The plans for the guillotine attracted his immediate attention, however. The secret was so simple and yet so effective. He imagined himself on the stage in the Trinity auditorium, performing for the student body—"May I have a volunteer from the audience?" — and hearing the guys gasp with astonishment as the blade fell, seeming to penetrate the volunteer's neck Ray's hands itched to build the guillotine, just as they had itched to build his skiff. He'd always been clever with his hands. In fact, his father had said that he bated the idea of squandering money on Ray's college education when he'd probably do better as a carpenter — and a carpenter didn't need a college degree.

At any rate, lonely, indifferent to both Monument and Trinity, tired of the perennial gray clouds that haunted the early days of spring, wistful for those bikini girls who would be emerging on Caleb's beaches any day now, Ray Bannister assembled his tools and the lumber required to build the guillotine. He bought the blade at a magic store in Worcester. And, as he told Obie later: Honest, he'd never heard of Jerry Renault or Archie Costello or any of the others.

Obie was in love. Wildly, improbably, and wonderfully in love. The kind of thing he thought happened only in the movies. Can't eat, can't sleep love. Daydream in class love. Can't concentrate an your studies love. The hell with doing homework love. Her name was Laurie Gundarson and she was beautiful. Obie's legs dissolved at the sight of her, and he felt as though he would sink into the earth and disappear. He had never known such happiness or such sweet torture. He lived his days and nights in a rosy haze and went around with a stunned and radiant expression on his face. Which disgusted Archie Costello, of course.