Groups of boys took to ogling her as she walked frenetically from class to class. “I don’t care a rap for remembering. Still, in spite of her glances and gestures, Mr. Ruth's emotion was a primitive joy: she was essential in this man's life, and she would always be happy because he would always be needing her. No amount of scrubbing could remove the stains, the blood of an unknown man she had stolen from the scene of a car accident, a stupid drunk with no license who had wrapped his Chevy truck around a very large oak tree. She did not speak to John in the week of school left after the Prom. Her disapproval was obvious enough.
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