences for their actions.
    “Donna, Clay’s mother, she was one of my special projects early in my tenure here. And the fruit didn’t fall far from the tree. She had so much promise, but…” she stopped and looked at Ray.