Michael Vey: The Prisoner of Cell 25

by Richard Paul Evans

  I hoped not. She had a stupid job she didn’t like and I didn’t want to make her day any worse than it already was.

  Just twenty minutes into detention, Ms. Johnson said, “All right, that’s enough. Time to go.”

  I scooped my books into my pack and threw it over my shoulder.

  “See you tomorrow,” I said to Ms. Johnson.

  “See you tomorrow, Michael,” she said pleasantly, as if she looked forward to it.

  Outside the cafeteria, the halls were now empty except for the janitorial crew that had moved in and were pushing wide brooms up and down the tiled corridors. I stopped at my locker and grabbed the licorice I’d stowed in there after lunch and had looked forward to all day. I peeled back its wrapper and took a delicious chewy bite. Whoever invented licorice was a genius. I loved licorice almost as much as Rice Krispies squares. I swung my pack over my shoulder, then walked out the south door, glad to finally be going home.

  I had just come around the corner of the school when Jack and his posse, Mitchell and Wade, emerged from between two Dumpsters.

  Jack grabbed me by the front of my shirt. I dropped my licorice.

  “You ratted us out to Dallstrom, didn’t you?” Jack said.

  I looked up at him, my eyes twitching like crazy. “I didn’t tell him.”

  “Yeah, right, you little chicken.” Jack shoved me backward into a pyracantha bush. As I fell all the way into it, sharp thorns pricked my neck, arms, and legs. The only place that wasn’t stinging was where my backpack protected me.

  “You’re going to pay,” Jack said, pointing at me, “big-time.” He turned to Mitchell, who was almost as tall as Jack but not as broad-shouldered or muscular. “Show him what we do to snitchers.”

  “I didn’t tell on you,” I said again. “I promise.”

  Before I could climb out of the bush, Mitchell pulled me up and thumped me hard on the eye. I saw a bright flash and felt my eye immediately begin to swell. I put my hand over it, trying not to lose my balance.

  “Hit him again,” Jack said.

  The next fist landed on my nose. It hurt like crazy. I could feel blood running down my lips and chin. My eyes watered. Then Jack walked up and punched me right in the gut. I fell to my knees, unable to breath. When I could finally fill my lungs with air I began to groan. I couldn’t stop blinking.

  “He’s crying like a baby,” Mitchell said joyfully. “Cry, baby, cry.”

  Then came Wade. Wade West had yellow hair and a crooked nose.

  He was the smallest and ugliest of the three, which is probably why he was the meanest since he had the most to prove. “I say we pants him.” This was a specialty of Wade’s. By “pants” he meant to pull off my pants—the ultimate act of humiliation. Last year in eighth grade, Wade had pantsed Ostin behind the school, pulling off his pants and underwear in front of a couple dozen classmates. Ostin had to run home naked from the waist down, something he had never lived down.

  “Yeah,” Mitchell agreed, “that’ll teach him for ratting us out.”

  “No!” I shouted, struggling to my feet. “I didn’t tell on you.”

  Just then someone shouted, “Leave him alone.”

  Taylor Ridley was standing alone near the school door, dressed in her purple and gold cheerleading outfit.

  “Hey, check out the cheerleader,” Wade said.

  “You’re just in time to watch us pants this guy,” Mitchell said.

  “Yeah, shake those pom-poms for us,” Jack said, laughing like a maniac. Then he made up his own cheer, which was surprisingly clever for Jack, “Two, four, six, eight, who we gonna cremate?” He laughed again. “Grab him.”

  Before I could even try and get away, all three of them grabbed me. Despite that fact that my nose was still bleeding and I could barely see out of one eye, I went wild, squirming against their clamp-like grips. I got one hand loose and hit Jack in the neck, scoring only a dull thud. He responded by thumping me on the ear.

  “Come on, you wimps!” he shouted at Mitchell and Wade. “You can’t hold this runt? Get his shirt off.” They pinned me facedown on the ground, the weight of all three of them crushing me into the grass.

  “Stupid little nerd,” Mitchell said. “You think you can rat on us and not pay?”

  I tried to curl up so they couldn’t take my clothes, but they were too strong. Jack pulled on my shirt until it began to tear.

  “You leave him alone or I’ll get Mrs. Shaw!” Taylor shouted. “She’s right inside.” Mrs. Shaw was the cheerleaders’ adviser and taught home economics. She was a soft-spoken, matronly woman and about as scary as a throw pillow. I think we all knew that she wasn’t actually inside or Taylor would have just gotten her in the first place.

  “Shut your mouth,” Jack said.

  Hearing him talk that way to Taylor infuriated me. “You shut your mouth, you loser,” I said to Jack.

  “You need to learn manners, blinky boy.”

  “You need mouthwash,” I said.

  Jack grabbed me by the hair and pulled my head around. “You’re going to be wishing you’d kept your mouth shut.” He smacked me again on the nose, which sent a shock of pain through my body. At that moment something snapped. I knew I couldn’t hold back much longer.

  “Let me go!” I shouted. “I’m warning you.”

  “Ooh,” Wade said. “He’s warning us.”

  “Yeah, whatcha gonna do?” Mitchell said. “Cry on us?”

  “No, he’s gonna wipe his nose on us,” Wade laughed. He pulled off my shoes while Mitchell grabbed my waistband and started tugging at my pants. I was still trying to curl up.

  “Stop struggling,” Jack said. “Or we’re going to take everything you got and make you streak home.”

  “Leave him alone!” Taylor yelled again.

  “Mitch, hurry and pull his pants off,” Wade said.

  A surge of anger ran through my body so powerful I couldn’t control it. Suddenly a sharp, electric ZAP! pierced the air, like the sound of ice being dropped onto a hot griddle. Jack and his posse screamed out as they all fell to their backs and flopped about on the grass like fish on land.

  I rolled over to my side and wiped the blood from my nose with the back of my hand. I pushed myself up, red-faced and angry. I stood above Jack, who was frothing at the mouth. “I told you to leave me alone. If you ever touch me again, I’ll do worse. Do you understand?

  Or do you want more?” I lifted my hand.

  Terror was evident in his eyes. “No. Please don’t.”

  I turned and looked at his posse. Both of them were on the ground, quivering and whimpering. In fact, Wade was bawling like a baby and moaning, “It hurts . . . it hurts so bad.”

  I walked over to him. “You bet it hurts. And that was just a little one. Next time you bully me, or any of my friends, I’ll triple it.”

  As the three of them lay there groaning and quivering I sat back on the ground, pulled on my shoes, and tied them. Then I remembered Taylor.

  I looked back over at the door, hoping she had gone inside. She hadn’t. And from the expression on her face, I could tell she had seen everything. Bad, bad news. My mother was going to kill me. But there was nothing I could do about that now. I grabbed my backpack and ran home.

  Chapter Five

  Hiding the Evidence

  By the time I got home my left eye was nearly swollen shut. I set my backpack on the kitchen table then went into the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror. My eye looked like a ripe plum. There was no way of hiding it from my mother. I got a washcloth and wiped the blood off my nose and chin.

  My mother usually got home around 6:30, so I heated up a can of SpaghettiOs for dinner, grabbed the blue ice pack she kept in the freezer for her occasional headaches, then held the ice against my eye while I played video games with one hand. I know I should have been studying for my biology test, but after a day like this one, I just didn’t have it in me.

  I really didn’t want to talk to my mom about my day, so when I he
ard her key in the door I ran to my room, shut the door, turned out the lights, threw off my shirt, and crawled into bed.

  She called for me from the front room. “Michael?” Twenty seconds later she knocked on my door, then opened it. I pretended to be sleeping, but she didn’t fall for it.

  “Hey, pal, what are you doing in bed?”

  “I don’t feel good,” I said. I pulled the covers over my head.

  “What’s wrong?”

  She turned on my bedroom light and immediately saw my bloody, torn shirt on the floor and the blood on it. “Michael, what happened?” She walked over to my bed. “Michael, look at me.”

  “I don’t want to.”

  “Michael.”

  Reluctantly, I pulled the covers down. Her mouth opened a little when she saw my face. “Oh my . . . what happened?”

  A lump came to my throat. “Jack and his friends wouldn’t leave me alone.”

  “Oh, honey,” she said. She held me for a couple minutes, then she slowly sat back up. “Did it . . . happen?”

  I didn’t want to tell her. I didn’t want to upset her more than she already was. “I’m sorry, Mom. I tried not to. But they wouldn’t leave me alone. They were trying to pull my pants off.”

  She gently brushed the hair back from my face. “Stupid boys,” she said softly. I could see the worry on her face. “Well, they had it coming, didn’t they?” After a moment she said, “I’m sorry, Michael. I wish I knew what to do.”

  “Why won’t they just leave me alone?”

  My cheek was twitching and she gently ran her thumb over it.

  Then she leaned forward and kissed my forehead. “I wish I knew, son. I wish I knew.”

  Chapter Six

  The Morning After

  My radio alarm clock went off at the usual time: 7:11. I had my radio set to the Morning Zoo show. The hosts, Frankie and Danger Boy, were talking about people who suffered from bananaphobia—the intense fear of bananas.

  I gently touched my eye. The swelling had gone down some but it still ached. So did my heart. I felt like I had betrayed my mom and I worried that we’d have to move. Again. The thought of starting over filled me with dread. I couldn’t imagine how hard it would be for her. I went into the bathroom and looked in the mirror. You look pretty sorry, I thought. I showered and got dressed, then walked out to the kitchen.

  My mother was standing next to the refrigerator dressed in her orange work smock. She was a checker at the local Smith’s Food Mart. She was making waffles with strawberry jam and whipped cream. I was glad, not just because I loved waffles, but because it meant she wasn’t mad at me.

  “How’s your eye?” she asked.

  “It’s okay.”

  “Come here, let me see.” I walked over to her, and she leaned forward to examine it. “That’s quite a shiner.” She pulled a waffle from the iron. “I made you waffles.”

  “Thanks.”

  I sat down at the table, and she brought over a plate. “Would you like orange juice or milk to drink?”

  “Can I have chocolate milk?”

  “Sure.” She went back to the kitchen counter and poured me a glass of milk, then got a can of powdered chocolate from the cup-board and stirred some in. The sound of the spoon clinking against the glass filled the room. She brought the glass over to the table, then sat down next to me.

  “So these boys who were picking on you . . .”

  “Jack and his friends.”

  “Do I need to call their parents?”

  “I don’t think Jack has parents. I think he was spawned.”

  She grinned. “What about the other boys?”

  “They crawled out of the sewer.”

  “So would it help if I called these sewer creatures’ parents?”

  I cut a piece of waffle and took a bite. “No. It would just make things worse. Besides, I don’t think they’ll be messing with me anymore.”

  “Do you think they’ll tell anyone what happened?”

  “No one would believe them anyway.”

  “I hope you’re right.” She looked across the table. “How are the waffles?”

  “Good, thanks.” I took another bite.

  “You’re welcome.” Her voice was pitched with concern. “Did anyone else see what happened?”

  I swallowed. “A girl.”

  “What girl?”

  “She’s in one of my classes. She was telling them to leave me alone when it happened.”

  The look of anxiety on her face made my stomach hurt. After a moment, she stood. “Well, I guess we’ll just cross that bridge when we get to it.” She kissed me on the forehead. “I better go. Want a ride to school?”

  “No, I’m okay.”

  Just then there was a knock. My mom answered the door. Ostin stood in the hallway. “Hello, Mrs. Vey.”

  “Good morning, Ostin. You’re looking sharp today.”

  Ostin pulled in his stomach. He thought my mother was a “babe,” which made me crazy. Ostin was fifteen years old and girl crazy, which was unfortunate because he was short, chubby, and a geek, which is pretty much all you need to scare girls our age away. I have no doubt that someday he’ll be the CEO of some Fortune 500 company and drive a Ferrari and have girls falling all over themselves to get to him. But he sure didn’t now.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Vey,” he said. “Is Michael ready?”

  “Just about. Come on in.”

  He stepped inside, dwarfed by the size of his backpack.

  “Hey, Ostin,” I said.

  He looked at my black eye. “Dude, what happened?”

  “Jack and his friends jumped me.”

  His eyes widened. “Did they pants you?”

  “They tried.”

  “High school,” my mother said. “You couldn’t pay me a million dollars to go back.” She grabbed her keys and purse. “All right. You boys have a good day. Stay out of trouble.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Vey.”

  “See ya, Mom.”

  She stopped at the doorway. “Oh, Michael, we’re doing inven-tory at the store today, so I’ll be late tonight. I’ll probably be home around eight. Just make yourself some mac ’n’ cheese.”

  “No problem.”

  “You sure you don’t want a ride?”

  Ostin almost said something but I spoke first. “We’re fine,” I said.

  “Okay, see you later.” She walked out.

  “Your mom is so hot,” Ostin said, as he sat down at the table.

  “Dude, shut up. She’s my mom.”

  He pointed to my face. “So what happened?”

  “Jack thought I snitched him out to Dallstrom. So he and his posse jumped me behind the school.”

  “Wade,” Ostin said bitterly. “You should have just zapped him.”

  I put my hand over his mouth. “Shut up. You know you’re not supposed to know.”

  “I know. Sorry.” He looked over at the door. “She’s gone anyway,”

  he said defensively. His face brightened. “Hey, I got the multimeter from my uncle so we can test you.” Ostin had this idea about measuring how many volts of electricity I could generate, which frankly I was curious about too.

  “Cool.”

  “Seriously, dude, I don’t know why you hide your power. You could be the most powerful kid at school. Instead you get beat up.”

  “Well, Jack and his friends won’t be bothering us anymore.”

  Ostin’s face brightened. “Did you do it?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Cool! Man I wish I had been there to see you hand down the righteous judgment.”

  I took another bite. “If you were there, you’d have a black eye too.

  If Wade didn’t pants you again.”

  He frowned at the thought of it. “So does your mom know you used it?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Did she freak?”

  “Yeah. But she was cool about it. She’s worried that someone might find out, but she doesn’t want me to get beat up either. T
hey started it. I just finished it.”

  “Speaking of, are you going to finish those waffles?”

  “There’s extra in the kitchen.”

  “Cool. My mom made gruel for breakfast.”

  “What’s gruel?”

  “It’s punishment. Really, dude, it tastes like wallpaper paste. I think they feed it to prisoners in Siberian gulags.”

  “Why does she make it?”

  “Because she ate it when she was a kid. But your mom’s waffles .

  . . oh, baby. The only thing better than how she looks is her cooking.”

  “Dude, just stop it.”

  Ostin shook his head. “I was born in the wrong house.” He threw two waffles on a plate and brought them over to the table, where he drowned them in a sea of syrup. “Did anyone else see you do it?”

  “Taylor.”

  “Taylor Ridley? The cheerleader?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What did she do?”

  “She just stared.”

  “Wow. I wish I had been there.” He took a massive bite of waffle, the syrup dripping down his chin. “Did you study for the biology test?”

  “A little. In detention. How about you?”

  “Don’t need to. It’s all right here.” He pointed to his head. Ostin had a 4.0 grade point average only because the scale didn’t go higher.

  If his body matched his brain he’d be Mr. Universe. “Do you have detention today?”

  “I have detention for the next four weeks unless you can figure out a way to get me out of it.”

  “Maybe you should just shock Dallstrom.”

  “Only in my dreams.”

  Just then the front door opened and my mom leaned in. “Michael, can you give me a hand?”

  “Sure. What’s up?”

  “Just come outside.”

  “Need some help, Mrs. Vey?” Ostin asked.