It had been a big event for teens across town. She did not see the metal pole swing toward the back of her skull, nor did she feel her own blood spoiling her light hair after the dull crack of metal broke her flesh. Ann Veronica’s experiences of men had been among more stable types—Teddy, who was always absurd; her father, who was always authoritative and sentimental; Manning, who was always Manning. He was an odd one, especially for a young man. She smiled mechanically at the audience, holding her violin limply, feeling the hot lights on her made-up face. Manning had shown on previous occasions that he found Ann Veronica interesting and that he wished to interest her. Taber? There is a possibility.
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