The Taming of the Drew

by Gurley, Jan

  It was my absolute worst fear — the reason I didn’t want him to tag along — Tio and I both would be dead.

  So would the trees. The whole deal would be off. I’d be hung out to dry. And I couldn’t really blame the school or Mrs. Bullard for doing it. Instead of preventing more bad news about the Dog, I’d be causing it.

  How could I have forgotten the camera? How?

  “You know something about where those photos are, don’t you,” Celia turned on Tio like maybe she sensed panic and had a better shot at getting info out of him.

  There was a held-breath silence. All the Greenbacks knew something major was at stake, even if they didn’t know exactly what. I couldn’t kick Tio or interrupt without alerting Celia that maybe we did know where the camera might be, not with Celia standing right here watching. And Tio was a hideous liar. His face was bulging like G-forces were building, hurtling him toward some inevitable collision. We watched in horror. Tio’s eyes swiveled around looking for a way out but not finding one. He was on the spot. No one could help. Everyone took a step closer to him. He opened his mouth…

  Tio shrieked, “You secret, black and midnight hag!”

  Celia blinked. She popped a hand on her hip and her eyes went to slits, “Ex- cuse me? Who you calling a — ”

  “That’s Macbeth,” I said, “Ignore him.” I took a shaky breath and let it out, slow. “Look, you want info, talk to the Dog. He or his mom knows way more than we do about what’s going on.”

  “I told you, the Dog doesn’t talk. And frankly, Mrs. Bullard scares me almost as much as your little friend-freak here.” Celia still looked rattled, and edged away from Tio.

  Ooh, she so deserved what I was about to do. “Listen, Celia, for all your trouble, I’ll give you a freebie. I’ll tell you the secret to getting the Dog talking. In fact, I can promise that you’ll wish you could shut him up.”

  “So what’s the secret,” Celia asked, hitching her beaded-strap skinny purse high on her shoulder, like she had lots of place to be and didn’t really care if I told her or not. But I didn’t quite believe her — that she didn’t have a crush on Drew. If she did, God knows she would never want us to know. She was way too interested in him, and this greedy tone entered her voice when she started talking specifics, the way obsessed people do.

  “You don’t have to take my word for it. If you think I’m selling you a load of bull, check with his sister. Bianca, I’m sure, will back me up on this one.” I nodded at the Greenbacks that it was time to head out and we shuffled toward the parking lot where the dance crowd emptied out of the gym.

  “What? Wait! You didn’t say. What’s the secret?” Celia said, unwilling to let it go, but equally unwilling to be seen walking with us.

  I turned and skipped backwards in the middle of the group, cupping my hands around my mouth to call to her, “Here’s the big secret. Just get him mad enough.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Kill Me Now

  Chapter 4

  The Greenbacks arranged to met in the fairy circle Monday before school to discuss the new plan. I got there on time, and then had to wait for everyone else. My nerves were sizzling and my head still hurt from the Take Down and my hands had this tiny shake going when I held them out — probably from too little sleep. I paced for a few moments. Everyone else being late was making me angry — I got up early, why couldn’t they? — but then I took a deep breath and just sort of…I don’t know…stopped fighting it. I let go.

  I flopped on my belly across the mother-stump. My arms and legs flapped out in four directions, hanging over the edges. I closed my eyes, thinking that at least I could catch a few minutes sleep.

  And then it seeped into me. Like it always does.

  The peace, the hope. The smell of soft needles that also could be spiky when they needed to be. A breeze shuffled through overhead, like it was giving the trees a wake-up shake, one after the other. A fallen twig pecked me on the cheek then slid off my face to the stump, leaving a tickle trail behind.

  I let my brain stop thinking. Which is harder than it sounds.

  I floated.

  When I opened my eyes, the air had lightened to a dim pinkness. All the Greenbacks stood or sat around, no one saying a word.

  I sat up and gave a slow blink. “You guys are quiet,” I said. “I wasn’t asleep, you know.” I don’t know why, but I felt like I’d been caught doing something embarrassing.

  “Sorry we’re late,” Phoebe said, but she didn’t sound sorry at all. “You been here long?”

  “That’s a silly question,” Helena said, “just look at her.” Everyone got suddenly awkward, like Helena had said something she shouldn’t have. Helena rushed to fill the silence, “Did you send the message to Mrs. Bullard?”

  “What message? You didn't call off the deal, did you? This deal with Mrs. Bullard is still our best shot,” said Phoebe.

  I nodded in agreement with Phoebe. “But it’s a big gamble. It won’t work the way things are. Which is why something major has to change.” I took a deep breath and powered up my cell to share what I’d already done.

  Everyone crowded around to peer at my tiny cell screen.

  “So I sent her a follow-up message. I had to type complete sentences, because I couldn’t risk Mrs. Bullard not knowing an abbreviation. The message ended up being longer than I wanted, but still — it was the hardest few words I ever wrote.”

  “Including honors English with Mr. Gorn in eighth grade?”

  “Even including Mr. Gorn’s assignments. Worse by far. Here’s what I sent:”

  Went to dance with UR son. Lots of insight. Cause = hopeless as is.

  Reading that first part again made me want to cry. There it was — I’d put it in writing that this deal with Mrs. Bullard, and saving the trees, was hopeless.

  I scrolled down to the next parts:

  Only chance = transfer Drew to Academy pod.

  Deans will do it if you insist.

  Must do now. That means by Monday. Tomorrow.

  Hurry.

  Seeing it in print, even electronic print, made everyone simultaneously take a big inhale.

  “That’s a lot of pressure to put on Mrs. Bullard,” said Gonzo. “You still really think it’s that big a rush?”

  I felt my shoulders sag. “No way would I suggest something like this if I didn’t have to. Think about it though. How long until the Dog hits up one of his friends for money? Or until Celia finds out about my arrangement with Mrs. Bullard and blows the whole thing? Or, worse yet, all the Dog really needs is one more weekend — that’s all — to get into big enough trouble that it’s over. Everything. Him and the trees.”

  “And,” said Tio, “you’ve seen this guy. Talk about a pit-bull latching on and refusing to let go! If you’re going to make something like this happen, you’ve got to do it before he gets wind of what's in the air.”

  Phoebe said, “But do you think he’ll stand for this? I mean, won’t he just blow?”

  “I’m sure his mom will try to make it work. They’ll probably put a lot of thought into picking the same kind of classes he had at Uni. To ease the transition and make sure his grades don’t drop.”

  Tio said, “So what exactly are you changing then?”

  “The people around him?” I was mortified to realize it came out as a question. Because the fact was, there were Uni wanna-bes in every pod. The Dog could find his people anywhere if he really wanted to find them.

  Gonzo said, ”Your whole plan depends on the Dog wanting to hang with...bottom-feeders like...” he looked away, not looking at anyone one.

  “Like us?” I realized my voice was too high and breathy and I tried to make it sound normal. “Hey, it would probably be too humiliating to quit, once he transfers here. Right?”

  No one would answer. And no one would look at me. I felt a weight settle in my stomach.

  Phoebe muttered, to no one, it seemed. “He can blow out of here any time he wants. Any school in the nation would be happy to ge
t him.”

  Viola said, “It’s like the Three Musketeers. All or nothing. Or nothing for all.”

  The silence turned into solid dread, so heavy and hopeless that it felt like it was pressing down on all of us. For this to work, everything had to go just right. Everything had to be perfect. The Dog had to be in just the right mood, get just the right classes, meet just the right people. What had I been thinking?

  Then ever-efficient Helena clapped her hands like a teacher calling a class to order and asked Tio, “And what about your part — are you ready to search for the camera?”

  Tio stood at military attention, “Aye, aye, madam!’

  “But Helena,” I said, “I don’t understand how this finding-the-camera is going to work.”

  “It’s simple,” Helena said. “There’s no point in breaking into the Dean’s office.” Yikes. Was that ever a plan? “If the camera’s there, the Dean will keep it locked up or give it to Mrs. Bullard. No one’ll get the photos who shouldn’t. Problem solved.”

  There was a long silence, “And so…?” I said.

  “Obviously that still leaves the storage area for news and journalism equipment for us to search for the camera.”

  “Which means…?”

  “Tio has a key to the equipment storage.”

  “I know that. That’s how he got the camera in the first place. My point is, how’s he going to not get in trouble for rummaging through the entire room while school’s in session? Students have to go through it to get to first period journalism class. Lots of teachers have keys, and students will be hanging around outside the door, wanting to get to their desks.” I could feel my heart pounding louder the more I talked about it. “He’s got to find that camera before anyone else.”

  Alex and Robin smiled at each other. “That’s where we come in.”

  For the first time, I noticed Alex and Robin were dressed very, um, ruggedly today. Trucker caps with the flat bills, flannel shirts half-open over white undershirts, thick-denim cargo pants with a wallet on a chain-leash, heavy steel-toed boots. There was even a temporary tattoo of a flaming skull on the side of Alex’s neck.

  “What, you’re going to threaten anyone who gets close to the door?”

  Robin said, while giving Alex an-eyes-half-closed stare, “We’re going to do something we’ve never, ever, ever done at school before.”

  Suddenly I understood. I gasped. “In the journalism doorway?”

  Two flannel-shirt shrugs. Alex said, “Sure. We’ll start with the lovey-dovey talk, you know, standing with your hand on the doorjamb above the other person, leaning in. Laughing. Touching — hair and face only. Probably no one’ll come close. But if they do, we’re not afraid to…” there was another one of those smiles, “make out.”

  “Wow.” It was all I could say.

  Robin said, “Even the teacher’ll be afraid to interrupt.”

  Tio said, a trifle smugly, “I think I’ll get at least a few minutes to rummage undisturbed. If I find the big camera, I’ll replace the SIM card with the new one you bought, and then barge out the door like I didn’t know what Alex and Robin were up to.”

  I stared at them all. “Helena,” I said, “you’re brilliant.”

  She smiled. “So what about getting the Dog transferred? Do you think Mrs. Bullard did it yesterday?”

  I couldn’t meet anyone’s eyes. “She never answered my message. Probably she decided I was psycho.”

  Gonzo said, “That may be for the best, you know.”

  “How can you even say that?”

  “Kate, think about it. If the Dog gets transferred to Academy — to the land of the misfits and freaks…”

  There was a long silence as everyone thought this over — trying to grasp the unimaginable — to fathom how very far the Dog could fall.

  “…and he ever, EVER finds out you were behind it, he’ll…he’ll…” words failed Gonzo for a moment, “he’ll pound you into a tiny Kate-smear.”

  Phoebe added, in a tiny voice, “and who could blame him?”

  “Well,” said Helena, standing and dusting herself off, “I guess we’ll find out what’s up when class starts, now won’t we?”

  ***

  First period was drama. Okay, on the transcript, it says English, but really it’s drama. The Fitz (I knew instantly what Mr. Fitzpatrick was like when he insisted from the first day that the whole class call him “The Fitz”) was a frustrated director. We acted out at least one scene from every classic that the state teaching standards required us to read, plus a few extra works of literature (cough*plays*cough) that he liked. Writing assignments were few and far between.

  I was being Lenny from Of Mice and Men, when the door opened.

  Maybe it was the rage that made him even bigger. All I can say is, until that moment, probably because I’d never seen him, say, looming in a doorway staring daggers at me, I hadn’t ever really realized how large the Dog is.

  The Fitz gave a cough, “Can I help you?”

  When the Dog moved into the classroom, stared for a second and then took a seat in the back, he looked — and I would have sworn this was impossible — even bigger. A desk chair looked like a preschool chair when he sat in it. With his elbows on the desk and him leaning forward, there wasn’t much room left in the aisle on either side. If another football player from University had been sitting across the aisle from the Dog, they’d have been shoulder to shoulder.

  Had Academy somehow, over time, actually shrunk?

  Or was my imagination skittering all over the place from fear — because it was absolutely clear to me that the Dog knew exactly how he ended up here.

  Which I guess shouldn’t have surprised me. Why would Mrs. Bullard keep it a secret?

  Dean Verona looked at me over the top of her bifocals. She walked to the front of the class and had a whispered conversation with the Fitz.

  The class heard him say, “But really, this far into the school year, this is most irregular…” before their whispering resumed again. Before she left, Dean Verona turned and said, “Katharine Baptista?”

  Why do Deans do that? You’re pretty sure they know exactly who you are, but they always say your name in public like they’re calling roll and not sure who’s going to answer.

  All my words dried up. I raised a hand from the front of the classroom, wishing I on the other side of the thick, reinforced teacher's desk — or, better yet, out of the room.

  “Here, this is Andrew Petruchio-Bullard’s new schedule. You’re to escort him to each class.” She gave a sharp nod, handed me a slip of thin yellow transfer paper, and left. The door closed behind Dean Verona to total, pin-drop silence.

  There wasn’t a soul in all of Legacy who didn’t know who the Dog was. To find him suddenly dropped into the middle of a half-filled, half-hearted fake English class (drama! It’s really drama!), was like finding Elvis breathing in the desk behind you.

  The class was paralyzed. No one made eye contact.

  “Your line, Kate,” the Fitz eventually said.

  I tried to get my parchment throat to swallow, but it seemed to only crumple and wad in my neck.

  “Kate?” he said again, and I heard a tiny, rising note of panic in his voice.

  I cleared my throat. Normally, I enjoy pretending to be someone else, even in front of a classroom, even if I’m pretending to be Lenny.

  Today, I’d have given a kidney to be someone else. If for only a minute. But I couldn’t seem to do it.

  I licked dry lips and tried again. I opened my mouth, exhaled and — a raw sound came out. Water buffaloes in heat made prettier noises. I was mortified.

  The Fitz perked up. “Nice,” he said. “I can see where you’re going with that.”

  He glanced around the room at the stunned faces of the audience. “Well. Let’s stop on that distinctive note and turn to page 197 for silent, sustained reading-time.”

  I moved between the rows and stopped in front of where the Dog hulked in a chair.

 
He looked up. The tiny scufflings of the room stopped, everyone uncertain, afraid, not sure what the rules were now. “What?” Drew barked. “You wouldn’t dare say something to me. Not after what you’ve done to me. You can’t possibly be that stupid.”

  I tried to swallow, stopped, started all over again.

  “What?” he barked again, this time putting his palms flat on the desk like he was going to shove himself up.

  Maybe he pushed me too far. In that moment, like when I’m in the circle of trees, something happened. It was like I just let go. Not exactly the same way as the trees, because there was no hope, no peace. Instead, all the emotion drained away. It was like I could see clearly and a calm voice in my head said, You know what, Mr. Big Dog, you really have got a swelled head. Someone’s been catering to your every whim for far too long. Just who the heck do you think you are, coming into my pod, my class, my friends and acting like this?

  I leaned over, put my hand on the desk and tapped it with my index finger, “That’s my desk you’re sitting in.”

  He frowned at me.

  “My bag under the seat.”

  He gave a half-twist in the chair, stopping himself before he could be caught bending over to see if it was true.

  “Unless,” I said, “you also prefer fringed moccasin shoulder bags — in which case I could be mistaken.”

  A laugh chuckled around the room and then, just like that, the Dog was merely a guy. A guy who mistakenly sat in someone else’s chair his first day in a new class.

  I said, “Hand me the bag, toots, I’ll sit over there.”