by Gordon Jack
“Who are you?” Crystal asked.
The crowd surrounding us seemed equally puzzled. Spencer had emerged from nowhere with information Wikipedia probably hadn’t discovered yet.
“This is Spencer,” I said with authority and conviction. “He’s my friend.”
For once, I didn’t stumble in explaining my relationship with Spencer. I put my arm around the little guy and pulled him close. I was proud to call Spencer a friend, even though he was clearly uncomfortable with this public display of affection. His whole body went rigid, and he whimpered softly every time I squeezed his shoulder. My former friends would see this moment as a humiliating defeat, but it didn’t feel that way to me. It felt like I was finally standing up for what I believed in, and I believed in Spencer.
Audrey pushed her way through the crowd and tried to be heard above the people’s chatter. “She . . . she . . .” she spluttered, pointing at Crystal.
“Say it in Old English!” I screamed.
“By my troth, she is the maiden to whom I gave the Viking head,” Audrey said.
“Crystal’s been working in Coach Harkness’s office all week,” Eddie said, coming to our rescue.
“Audrey must have given her the mascot head after she repaired it.”
“You want me to call home, Crystal?” Stone asked.
Crystal hesitated, scanning the crowd for supporters. There were none. “I want you to call the ACLU,” she said defensively. “This is a clear example of racial profiling.”
The Ga Noi must have broken the leather skin of Stone’s loafers and pierced his actual skin because Stone jerked his leg outward and punted the chicken a good five feet.
“Mr. Winkles!” Crystal screamed, and ran after her injured animal. She cradled the dazed bird in her arms, petting its ruffled feathers and cooing softly near its head. Standing up slowly, Crystal addressed the crowd that was eagerly awaiting an explanation.
“Okay, it was me who put Mr. Winkles in the float. I knew Lawrence had some weird chicken phobia and I thought it would be funny.”
A murmur of disapproval rang throughout the crowd. “How could you do that to a chicken?” someone said nearby. Clearly, the people’s sympathy was with Mr. Winkles.
Crystal wiped an imaginary tear from her eye. “I didn’t want anyone to get hurt. I just . . . I just wanted homecoming to be special.”
“Excuse me?” I said. “How does framing me for destroying floats make homecoming special?”
“No one really cares about homecoming. It’s supposed to bring our school together but it’s become such a boring, predictable ritual that no one pays attention to it anymore. We needed something more than floats and rallies and football games to unite us. We needed a common enemy.”
“Me?” I said.
“Well, not you specifically. Someone who attacked everything we hold dear.”
“Is that why you vandalized my parking space?” Stone asked.
“You’re our beloved leader, Mr. Stone,” Crystal said softly. “I thought people would rally together when they saw you were under attack.”
I laughed out loud at this one. Stone shot me a look as if I were the criminal making a confession. “Come on,” I said. “You can’t believe this, can you?”
“Miss Nguyen has always demonstrated school spirit, which is more than I can say for you, Lawrence,” Stone said.
“But don’t you see? That’s why she tried to destroy homecoming. She was angry that she wasn’t nominated to be on the court. Plus, she’s totally obsessed with Jerry.” I pointed to our quarterback, whose attention was entirely focused on Mr. Winkles. They seemed to have developed a strange bond since their wrestling match. “I’m sure this has more to do with her jealousy of Dawn than anything.”
“That’s not true,” Crystal said. “I love Dawn.”
“Oh, that’s so sweet,” Dawn said. “I love you too, Crystal.”
“Crystal, can I hold Mr. Winkles?” Jerry asked, approaching her like a shy eighth grader asking a girl to dance.
“Sure, Jerry,” Crystal said, handing Mr. Winkles over. Jerry cradled him in his arms and the two head butted each other. “This dude’s a fighter,” Jerry said. “He should be our new mascot.”
The crowd seemed to like this because they all started chanting Mr. Winkles’s name over and over again. “I think we’re losing sight of what’s important here!” I screamed. “Crystal tried to kill me.”
“Oh, lighten up, Larry,” Jerry said. “It was just a harmless prank. Pretty fucking hilarious if you ask me.”
“Dawn almost fell to her death!” I screamed.
I looked over and saw Dawn and Eddie regaling a small crowd with the story of their escape from the falling tower. Dawn hadn’t let go of Eddie’s hand since he rescued her. “I’m fine,” Dawn said. “Thanks to my knight in shining armor.” A collective “Awww” rose from the crowd when Dawn leaned over and kissed Eddie on the cheek. The band, sensing the moment was ripe for a rousing rendition of Journey’s “Any Way You Want It,” started playing. Pretty soon, everyone was dancing and hugging one another.
“We’ll discuss your punishment at some other time,” I heard Stone say to Crystal over the din of the celebrating.
“Thanks, Mr. Stone,” Crystal said. “You’re the best.” She gave him a quick hug.
It was like being stuck in a demented musical where everyone breaks into song and dance to celebrate the survival of the serial killer.
I pushed my way through the crowd and found Spencer walking back to the stands, dragging his suitcase-like backpack along the Astroturf.
“Spencer,” I said, running up to him. “Can you believe this?”
“It’s the boomerang effect. When you wanted the Viking to be loved, it was hated. When Crystal wanted the Viking to be hated, it was loved.”
“And now she’s a hero.”
“History may prove differently.”
“She’s yearbook editor,” I said. “She’s in charge of history. Anyway, I just wanted to say thank you for your help back there.”
“I only pointed out the obvious,” he said.
“Obvious to you, maybe.”
“At least you no longer have to take Miss Cosmos to the dance tonight.”
“That’s right,” I said, looking around for any sign of Zoe. Other than a murder of crows pecking at some roadkill in the parking lot, I didn’t see her anywhere.
Right when I felt like dancing, the music ended and the crowd dispersed into the stands to watch the second half of the game. Before taking the field again, Eddie rushed over. He was still beaming from rescuing the homecoming queen.
“Dude, I’m off the hook with Zoe,” I said, holding up my hand for him to high five. “We can totally hang out tonight if you want.”
“Sorry, Lawrence,” Eddie said. “I’m taking Dawn to the dance. She said yes!” He slapped my hand really, really hard.
“Congratulations,” I said, wincing. “Your dream’s come true.”
“And it’s all thanks to this little guy here,” Eddie said, ruffling Spencer’s hair, which was about as rigid as Spencer.
“What do you mean?”
“Just after the homecoming parade started, he comes up to me moping on the sidelines and suggests I follow the float. He points to the banner at the opposite end of the field and tells me I should go rescue Dawn when the thing topples the tower. I wouldn’t have been there to catch her if he hadn’t warned me.”
“Spencer, how did you know the banner was hung too low?”
“It was a simple calculation,” Spencer said. “Anyone with a basic understanding of geometry and physics could have figured it out.”
But of course, it was only Spencer who had. I slapped him on the back. He seemed to like this display of affection as much as the other forms of PDA he was receiving.
“I should get going,” Eddie said. “Dawn’s suffering from a little post-traumatic stress and doesn’t want her ‘knight in shining armor,’ that’s what she calls
me, to leave her side. She can be a little clingy, I’m noticing. Also, I don’t think that dress suits her at all. I hope she’s not planning on wearing it tonight.” Eddie smiled weakly and then returned to the love of his life.
“I give ’em a week,” I said.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if he finds someone new at the dance tonight,” Spencer added.
“I wonder who Jerry’s going to the dance with?” I asked.
“It would appear he’s developed an interest in Miss Ngu-yen’s chicken,” Spencer said, nodding in the direction of the sidelines. Jerry and Crystal were cooing over Mr. Winkles, who Jerry still had tucked into the crook of his arm.
“Excuse me a minute,” Spencer said. He left his rolling backpack in my care and walked over to where Jerry was standing. Most freshmen would be reluctant to approach Jerry Tortelli unless they were offering up their lunch money in some exchange for protective services, but Spencer marched right up to him, said a few words, then returned to where I was standing. Whatever he said had some effect, because Jerry looked like a hyper dog that’d just been taken off leash.
“What did you say?” I asked.
“I told him that if he cradled the football the same way he held Mr. Winkles, then the chances of him fumbling would be significantly decreased.”
“Looks like he agrees with you,” I said. Jerry relinquished control of Mr. Winkles to Crystal and tried the new hold with the game ball. He ducked left and right and then straightened up and gave Spencer a thumbs-up sign.
“You’re amazing,” I said, deeply in awe of Spencer’s powers. I guess my mentoring hadn’t been the failure I thought it was.
The players took to the field and it was clear from the kickoff that our team was energized in a way it hadn’t been before the jubilant halftime show. Within the first five minutes of play, Jerry moved the team downfield and ran twenty yards for a touchdown. The fans went wild. The cheerleaders went wild. The band went wild. The corners of Spencer’s lips lifted slightly.
“Lawrence,” I heard a voice from behind me say. I felt a thousand tiny spiders crawl across my skin and immediately identified the speaker.
I turned around and saw Zoe holding Audrey by the wrist. Audrey’s pale, soft skin seemed almost ghostly next to Zoe’s funeral attire. For a moment, I thought Zoe had killed my maiden and conjured her spirit as a final insult to me.
I left Spencer and shielded Audrey from this villainous harpy.
“You can’t blackmail me anymore, Zoe. The Viking’s been caught.”
“That doesn’t mean I don’t have any power over you,” Zoe said, taking a few steps back and removing the dog collar from her back pocket. She started mumbling some incantation under her breath and flopping around like a bird who’s just flown into a window.
Normally, I’d expect the world to go dark at this stage, but the lights didn’t dim, the world retained its color, and the living didn’t drop dead and resurrect as Zoe’s zombie horde. I clasped Audrey’s hand and together we stared Zoe down. Her Latin curse died on her lips and she looked around like a little girl who’s just realized she’s grabbed the hand of a stranger at the mall.
“All I wanted was a date to homecoming,” she whimpered.
“I’m sorry, Zoe,” I said, feeling sorry for her for the first time in, well, forever. If you could see past the black shroud, sinister makeup, and threatening manicure, Zoe was just a cute little girl who wanted to be loved like the rest of us.
“You will bow down to me, miscreant!” Zoe said, doing a spot-on imitation of an Orc from the Lord of the Rings movies. She stretched the leather collar between her two fists and approached me slowly, like a dominatrix dog walker.
She was within inches of us when Lunley suddenly called from the sidelines of the game. He was holding his cell phone aloft like he had just intercepted it. “Zoe!” he said, “the Rotary Club just announced the finalists for their Future Business Leaders of America award. You made the list! Congratulations!”
“That’s awesome!” Zoe squealed, whipping the dog collar above her head like a lasso. She turned to us, as if suddenly broken from her hypnotist’s trance. “Sorry, guys. Gotta go.” And she skipped off to where Lunley was waiting for her.
Audrey and I stared at each other, struck dumb by what we had just witnessed.
“That girl is whack,” Audrey said.
“M’lady, thou dost speak the truth,” I replied. Now it was my turn to struggle for words.
“Hey,” I said, just to get the ball rolling.
“Hey,” she said, tucking a stray curl behind her ear.
“Thanks, you know, for saving me.”
“You were only five feet above the ground,” Audrey said in an oddly normal voice. She spoke with a slight British accent, but the words were twenty-first century. “You were hardly in any danger.”
“I wouldn’t have dropped if you weren’t there to catch me.”
“I’m happy to be your safety net, Mr. Barry,” Audrey said, curtseying.
“And I yours, Miss Sieminski,” I replied with a bow.
Another cheer came from the stands. I wanted to think the crowd was rooting for our happy ending, but they were just responding to an interception.
“I’m sorry for thinking you were the Viking,” I fumbled.
“’Tis nothing.”
“Will you go to the dance with me tonight?”
“It would be my honor, kind sir,” Audrey said. “Why don’t you pick me up at eight?” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “Grannie should be asleep by then.” She kissed me on the cheek and walked away, nice and slow.
I turned to Spencer and raised my hand for a high five. His expression turned sour as if I were holding up a piece of roadkill for him to examine. I extended my hand instead and double pumped him.
“You want me to teach you some dance moves?” I asked.
“I already know how to waltz, thank you,” he said.
“Nobody waltzes at these things, Spencer,” I said. “You need to get funky.”
Spencer raised an eyebrow at the word “funky.”
“Here, let me show you.” I went through my repertoire of dance moves. After performing the Spaghetti Monkey, I detected a smile on Spencer’s face.
“My father looks like that when he’s having one of his seizures,” he said.
“Show me your waltz, then.”
“I would prefer not to.”
“Okay, well you can get away with just bobbing your head to the music.” I thought it best to forget about trying to move his lower body. “Try it.”
I whipped out my iPhone and played “Low Rider” by War. I showed him how to move his head and adopt a bored expression of someone waiting for a cooler song to cut loose. When Spencer attempted to imitate me, he looked like someone reluctantly agreeing to an unreasonable request. He nodded his head to the beat, but his expression was wary. “That’s it,” I said, trying to be encouraging. With freshman mentees, it’s important to boost their confidence, even if you have to lie a little.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The book you’ve just read began with an image of a homecoming queen leaping from a crumbling float into the arms of an enamored male cheerleader. I started writing toward that ending and ended up with a bunch of nonsense, as you might imagine.
Luckily, I had a ton of people to help me shape this nonsense into something that resembled a story. These people are not listed in order of importance (they’re all important) but in the order they intervened and kept me writing.
First off, there’s my sister, Sheila Grau, whose book deal inspired me to work a lot harder at this writing thing so she wouldn’t be able to brag at Thanksgiving. (Not that she would. She’s modest to a fault, despite being a hilarious writer with way more imagination than I have.) Her encouragement and guidance were critical.
Then there are the people in my writing group, who always found at least one nice thing to say about dreck I submitted every month. Eileen Bordy, John Foley, Ann Ge
lder, Shelly King, Julie Knight, Katy Motley, Rich Register, Cheyenne Richards, Beth Sears, and Mary Taugher have been the best support group ever. We’re like Writing Anonymous, only the meetings encourage participants to do the thing they want to stop doing.
Lyn Fairchild Hawks read the early drafts of this book with a microscope and provided detailed feedback to help me channel my inner sixteen-year-old. Robie Spector and Poppy Livingstone also kept me going with their enthusiasm and lots of chocolate babka for energy.
Then there was my agent, Adriann Ranta, who was smart enough to reject the book when I first sent it to her, but kind enough to encourage me to revise further. It’s thanks to her that Lawrence isn’t a dissolute alcoholic at the end of the novel. The fact that this book exists at all is due to her.
Because of Adriann, I got to work with the brilliant Karen Chaplin and her team at Harper Teen. Karen’s insight helped me see that this book is really about being true to yourself and that those 200 pages where Lawrence wanders in the desert contemplating his own mortality could be cut from the story. She also let me keep the things important to me—like the talking squirrel and the phrase “fuck off, you dicktard”—despite her better judgment.
Anne Battle and April Oliver found errors at the last minute that everyone had overlooked. My street cred as an English teacher would have suffered significantly if these had made it to print.
All this represents four long years of work, none of which would have been possible without the love and support of my family. Mom, Dad, Lisa, Jeff, Charlie, Cooper, Juan, Rachel, Ricky, Alex, and Daniel are the best clan to be connected to.
And finally, to Kathleen and Henry, neither of whom read this book but provided all the inspiration, thank you for giving my life purpose and so much joy.
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