“Go ahead,” I said, deciding that giving humiliating tasks to inferiors was acceptable middle-school behavior. I mean, I was definitely better looking, better dressed, and, let’s face it, hotter than Kai, so why shouldn’t I start right off asserting my superiority? Over one person, at least.
“Who should I ask?” Kai asked.
There was probably a New Students Help Center somewhere, but again, I knew by instinct that standing in a line of clueless underclassmen would tattoo me a dork. I remembered Evan’s advice about staying away from upperclassmen, but if we didn’t ask one of them, we’d have to ask some other lost sixth grader.
“Ask an eighth grader,” I suggested, a bit surprised at how easily I was willing to sacrifice my friend to protect my reputation. It was every kid for himself in middle school.
“How can you tell which ones are in eighth grade?” Kai asked.
My opinion of him was sinking fast—though it hadn’t been too high for months. Picking out members of the older class did not require special knowledge. The eighth graders were taller, cooler, cockier, and laughing their butts off at the dopey sixth graders standing around in a daze, their schedules drooping in their hands. Like us.
I pointed to a knot of jocks in gray hoodies and baggy pants and said, “Try one of them. They look eager to help.”
Kai gulped.
“Go on,” I said, shoving him into the lion’s den.
He stopped going forward when the shove wore off and peeked back at me.
“Go!” I mouthed.
He made a face like the Cowardly Lion, then tiptoed toward the jocks. When he reached them, he asked his question. I couldn’t hear it over the hall noise, but I sure heard the jocks bust out laughing. One of them poked Kai in the chest, then brought his finger up and flicked Kai’s nose. More yuks. When Kai turned to leave, the poking jock stuck out his foot and tripped him. Luckily, Kai didn’t fall onto his face. He just did some herky-jerky robotic moves trying to keep his balance till he ran into some girl.
I walked away quickly, like I didn’t know him. He caught up to me. I walked faster. He cornered me when the traffic jammed.
“Look,” I said out of the corner of my mouth, not looking at him. “We have different homerooms. Let’s split up and meet outside at the end of the day.”
“What about lunch?” Kai asked.
I glanced back to see if the jocks were still looking at us. I couldn’t see them.
“Maybe,” I whispered.
The bottleneck cleared and I slipped into the crowd, trying—yeah, I admit it—to ditch him. He kept after me for a while, until at last I was forced to glare at him and whisper, “Go on!” Which he got. He turned around and joined the flow of traffic going the way we’d come.
“Congratulations,” a voice beside me said.
It was Iris Pok, a girl from my elementary school. We had been in fifth grade together.
Iris loved running guys down, as if it were a sport, or her job. She was one of those girls who thought girls were smarter, more mature, and just all-round better than boys—and she was constantly trying to prove this by messing with guys’ heads so much they went insane.
“Congratulations?” I asked.
“For dumping your loyal best friend in the first moments of your middle-school career,” she said, then did a triple eyelid flutter. (All my sisters—except Nadine—did this when they felt better than me. I think it’s supposed to mean, Can I trust my eyes? Are you really as [add insult here] as you seem?)
“Step off, Iris,” I said. “I’m looking for my homeroom.”
She snatched the schedule from my hand.
I started to yell “Hey!” but stopped myself. I didn’t want people to think some girl could get me all worked up.
“We’re in the same homeroom,” she said, reading the schedule. “We can walk together.”
Though she was a girl, Iris wasn’t a total loser. She was athletic, with dark skin and almost black eyes. She was taller than me, though over the summer I’d gained a little ground on her. She wore T-shirts and jeans and athletic shoes, not skirts and tights and dresses like most girls. She didn’t wear makeup or jewelry. She ran fast. She was smart. And mean. She sort of scared me.
“That’s okay,” I said. I thought instead I’d lay back and follow her.
“Right,” she said, a look of extreme smugness on her face. “I predict you will go far at Stan.”
Then she walked off. Over her shoulder, she added, “Nice cap.”
6. Notice
There was nothing homey about homeroom. Or roomy, for that matter. It was packed with kids. Only a few of them had come from Tuolomne, my old school, including Iris, who chose a seat across the aisle from me, probably so I’d be within teasing distance. The teacher, Ms. Boech (rhymes with joke), called roll, then gave us each a handbook of Stan’s rules and procedures. A fat handbook.
Rule number one: Always have your handbook with you while at school.
Great. We all had to lug around a brick in our backpacks. We’d be hunchbacks in no time.
Number two: Always remove headwear (hats, caps, hoods, etc.) when you enter a classroom.
I grumbled and took off my cap. A few girls behind me giggled and whispered. Hat head, I thought, and loosened my hair with my fingers
One section of the handbook described “consequences,” better known as punishments, for breaking the school rules. The lightest sentence was a “think time”: fifteen minutes to yourself to “reconsider your choices.” Get three think times and you were slapped with a lunch detention. This meant eating your lunch in a classroom with other juvenile delinquents instead of in the cafeteria. After that came an after-school detention, then community service (having to do chores around the school), suspension (not being allowed to come to school for a short period of time), and, finally, expulsion (getting kicked out for good). You couldn’t get the Big E unless you had gone through all the other “consequences,” unfortunately.
Ms. Boech went on and on and on over-explaining each point in the handbook till I was tempted to put my cap back on and take a think time so I could get out of there. Why were they coming down on us so hard right on the first day? It felt like boot camp. What happened to “Welcome! We’re glad you’re here!”? Why was it, “Watch it, kid! Screw up and it will hurt!” I felt younger instead of older, like Stan trusted me less than Tuolomne did, like the older I got, the more they expected me to act out. Why? What were they so afraid of?
Meanwhile, I became aware that the giggling and whispering behind me was spreading. I felt eyes on me. I slyly rubbed my nose, then checked my fingers: nothing. Why were they staring? I saw notes getting passed, which I found pretty brave considering Ms. Boech was up there explaining the tortures we’d receive for acting out in class. What was it about me that was worth getting into trouble for?
And then it hit me. The cap! They’d all seen it. Naturally, they were all impressed and felt the need to spread the word.
One thing we had to do during that first homeroom was nominate officers for the year: president, vice president, treasurer, and secretary. That didn’t make any sense to me. We were mostly strangers to each other. Shouldn’t we get to know each other awhile before electing our leaders? Iris raised her hand and asked that exact question, and Ms. Boech explained we had to do it now so that the officers could get to work right away.
“There will be a general election first,” she told us. “The top five vote getters will then make a speech, after which there will be a run-off vote. You may nominate any sixth grader you know. You may not, however, nominate yourself.”
I worried Kai might be at that very moment nominating me over in his homeroom, then figured it couldn’t possibly make a difference. How could I win before anybody knew me? I guessed that the people who’d had the most friends in their old school would be elected. I had not been popular in my old school. So I blew a sigh of relief.
A few kids nominated other kids and Ms. Boech wrote the names
down. Then this girl behind me said, “I nominate him. The boy with the Kap cap on his desk.”
I turned around to find she was pointing at me.
“Me?” I croaked.
Some kids laughed. A few girls blushed and giggled.
“You have to know his name,” Ms. Boech told the girl.
Whew!
“His name is Enzo. Enzo Harpold,” Iris said.
I glared at her.
“I nominate Enzo Harpold,” the girl said.
“I second the motion,” chimed Iris.
I started to object, to tell Ms. Boech I didn’t want to be president, and not to write my name on the list, but all around me people were whispering my name. I hadn’t forgotten what Evan said about never running for elected office. I was just suddenly curious to see how many votes I’d get. I’d already gotten one vote from someone I didn’t even know. I had a feeling some of the people staring at me and whispering might vote for me, too.
My oldest sister, Desi, was the one who was supposed to care so much about votes. Lupe, too. Not me. But I did like the idea of a sudden rise to fame and power—on the first day at a new school! And being president, being in charge, could sure make going to middle school a lot easier.
So I defied Evan’s advice and kept my mouth shut.
My next class was P.E. Stan’s gym was a stadium compared to Tuolomne’s, and I’d seen plenty of stadiums that summer. The teacher, Mr. Keller, acted pretty tough and strict, saying he would not tolerate any shenanigans. That’s one of those words only adults use, but I knew what it meant. He distributed gray gym shorts and T-shirts with the Stan mascot on it, a snarling cartoon badger, then assigned lockers.
In elementary school we didn’t have to change clothes for P.E. We weren’t in elementary school anymore. I felt some eyes on me as I undressed, and figured it was because of the clothes, the shoes, and, of course, the cap. It was all Kap, and it was all brand-new—not just to me, but to anybody. My outfitting was cutting edge. I knew that. And then when my clothes were off (not all of them, of course), I figured they kept staring because of my buffness. Which made me uncomfortable. I pretended not to notice and quickly pulled on my gym clothes.
I stowed my clothes in my locker, set my cap on the metal shelf overhead, then walked back out to the gym. Two jocks came up to me, the jocks from the hall, the ones who had tormented Kai. They weren’t upperclassmen after all. If these two guys had come up to me before the summer, I probably would have worried they were going to torment me, too. But I knew why they were coming over that day in the gym. I had passed some sort of test. They were coming over to invite me into their jock world. Not formally or anything. The coming over was the invitation.
I acted casual, as if it was no big deal.
“What do you think of Killer?” the one who tormented Kai said. He was about my height with dark hair. He had a disgusted look on his face.
“I’ve had worse,” I said.
“Where you from, dude?” the other guy said. He was blond with a kind of squarish face. He was a little shorter than me, but he stood up so straight you barely noticed it. He didn’t slouch, like most of us do. He smiled a real smile.
“Pasadero,” I said.
“Yeah, but what school?”
“Tuolomne.”
“Ohhh,” the scowler said, like where I went to elementary school explained something to him.
“I’m Chase,” the blond guy with the good posture and smile said. “This is Lance. We went to San Joaquin.”
He said this with some pride, and it seemed to puff up Lance a bit, too. I’d heard the kids from San Joaquin thought they were pretty hot.
“Yeah?” I answered, like it meant nothing to me.
They looked at each other. Lance shook his head. In disgust. Chase chuckled.
“You got a name?” he asked me.
“Enzo,” I said.
“Enzo?” Lance asked.
“Lorenzo to you,” I said.
Chase chuckled again. The guy laughed easy. I liked that.
“Enzo for short, huh?” he asked.
“That’s right.”
“You Mexican?” Lance asked.
Something told me he wouldn’t approve if I was. But I wasn’t going to lie.
“My mom’s from Argentina,” I said.
“Cool,” Chase said. “Do you speak Spani—?”
“Where’s Argentina?” Lance interrupted.
“It’s in Mexico,” I said.
Chase laughed again. Lance was getting sore.
“Here comes Killer,” Chase said, wiping his smile away with the back of his hand. “Look busy.”
We did some stretching and some calisthenics. Then the coach had us run a lap out on the track behind the school, which was a piece of cake. For me, anyway. Some guys looked like they might die halfway around. They probably spent all summer inside, staring at screens.
Like Evan says: Those who do, do; those who don’t, watch.
I crossed the finish line first.
“Fine job,” Mr. Keller said as I passed him. “Good hustle.”
Chase and Lance came in second and third. Lance was seriously sore at me by then.
“You’re in good shape,” Chase said to me, a bit winded.
I thought about telling him about my trip, but decided to wait. If I spilled it all too fast, it would have made me seem too eager to talk about it, too impressed with myself. I had already impressed them. I decided to leak the story out a little at a time.
Chase was in my next class, math, so we sat together. After that was lunch, so we walked through the crowded halls together. We didn’t talk much. We were too busy checking everybody out, and checking everybody checking us out. Chase did mention that he and Lance hung out at the skate park a lot. I’d never gone there before. I’d always been too afraid. Not anymore. Bring it on! I thought.
The cafeteria was as big as the gym. We got in the long line for our food. Lance stormed up, his face all red. Sore again. This was one cranky dude.
“Why didn’t you wait?” he asked Chase.
Chase shrugged. “Me and Enz had math together, so we walked over. Big deal.”
Lance seethed.
A boy wearing a vest and a bow tie standing behind us said, “Hey, no cuts!”
Chase just laughed, but Lance vented his anger at Chase and me on this poor little kid. He got right into the little kid’s face, and said, “What are you going to do about it, little piggy—squeal?”
The kid didn’t flinch. “My house happens to be made of bricks, Mr. Wolf. You couldn’t get in.”
Chase busted a gut. “Go ahead, Lance! Huff and puff!”
I stepped up to Lance. “Leave the kid alone. He’s right. I hate it when someone cuts in front of me.”
This was risky, but not nearly as risky as hang gliding or parasailing. Besides, I had the cap. What could happen?
Chase stopped laughing. Lance glared at me. If looks could kill…
“Yeah, back of the line, Mr. Wolf,” the kid in the bow tie said. I gave him props for that. He was just asking for it, and he not only had no cap, he had no muscles, either.
Lance looked like he might explode. I wondered who he’d explode at if he did: me or the kid? The kid, I decided. I’d already learned enough about Lance to know that. So I stepped between them.
“Get in the back of the line, dude,” I said. “Or maybe you’re hoping for a detention on your first day…”
He blew a fuse, but he didn’t explode. I could see sparks in his eyes and his veins pulsing in his forehead.
He looked at Chase for help, but Chase just snickered. That had to hurt. I had come between him and his best friend.
“We’ll save you a seat,” I said to Lance.
He glared at me, then turned and stormed off.
“Thanks, dude,” the kid said to me. “That’s not how things usually go. Usually big guys like you stick together and have fun tormenting me.”
I held out my hand. “I�
�m Enzo Harpold, and I’d appreciate your vote for class president.”
“Hey! You’re running, Enzo?” Chase said. “Me, too!”
“So am I,” said the kid. “Giovanni Gordillo. And you guys don’t stand a chance.”
7. Onward Toward Glory!
The three of us sat together in the cafeteria along one of the mile-long, foldable, metal tables. Chase sat in the middle. He spent most of lunchtime turned toward me—and his back toward Lance—listening as I revealed a few details about my dad’s job at Kap (“Whoa! Lucky you!” he said) and our tour of the western United States. I didn’t say too much. I was creating interest. Building suspense. Whetting his appetite.
Lance mostly groaned and sighed and tried to get Chase’s attention, or even to hear what I was saying. Mostly Chase said, “Shut up! I can’t hear!”
One time, Chase leaned in close to me and whispered, “Do you see Misa over there?” He gestured with his eyes down the table from us to a group of squealing females in brand-new outfits and too much makeup. “She’s the blond one with pink streaks.”
I saw the one he meant. She was talking nonstop and waving her hands around and laughing real loud and sometimes doing little dances in her seat. She shimmied her shoulders and tossed her blond and pink hair for emphasis. She reminded me of Lupe, which put me right off my lunch.
“Yeah?” I said sourly.
“She’s been stealing looks at you, then whispering things to her friends.”
“So?”
“So? She was the cutest girl at San Joaquin last year, and she looks even better now.”
I did a double take. “You into girls, dude?”
He got quiet.
“He’s totally into them,” Lance piped in. “He loves them, in fact.”
Chase punched him.
“That hurt,” Lance said, and socked Chase back.
“Ow! You used knuckles!” Chase said, and punched Lance back, harder.
“Will you boneheads knock it off?” I said. “How old are you anyway?”
“He hit me!” Lance whined.
“Exactly,” I said.
Lucky Cap Page 4
