Egghead

by Caroline Pignat

  "Stay out of it," I say. I admired her standing up to Shane before. But today, today is different. Shane is different. He's not looking for fun; he wants revenge. Can't she see that? For someone so smart, she is acting pretty stupid.

  Shane's so far gone, he doesn't even hear her. He's got a fistful of Egghead's turtleneck and he's twisting it something fierce. Egghead's face is turning purple. I can tell by the way Shane's other hand tightens that he's going to blow any second.

  "Stop it! Stop! You're hurting him!" Katie yells, pushing past.

  It all starts happening in slow motion. Shane hears someone come at him from behind. He turns. He cocks his arm and shoots out his fist like a cannonball.

  I don't remember doing it, but I grab Katie and pull her back just in time to see Shane's punch swung inches by her face. I might've saved her life, or her glasses at least. But she doesn't even thank me. In fact, she starts freaking out.

  "Let me go! Let! Go!" She's screaming and kicking my shins like some kind of maniac. I'm so surprised to be holding her, and to be on the receiving end of her self-defense moves, I forget to let go. At least until she gives me a killer blow to the ribs with her bony little elbow.

  "Whoa," I throw my hands up in the air. "Easy!"

  She jumps away from me like I was hurting her.

  R-r-r-rip!

  Egghead slides down the lockers to the floor, leaving Shane holding nothing but a scrap. Egghead's turtleneck.

  "What the—" Shane says, looking from the scrap to Egghead. "What the hell are you wearing?"

  The pasty color's coming back to Egghead's face as he slowly stands. "It's a dickie."

  "A what?" Shane asks, his face not so red anymore either.

  "A dick-eeee." Egghead grabs it from Shane and wraps it around his blotchy neck, tucking the bib back under his sweater. "A fake turtleneck."

  Shane busts out laughing.

  "A dickie? You're wearing a dickie? Oh, this is rich!" He puts his hands over his eyes like he's got a migraine and moans, "Too ... many ... jokes. . ."

  Soon everyone's laughing. It is kind of funny, really. I mean who wears turtlenecks anyway, except for hockey or skiing? And now they make dickies? Why? Who the heck buys a fake turtleneck? That's like mock spam.

  Even after everyone else stops, Shane's still laughing so hard he's split the scab on his lip. Tears are running down his cheeks.

  Maybe it's the sight of Egghead trying to look all dignified as he stomps away in his torn dickie. Maybe it's just the word dickie that did it. Last summer, me and Shane cracked up every time my mom asked if we wanted our wieners boiled or barbequed.

  Or maybe Shane just really needs it. A good gutwrenching-till-your-sides-hurt kind of laugh. 'Cause on some days if you don't laugh like that, you just might cry.

  I pat Shane on the back and laugh too, relieved it's over, for now.

  Egghead has no idea how much pain that little dickie prevented. And I don't just mean for him.

  Dickies. Just another mystery of the universe, I think, watching Egghead and Katie walk down the hall.

  That, and girls. Geez, God must have a real sense of humor.

  Katie

  I got to school early the day of the science fair and went into the gym. I wanted to give myself enough time to set up. The project had kept me pretty busy the last few days, but not busy enough. I couldn't stop thinking about the other day. About him. Not Will. Not even Shane.

  Devan. I just couldn't get him out of my mind.

  Why did he grab me like that? At first, I thought he held me so Shane could take a swing at me. I had never felt so scared. But I don't think that was it. Devan was holding me back. But why? Why wouldn't he let me help Will?

  I was terrified then, but now I felt foolish. I hated to admit it, but I used to think Devan liked me. He asked me to be partners. He said I was artistic. And there was something, I can't explain it, just something about the way he looked at me.

  I set up the boards on an empty table and started ripping strips of duct tape to stick the Styrofoam ant on the top. Forget about it. Forget about him. Devan Mitchell is a loser, just like Shane. And I don't want to have anything to do with either of them.

  I leafed through the labels I'd written on index cards to find the ones for the ant. Will arrived with the ant farm and set it on the table as Mr. Jackson and the other kids came over to see. The larvae were just starting to get active. Perfect timing.

  Dad and I built the new ant farm over the summer. We used an old double-glazed windowpane we found in Granny's shed. We spent a whole night painting tiny road signs on the glass: Ant Xing, Yield to Oncoming Ants, Speed Limit 0.005 km/hr, Welcome to Antville. They got even funnier the more tired we got. Okay, it's not all that funny now, but that night it was hilarious.

  Mr. Jackson peered into the glass windows. "Wow, this looks wonderful, guys! Maybe you should stay here with the ant farm during homeroom, Will"

  Earlier that week, someone poured Coke in the lab's aquarium and killed all the fish. Another day Mr. Jackson found three pickles in the pig fetuses' jars. Somebody's idea of a joke. Anyhow, I guess Mr. Jackson figured things would be safer if Will stayed behind.

  Little did we know how wrong he was.

  Devan

  I can't believe Shane ditched me. I told him to meet me at my house and help me carry the stuff. It's bad enough I had to make it all myself. But no. He forgets. And to top it off, now I'm late.

  Spence is standing by the sign-in sheet waiting to do the morning announcements. Great.

  "Well now, Mr. Mitchell," he looks at his watch. "All the other participants showed up on time and have finished setting up. Deadlines exist for a reason. It wouldn't be fair to the people that—"

  Blah blah blah.

  For a moment, I think he isn't going to unlock the gym for me, that I had done all that work, all my work and Shane's work, for nothing. I must look like I was going to cry or something. Not that I was, of course. But next thing I know, Spence is leading me to the gym.

  "Be sure this doesn't happen again," he says, unlocking the side door.

  Well, duh! There's only one science fair.

  "I've to go do the announcements," he continued. "Lock up behind you, Devan."

  I nod and then wander up and down the aisles until I find an empty table over in the corner. Luckily, I'd put most of the boards together at home, so it didn't take long to set the project up.

  Spence's voice blasts over the intercom. "Good morning. Here are today's announcements."

  I'm taping the last poster board on the wall by the time he tells us to stand for the national anthem. Then I hear it.

  "OooOOOOh Caaaa-nada."

  I look between the projects behind me to see what moron is singing alone in the gym.

  Egghead. I should've known it was him.

  He's belting it out like he's at center ice at a hockey game or something, hitting notes beyond human hearing range. Man, dogs must be barking somewhere.

  A door slams. The door I was supposed to lock behind me.

  "Shut your mouth, fag!" Shane yells, as he and Brad barge in. He grabs the roll of duct tape off the table and sticks a strip across Egghead's mouth.

  The singing stops.

  "What do we got here?" Brad says, looking at the ant farm. He taps the glass.

  Egghead squirms and whimpers the more Brad taps. Brad smiles. He starts pushing the ant farm until it wobbles at the edge of the table. Egghead's eyes are bugging out. If he opened them any bigger, I swear they would've rolled out right there.

  "You got something to say?" Shane asks, picking some cards off the table.

  Egghead totally ignores Shane and lunges for Brad, hitting him square in the back and sending him flying. Brad's face squeaks across the floor like a wet gym shoe. He rolls onto his elbow and looks up in shock at Egghead standing over him.

  Guess he never thought Egghead had it in him. I know I didn't. But Shane only smiles.

  "Who do you think you are?" Shane
yells, shoving Egghead back into the table. The farm rocks. Egghead can't take his eyes off it, like he's more worried about something happening to it than to him.

  "Yeah;' Brad echoes, suddenly braver. "Who do you think you are?" He scrambles to his feet and twists Egghead's arms behind his back. Shane rips out a strip of duct tape and winds it around Egghead's wrists. They push him between them like a pinball. All Egghead can do is wriggle and grunt.

  "I'll tell you who you are, you little maggot." Shane grabs some cards off the table and hooks Egghead's head in his arm like he's going to give him a noogie. He winds the tape around the guy's head. Egghead's pulling away, till Shane punches him in the face and gut.

  Finally, Shane steps back to admire his work. Egghead slumps to his knees, snorting hard, trying to get his wind back. He has blood on his shirt from a cut on his cheek. Duct tape is wound around his head like a sweatband and sticking out the top, just over his brow, are two cards.

  Egg. Head.

  "Ha! Ha!" goes Brad. "Egg. Head. It's Egghead, get it?"

  Geez, do I sound that lame?

  I'd been looking for Shane all morning. Now I just want him to leave. Go, just go. He stopped and turns in my direction. I crouch down. I don't want to be seen, not now.

  Shane walks over and flicks his finger at the ant farm. It teeters then tips over the edge. Egghead's eyes go wide.

  "NoooOOOOooo!" I shout. But I doubt anybody hears it over the sound of the farm hitting the floor. It smashes in an explosion of glass and splintering wood, shattering right beside Egghead.

  Shane and Brad stomp around, squashing any ants lucky enough to survive the crash. They're keeping a tally. Seeing who could kill the most. Egghead's freakin' out, writhing on the floor, totally helpless.

  "Let's go," Shane finally says. The bell is about to ring. He heads through the side door I'd forgotten to lock behind me, but Brad stops. He turns and looks back. Right at me.

  He knew. The whole time, he knew I was there. Our eyes meet and I know what he's thinking.

  Why are you hiding, Dev? You coulda helped us. Why didn't you do something?

  Then he runs out after Shane.

  I look down at the ant massacre. All that work and time. Gone. Ruined. Just like that. I feel sick to my stomach. Poor Egghead. Poor Katie. I totally forgot it was her project too. She is going to be crushed.

  Maybe something can be saved, I think. I hope. But I know it's too late. I scan the dirt, smeared ants, and broken glass, and stop short at Egghead's face. He's just lying there. Crying. Looking at me with those eyes. Asking me the very same thing as Brad.

  Why are you hiding, Devan? You could have helped me. Why didn't you do something?

  Only I didn't have an answer. For either of them.

  William James Reid

  No Difference

  I am

  not all that different

  from you.

  Unless you consider that

  I am

  the only one

  who isn't

  trying to be the

  same.

  Katie

  When the announcements were over, Mme. Latour asked me to run the attendance sheets down to the office. On the way back, I stopped by the gym to see how Will was doing with the labels. I wanted everything to be perfect. But I knew Will was right. With a project like ours, first place was in the bag.

  The gym door was still locked. I yanked on the handles, and then I heard a door slam and someone ran up the stairwell.

  The hairs on my neck prickled. Something wasn't right.

  I ran to the far door, flung it open, and rushed in. As I rounded the corner to our aisle, something gritty crunched beneath my shoes. And then I saw.

  It took a few seconds to take it in. Sand. Shards. Splinters. It was unreal, like watching surgery on TV. My mind just couldn't believe what I was actually seeing.

  Until I saw the ants.

  They scurried in all directions on the gym floor, frantically searching among the wreckage for a bearing, for each other. I had to do something. I knelt, scooping what I could with my bare hands. Maybe I could save some. Maybe.

  A piece of glass jabbed into my palm. But I didn't stop. If I could just get a container, if I had a food source to attract them, if I . . .

  The few ants I had corralled spilled over my hands in a frenzy. I stopped to pull the shard from my palm. Blood dripped in the dirt. The glass had some writing on it, part of our Welcome to Antville sign. My palm throbbed, but I felt numb as the reality hit me.

  Antville was gone. The pupae, the larvae, the workers, the queen. All of them.

  Gone. Just like that.

  Where is Will? I thought, looking around.

  I found him beneath the table, lying among dirt, splinters, and dead ants. A few ants crawled over his face. A strip of tape covered his mouth. Another bound his head and held two of my cards. Egg and Head.

  "Oh, Will," I said in a quiet voice. His eyes closed, but it didn't stop the tears. Not his. And not mine.

  All was lost.

  I helped him up and took off the tape. No matter how gently I tried, it ripped out patches of his hair and made his lips bleed. "Who did this?!" I asked.

  Will looked away. I knew he wouldn't name names, and to be honest it could have been anyone. It was only October and already every grade nine kid knew Will Reid. Just yesterday he took a fit in the hall, reminded Mr. Jackson about the pop quiz, and knocked the spit bucket all over the brass section in music class. All before third period. So really it could have been anyone. But I had my suspicions.

  "I'm sorry, Katie. I ... " His face turned red as he looked away. I knew he felt responsible. In a way, I guess he was. He should have put a stop to all this long ago. "If it wasn't for me this wouldn't have happened," he mumbled.

  "You have to do something about this, Will!" Anger at the whole stupid thing was boiling inside me like a volcano. I was going to blow. "You can't let them do this to you. You have to tell Mr. Spence. If you won't, I will!"

  He grabbed my arms. "Don't! Don't tell," he said. "You saw how Shane was when he thought I'd told before. Just imagine what he'd do to me if I really did tell."

  I didn't know what to think. Telling might make things worse for Will, but staying silent didn't seem to be helping any either.

  "What happened?" Mr. Jackson cried, coming into the gym. "Who did this?"

  "I ... uh ... I knocked the table:' Will lied. "It was an accident."

  Mr. Jackson frowned. I could tell he didn't believe Will. Given all the recent pranks in the lab, it wasn't surprising. "Katie?" His eyes searched my face, and as though reading my thoughts he added, "Ratting is telling to get someone in trouble. Reporting is telling to keep someone safe." He looked at Will and then back at me. "For your own safety, if you know something, you should report it."

  I felt torn. Should I say something? "It ... it was—" Will squeezed my hand and I paused, looking away from Mr. Jackson's eyes. "It was an accident."

  "Well, I'm here if you ever change your mind." Mr. Jackson didn't press any further. He had a science fair to run. He looked at his watch. "Let's get this mess cleaned up. The doors open in five minutes."

  Will and I swept up the glass, dirt, and dead ants, as if losing them wasn't bad enough. To top it off, we had to sit at the table through the entire fair. Will put on a brave face, despite his blotchy forehead and scabbing lips. He showed the judges the Styrofoam model, but without the ants, our ants; the whole thing was just ridiculous. It took me everything I had not to burst out crying.

  I didn't wait around for the results. I rushed home to do the thing I needed most, and wanted least.

  To tell Dad all about it.

  Devan

  "What's your problem?" Shane asks from the back seat of the bus. He's sprawled across it, leaving Brad and me standing.

  I shrug. I can't explain it. It's like I'm a kaleidoscope turned an inch too far and suddenly the whole picture is changed. But I don't tell him that. He'
d have a field day with that one.

  "Is it the science fair?" Brad says, with that stupid smirk.

  "Don't tell me you're still sore about having to set up on your own." Shane swings his third place medal in a circle so the ribbon wraps around his fingers. Then he swings it the other way.

  Brad opens his mouth like he's about to set the record straight. I give him a look. Whatever it said, it shut him up fast.

  "We won!" Shane brags, like he had anything to do with it. "Man, my mom's gonna freak when she sees this."

  The phone is ringing as I unlock the front door. It's Mom. Ever since she started working, she calls every day at 3:45 to ask me the silly questions she asked when she was home all the time.

  So how was your day?

  Fine.

  How was school?

  Fine.

  What did you do?

  Nothing.

  I know she'll ask about the science fair today. I don't feel much like talking about it. But I know better than to let the machine pick up. Last time I didn't answer, she called 9-1-1. Two minutes later I got four firemen, two paramedics, and a canine unit at my door, all because I had to take a dump.

  I pick it up. "Hello?"

  "Hi sweetie, how was your day?"

  "Fine."

  "What did you do? "

  "Nothing."

  "How did the science fair go?"

  "Good."

  "That's nice, dear. Is Em home?" she asks, just as Em's bus pulls away. I don't know how Mom does that. It's like ESP or something. Em opens the front door and sticks her tongue out at me right on cue. Then she runs downstairs to see her rabbit, Lulu.

  "Yeah, The Pain is here," I say.

  "There are some—"

  "Sandwiches in the fridge."

  "And can you put the lasagna in at three—"

  "Three-fifty for thirty minutes at 5:30. Yeah, Mom. See you later."

  "Love you."

  "Me too."

  I open the fridge and grab two pops and the plate of sandwiches. Mom shrink-wraps everything. The whole second shelf is always full of half empty dishes mummified in plastic wrap. Like we'll ever eat any of it. Well, you might get hungry when I'm not there, she says. As if Em will starve to death just 'cause her mother works at Home Depot three nights a week. Em's the fattest kid in grade three.