Jinx of the Loser

by H. N. Kowitt

  “That’s ridiculous,” Asia said, scowling at Tank.

  “No, Tank’s right,” said Chantal. “He IS a jinx.”

  Give me a break!

  “Phil and Kirby were there too,” I protested.

  “Yeah, but —” Tank grinned. “They don’t have your track record.”

  Excitement ran through the crowd.

  “Ha ha!” A girl shouted. “Danny’s a jinx!”

  Other kids picked up on it. “JINX! JINX! JINX! JINX!”

  The stalled ride was being blamed on me?

  Good grief.

  “You think I wanted to be stuck up there?” My voice was frantic.

  “Doesn’t matter,” said Tank. “Look at your backpack.”

  I frantically tried to rub it out.

  “The ink’s permanent,” someone said.

  Here’s the thing about middle school: The truth doesn’t matter. Once a rumor gets started, it stays in people’s minds. When the real story comes out, it’s too late — you’ve already been branded.

  * A FEW UNTRUE RUMORS AT GERALD FORD:

  Someone’s hamburger had a tail.

  Pinky Shroeder took his mother to prom.

  When Principal Kulbarsh wants time alone, he pulls the fire alarm.

  Ethan Fogerty barfed up a live worm.

  Danny Shine broke the roller coaster just by sitting in it.

  After the Roller Coaster Disaster, basically everything that went wrong at the school was my fault.

  If someone flunked a quiz …

  If someone fell off his scooter …

  If a doorknob came off in someone’s hand …

  I got blamed.

  They even said I caused a rainstorm. “Hurricane Danny” came one afternoon, wiping out a day of relay races. Walking home the next day, Jasper tried to make me feel better.

  “It’s getting ridiculous,” he said. “No one can seriously think you caused this stuff. I mean, the Biology rabbit got cancer. How is that your fault? And Bruiser Pekarsky’s the one who bent the basketball rim.”

  “I couldn’t reach that thing on a bet,” I said.

  “They’re just blame-shifting,” Jasper said. “It’s not fair.”

  We passed by the park, and I planted myself on one of the benches overlooking a pond. For a few minutes, neither of us said anything.

  “Homeschooling is starting to sound like a good idea,” I said.

  “WHAT?” Jasper stood up and stared at me. “Don’t say that!”

  “But I have to do something …” I said. Being at school was getting weirder and weirder.

  * HOMESCHOOLING: THE PROS AND CONS

  PRO: Relaxed dress code

  CON: Boring yearbook

  PRO: Shoo-in for class president

  CON: Low attendance at school dances.

  “If you left school,” Jasper gasped, “it would be horrible. Who would I play Boggle with? Who’d get my Rat Girl references? Or argue with me about dubbing versus subtitles?”

  I was flattered by his reaction. I’d feel the same way if he suddenly told me he was going to Science Genius Academy.

  “Thanks,” I said. “Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.”

  At least, not yet.

  The next day, Jasper and I walked to the auditorium to get our pictures taken. You could tell it was Photo Day because no one was wearing cutoff shorts or a T-shirt that said “Compost Happens.” All food fights and butt-kickings had been postponed for a day. Even Axl was quietly reading an army supply catalog.

  Grooming products were everywhere.

  Chantal passed by, wheeling a clothing rack. “What’s this?” I asked.

  “You’re supposed to bring an extra outfit.” Chantal’s voice was impatient. “Didn’t you read the handout?”

  Yeah, but — it looked like she’d brought about ten. Stopping by the drinking fountain, Jasper and I saw Ginnifer Baxter and Katelyn Ogleby, best friends who refused to admit they were separate people. They were both wearing elaborate hairdos with combs, barrettes, and even flowers woven in.

  “How are my bangs?” I heard Ginnifer ask Katelyn. “Too much product?”

  “Here.” Katelyn licked her finger and adjusted one of Ginnifer’s strands. “That’s better. How about me?”

  “Almost,” Ginnifer said. “Blot your lip balm.”

  “Finger-fluff your curls in back.”

  “Sweater lint alert!”

  For some people, Photo Day was a big deal.

  How had I prepared? By looking in the mirror to make sure I wasn’t paint-splattered or bleeding. Jasper’s indifference went a step further.

  Approaching the auditorium, I couldn’t help asking, “You did know it was Photo Day, right?”

  “Sure,” said Jasper, taking another gulp of his Yoo-hoo. “But why should I comb my hair just to impress people?”

  Outside the auditorium, we went to the back of the line, which stretched out to the school’s main double doors. There were at least fifty people ahead of us.

  “WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

  We heard screaming from inside. A second later, Sophie burst out of the auditorium. “The sprinkler went off in the cafeteria!” she said. “Ralph was fixing it, and the valve released. All these girls got drenched — in their fancy clothes!”

  My first reaction was relief. At least this was one incident that could not — by any stretch of the imagination — be blamed on me. Then I felt bad for Ralph, who had never been a very good janitor.

  Later that day, I went by the supply closet to see how Ralph was doing. I also wanted to tell him about some goofball who’d written “JINX” in mustard all over our lunch table.

  “Hey, Ralph.” I kicked the door open, not bothering to knock. “You won’t believe the latest —”

  Ralph was slumped on a bucket of barf powder, reading a comic I’d lent him.

  “Not now, Danny.” Ralph held up his hand. “I’ve got my own problems. This comic of yours got me into big trouble! It was so funny, I stopped to read it while fixing the sprinkler. Before I knew it, the valve released. What a mess.”

  I stared at him. “My comic …?”

  “Never give me stuff when I’m working,” he said. “You know how distracted I get!”

  My brain slowly took it in. I was linked to the disaster after all. Starting the day, I’d felt unfairly blamed. But now I began to wonder.

  Could everyone have been right?

  “Danny? Are you okay?” asked Ralph.

  “Yeah, I just — have to go.” I bolted for the door, needing time to think.

  Out in the hall, someone called out, “HEY, JINX!” This morning I would have been really annoyed.

  Now, I sort of believed it too.

  “Jinx, shminx,” said Logan. I was hanging out at Comix Nation, trying to avoid people from school. Sitting on a stool by the counter, I breathed in the comforting smell of stale bubble gum and old comic books. Logan, the owner, was snarfing down her usual four-o’clock Taco Dog lunch special.

  “I mean, it’s flattering to think you have the power to get people in trouble.” Logan drained a cup of soda. “But it’s delusional — like believing you’re Superman or Rat Girl. Except instead of having X-ray vision, you think you can stop roller coasters. Well, I got news for you.” She poked a finger in my chest. “You can’t.”

  I half-smiled. Logan had a way of making you get over yourself. But she didn’t know how it felt to get made fun of all day long.

  Logan handed me a bit of taco to feed to her dog, General Zod, who was panting at my feet. I reached down. He swallowed it greedily and licked his lips. His doggy breath felt good against my hand.

  “So what else is bugging you?” asked Logan.

  I kicked the counter. “Tomorrow we start this dumb public-speaking project,” I said. “Every seventh grader has to write and deliver a five-minute speech.”

  “That’s not so bad.” Logan unwrapped a candy bar.

  It was bad. The part I dreaded m
ost was getting assigned a coaching partner. Who would want to be with a known jinx? But to Logan, I just said, “What am I going to talk about?”

  “Danny.” Logan pointed toward the stacks. “Look around. There’s topics all over the store! Comic books have so many great ideas in ’em, it’s not even funny.”

  My mind was blank. “Like … what?”

  “Like what?” Logan slammed down her soda cup so hard, General Zod gave a startled bark. “Like — how can power be used in the best way? When is hurting people justified? How can you turn a traumatic experience into something positive?” She pointed to some nearby comics.

  “Hmmm.” Maybe.

  “You could even talk about that horrible baseball game.” Logan lifted her chin in a dare. “What you learned from it.”

  My chest tightened. “I didn’t learn anything.”

  “Come on.” Logan scowled. “Lots of comic book characters have a past that haunts them — a radioactive accident or the death of a family member. They move on and, you know” — Logan coughed, and shifted on her stool — “Accept themselves.”

  I’ve done that, I thought. I’ve accepted that I’m a jinx.

  “You’ll think of something. In the meantime …” She lifted a box of comic books from behind the counter. “Here. Make your lazy self useful.”

  I sighed like it was a chore. But I was happy to have somewhere to be, with General Zod at my feet, gnawing my sneakers.

  Our English teacher, Mrs. Wagman, stood in front of the class like an army commander. She waited for everyone to quiet down so she could announce partners for the public-speaking project.

  “I don’t want to hear any whining,” she said. “The matchups are completely random — done by computer. And don’t ask if you can be reassigned. The answer is NO.”

  Everybody groaned.

  “What if I get someone I don’t like?” asked Sophie.

  “What if I get someone who’s a dork?” asked Tank.

  “What if I get Axl?” asked Raina.

  “It’s not a date for the school dance,” Wagman said with a sigh. “It’s a coaching partner. You read each other’s speeches and make suggestions. The point is to help each other.”

  “And this year, we have a special opportunity,” confided Wagman. “Five of you will be chosen by the class to give a speech at assembly … TO THE PRINCIPAL HIMSELF!” She said it like she was announcing a surprise pizza party.

  Silence.

  “People,” she went on, lowering her voice. “If you’re picked, you can tell Dr. Kulbarsh anything you want. This is your big chance. Any ideas?”

  Silence again.

  Finally, Pinky Shroeder raised his hand. “In gym, they should teach minigolf.”

  “We should get school off for Valentine’s Day,” said Ginnifer Baxter.

  “Full-page yearbook photos,” said Chantal.

  “Hmmm. Well.” Mrs. Wagman raised her eyebrows. “If that’s what you’re passionate about.”

  “Tell us our partners already!” someone yelled out.

  I felt a wave of dread. All around me, girls were buzzing about who would get paired with Luke Strohmer. Tossing around a mini basketball, he seemed unaware of the stir he was causing. Were there any downsides to being a good-looking, popular jock?

  * TOP FIVE DOWNSIDES TO BEING LUKE STROHMER

  Sore hand from accepting high fives

  All those boring sports award dinners

  Your phone’s overloaded with numbers

  Can’t pick your nose with all eyes on you

  Never know if you’re liked for yourself or your ripped abs

  “Okay, everyone,” Wagman said. “I’m going to read the partner assignments. No booing.”

  She went down the list: Angie Bilandic — Jason Hofstaeder. Da’Nise Freemont — Morgan Chatterjee. “Axl Ryan,” Wagman said, and everyone held their breath. “Chantal Davis.”

  “AXL RYAN?” Chantal yelled, eyes wide in disbelief. “No way! I refuse!”

  Everyone buzzed excitedly. Axl and Chantal were coaching partners? Now that was entertaining! The two of them were known rivals. They were the two most feared people in school, and the only ones not scared of each other.

  Axl had been quietly whittling a skull into his desk with a pen knife.

  But now he stood up. “Chantal can’t turn me down,” he said. “I’m turning HER down!”

  “I said it first!” howled Chantal.

  “Axl, Chantal, you’ll just have to learn to get along,” said Wagman. “No reassignments.”

  “Butthead,” Chantal hissed at Axl.

  “Big mouth,” Axl muttered back.

  Wagman started reading the names off faster now, to leave less time for a reaction. Jasper got Velvet Stern, a major airhead.

  Finally, my name. “Danny Shine.” Wagman paused, and I held my breath.

  “Who’re you going to jinx this time?” Kyle shouted. The class cracked up.

  “I’m glad he can’t ruin my speech!” roared Chantal.

  Everyone leaned forward, excited to find out. Wagman clutched her piece of paper and swallowed.

  “Luke Strohmer,” she said.

  “OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOH!” The class exploded.

  Luke’s face turned beet red.

  HE was my new partner?

  Holy crud!

  I’d been avoiding Luke like crazy. In the hall, I always looked for his blue baseball cap, and if I saw it, I dove to the side. My personal “Luke-dar” told me where he was at all times — laughing with a bunch of jocks, whipping a towel at someone in the locker room, skateboarding down the street. I made sure to stay away.

  Now we were stuck together. And today, of all days, he’d taken the seat right in front of me.

  The class could barely contain its excitement. This was a thousand times better than Axl and Chantal — like having a reality show right here in school! Everybody started talking at once.

  “Too bad about Luke,” Jasper said to me. He looked over at his new partner. “Being with Velvet will be, uh, interesting. She’ll teach me about fashion, and I’ll teach her about astrophysics.”

  Meanwhile, Luke scowled and kicked the chair legs in front of him with his sneaker. I sank lower in my seat and pretended to be absorbed in a book.

  “Settle down, people,” said Wagman. “For the rest of class, you can get to know your partner.”

  Tank stood up. “Can I just say something?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Luke working with Danny — that’s just wrong.”

  “S’not fair,” Abs agreed. “Danny’ll jinx him. Luke’s a great speaker. Remember the talk he gave in the dugout before semifinals?”

  “He, totally, like, inspired us,” said Bruiser Pekarsky.

  Luke looked at the floor.

  “Luke! Luke! Luke! Luke!” a few of the jocks started chanting.

  Wagman’s arms were folded, and she was frowning. But people continued to chant, “Luke!” as if they could change her mind. What did they expect Wagman to say? “Keep shouting, and I’ll reconsider”?

  “Enough,” Wagman said in her this-discussion-is-over voice. “Everyone go talk to your partners. Luke, that includes you and Danny.”

  Luke tipped his chair back and looked at the ceiling. He did some air drumming on his desk. He unwrapped a gumball and stuck it in his mouth, rotating it from cheek to cheek. His stubbornness was impressive.

  I waited, and finally, he spoke.

  “You know, Wagman can’t make us be partners,” Luke said bluntly. “We could both refuse.”

  “We could.” I shrugged. “But what’s the point? We’d get dragged to the office to ‘kick it’ with Amundson. He’d offer us caramel corn and say, ‘Dawgs, I’m just not down with that.’ We’d have to listen to his lecture about ‘changing our ’tudes,’ wishing we were home playing Call of Duty. And we’d still have to be partners.”

  “Ha.” Luke snorted. “I guess you know the drill.”

  “Yeah.”

&nbs
p; Luke lifted his chin. “Why were you at the baseball game, anyway? I see you more at, like, Mathletes or French Club,” he said. “Type of guy who gets allergy shots and goes to Biology Camp.”

  Ouch! I was hoping I came across as more normal and less like president of the Insect Club.

  “I went to the game ’cause I wanted to.” I squirmed in my chair.

  Luke shook his head. “I’ve seen that play in my head a thousand times. The ball flies over third base. I stretch my arm into the stands. I catch it. We win the game.”

  “Huh.”

  “Then my parents take me to the Steak House.”

  “I have the same dream.” I lowered my voice. “I’m in the stands, but I don’t raise my arms. I just let the ball head straight for me. Then you catch it and everyone’s happy.”

  “Hmmm.” Luke frowned.

  “I wish it had happened like that,” I said. “Since then, my life has been dog barf.”

  “Your life?” Luke kicked the floor angrily. “How about mine? If I’d made the play, we might have won the championship. You think that’s easy to live with?”

  “Maybe we both messed up.” I shrugged.

  “How did I mess up?” Luke stood up. “You got in my way. They should have called fan interference!”

  I stood up too and glared back. “I didn’t reach onto the field! I was just trying to protect myself and not get hit!”

  Mrs. Wagman broke in with an announcement. “By Friday, you have to have the topic sentence and first paragraph of your speech written. So arrange with your partner to get together after school and work on it — at your house or their house!”

  Me at Luke’s house?