Five Times Revenge

by Lindsay Eland

  “Uh, yeah.” Pearl stepped back, forced a smile, and smoothed down her hair. It wasn’t the first time she’d been asked that and, unfortunately, it probably wouldn’t be the last.

  “So Pearl,” Mr. Parmar had said. “Did you go to the beach over spring break?”

  “No,” she’d replied, “We just stayed here. We might go this summer, though.”

  Mr. Parmar took a swig of his water. “How do you stay so tan throughout the year? Hill gets a nice tan during the summer, but during the school year he’s pale as a ghost.” He chuckled and lightly punched Hill on the shoulder.

  Pearl had almost choked on the bite of salad she’d just taken. Was he serious? Everyone at the table—Hill, Mr. Parmar, his mom—continued eating as if the question was as normal as “Is it going to rain today?” Mr. Parmar glanced at her as if waiting for an answer. Hill kept shoveling food into his mouth.

  She’d straightened up in her chair. “Actually, I guess you can say that I get it from my dad,” she’d said. She laughed at her joke. “He’s black and my mom is white.”

  “Oh, well, isn’t that something?” Mr. Parmar said, taking a swig of his soda. “Black, huh?” He said this more to himself as if to let it sink in.

  She nodded. “Yes. Black. And white.”

  He nudged Hill. “That’ll look great on your application to Beaumont this summer. You get it,” he said, looking at her and explaining. “An interracial relationship will look good to the committee.”

  Hill had nodded, “Yeah, cool, huh?” He’d turned to her and smiled like that was normal, expected, a-okay.

  She’d gotten a little bit of this before. A white boy in her first-grade class had once called her a zebra, and in sixth grade, a black boy named Ty had said she couldn’t have an opinion about the civil rights unit in history because she was only “half.”

  Her parents had sat her down and tried to help her deal with situations like that, but no matter what, it still made her wonder who she was. Where she fit. If she fit.

  But being used so that Hill could get into some camp? She didn’t wonder about that. It wasn’t going to happen.

  She broke up with him the next day.

  And three weeks ago, she found her usual report card of A’s and B’s littered with two D’s and the rest C’s.

  She’d found herself standing in Mr. Parmar’s office.

  “This is very disappointing, Pearl,” Mr. Parmar had said. “I thought you were a better student than this.”

  Pearl’s face had flushed red. She’d looked down at her report card again, something she had done every few seconds since homeroom, hoping the letters would change. “Something must be wrong,” she’d said. “This is impossible. I should have A’s in every class, except maybe a B in Spanish.”

  Mr. Parmar had shrugged. “I don’t know what to say, Pearl, but I’m sure you are aware that this prevents you from going to the upcoming violin competition.” He turned his back toward her, reaching down for something on his desk.

  Pearl’s stomach had dropped. That had been her first thought as well. “But we can get this fixed before then, right?”

  Mr. Parmar had turned to face her. “I’ll try my best, but my plate is pretty full right now with the upcoming teacher reviews.”

  Pearl, staring at her report card for the millionth time, had looked up. “But we have to.”

  He waved her away. “I’ll see what I can do, Pearl, but I can’t make any guarantees.” Mr. Parmar had held up his hand to stop her as she’d opened her mouth again and then checked his watch. “Now, I’m sorry to interrupt our conversation but I have to go to a meeting. I’ll let you know when things are sorted out.” He’d walked to his door and opened it for her.

  “But—”

  Pearl had been swept out into the hallway, but she turned and looked at the closed door.

  She was being punished for breaking up with Hill Parmar. It didn’t matter that Hill was late for school every morning, or he bullied half the kids in school, or cheated on almost every single test and piece of homework—he would never see the inside of the detention room. But she was going to miss the violin competition that year.

  A few days later, Wednesday, as the end-of-school bell rang, Pearl opened her locker and a note fluttered to the ground. She picked it up.

  Sick of being bullied by the Parmars? Please come to detention after school today. Room 207. Food provided. Just come in, sit down, and you’ll find out why.

  Pearl’s eyebrows furrowed and she slipped a piece of gum in her mouth. Was this a joke? She reached for her music folder, then remembered that orchestra practice had been canceled that day for the first time all year. What were the chances of that?

  She shrugged and started toward room 207.

  Why not?

  CHAPTER 10

  Dutch

  1. Detention

  2. Do homework

  3. Gramps coming to pick him up

  4. Make dinner

  5. Play cards

  6. Read

  7. Go to bed

  Dutch had started writing his lists after his grandmother died. Grammie liked lists. Lists of groceries; of flowers, trees, and vegetables she wanted to plant; movies she wanted to see; books she read and wanted to read; things she was thankful for; things she was afraid of; things to remember when she was gone; things to help Gramps remember since his grandpa wasn’t remembering things like he used to.

  Dutch’s lists were pretty boring but he did it because … well, because he hated to think of there not being lists around the house. Also, he hoped that making lists would help his tic—the way he couldn’t help but scrunch up his nose and squint his eyes every few minutes, sometimes every few seconds, sometimes every moment. Like now. And now. There it was again.

  And again.

  Again.

  His grandpa said that his tics were getting better, but Dutch couldn’t tell a difference. Still, it was nice of Gramps to say. He doubted the lists helped his tic, but they didn’t make it worse and that was just as good.

  Dutch slunk into his seat in detention and unzipped his coat. It was his grandpa’s coat that he used to wear when he was young and spry. That’s what Gramps always called himself—spry.

  Dutch went to detention most days. Not because he had to go to detention. More because he chose to go to detention. Detention was better than waiting outside for Gramps to remember to pick him up on time. Waiting outside meant that he was easier for Hill to find.

  Besides, he got his work done and then could go home and spend the rest of the afternoon and evening with his grandpa. Hopefully Gramps wasn’t too tired to play cards tonight. Hopefully he remembered to pick him up.

  Dutch also liked being in the same room with other kids. Sure, he was with other kids in all of his classes during the day, but detention was different. It sort of bonded kids together. And Mrs. Stevenson was nice, for a teacher. She never seemed to mind that he wasn’t on the list. She’d just say, “Please tell your grandfather I said hi.” And Dutch always did.

  “Well, that’s very kind of her,” he’d say every time.

  And it was kind.

  Sort of like the note he’d pulled out of his locker. “Please come to detention.”

  It was nice to be asked “please” from someone other than his grandpa.

  Hill Parmar never said “please.”

  But then again, bullies don’t ask if they can bully, which, Dutch figured, was one of the reasons they’re bullies in the first place. Dutch couldn’t imagine Hill pulling him aside and asking, “Can I please take your school picture because I’m going to Photoshop it on a bikini model and then print off flyers of it and post them all over the school and all over town?” or “I’m going to imitate you when I do my speech for English class and everyone will turn and look at you and then laugh. Is that all right?” or “I wanted to make sure you knew that I just filled your gym shoes and gym shorts with chocolate pudding from the cafeteria” or “I’m going to make a song out of
your name that everyone will remember. It goes like this: Dutcha, he isn’t worth that mucha.”

  And he was sure that Principal Parmar would never say, “I’m just going to ignore all the things that my son does to you. Is that all right?”

  Dutch pulled out his homework and smiled when Adam walked into the detention classroom.

  Adam Baker and his best friend, Perk, had stood up to Hill once before when he’d grabbed Dutch’s backpack and then emptied it onto the ground, papers, pencils, books, highlighters, all scattering across the sidewalk and underneath the waiting buses. They told him to stop and then they helped Dutch pick up everything.

  Aside from his grandfather, Adam and Perk were the best friends that Dutch had … even if they didn’t know it.

  CHAPTER 11

  Adam

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Stevenson,” Adam said.

  Mrs. Stevenson looked up and smiled, unsuccessfully hiding her romance novel behind an English and You textbook.

  Adam took a seat on the cold, smooth chair attached to a small kidney-shaped desk. Ray Richmond was already sitting down, overflowing the chair and creaking the strained metal. When Adam and Perk had printed off the detention attendance sheet so they could add in all the new names and take off the other names, Ray had already been listed.

  Dutch—the kid with the face tic—squinted and smiled at Adam from his seat two desks in front. Adam grinned back. Now they just needed Pearl.

  Adam pulled out his history book and began where he had left off. A few moments later, Pearl walked in and sat down.

  Mrs. Stevens put down her book long enough to close the door and take attendance, and then the room fell into relative silence.

  At exactly 3:40, Mrs. Stevenson’s phone vibrated on the metal desk, jolting her to attention. She glanced down at the message and stood. “I’ll be back in a few minutes,” she said. “Pearl, I’m putting you in charge. If anyone is caught roaming the halls, I assure you that you will all spend the rest of the year in detention.” She stepped out into the hallway and closed the door behind her.

  Adam waited until he could no longer hear her shoes, then went to the window.

  “What are you doing?” Pearl whispered.

  Adam didn’t answer. Perk was waiting outside. Just as planned. Right on time.

  “Did you put that note in my locker?” Pearl asked. She glanced at the door again, clearly nervous. “You’re going to get us all in trouble.”

  “I got a note, too,” Dutch said, holding his up.

  “Me, too,” Ray said. “What’s this about, Baker?”

  Adam held up his hands. “I’ll explain in a minute.” He opened the window, lifted two bags through, and helped Perk inside.

  Perk nodded to everyone as he opened the bags and pulled out six burritos, chips, queso, and salsa. “We have about twenty minutes, so dig in.”

  No one moved.

  “What is this?” Pearl asked again, shooting nervous glances toward the door. “I’m not even supposed to be in here, and now you’re going to get us all into so much trouble.”

  Perk unwrapped a burrito and took a bite, then handed a wrapped one to her. “Don’t worry, she’ll be gone for at least twenty minutes. With commercials, maybe thirty.”

  When Pearl didn’t take the burrito, Perk shrugged and set it back down. “Suit yourself, but they’re better warm.”

  Still Pearl didn’t move.

  “What do you mean, with commercials?” Ray asked. He walked over and picked up a burrito, then tossed one to Dutch.

  “In addition to romance novels,” Adam said, holding up the cover of a barely clothed couple embracing dramatically, “Mrs. Stevenson and a few other teachers love a cooking show called Chop Shop, which just so happens to be on right now.”

  “Usually they DVR it, but today the DVR isn’t working,” Perk added.

  “Thanks to you,” Adam said.

  Perk smiled and bowed.

  “Well, that’s all wonderful,” Pearl said. “But you still haven’t answered our question.”

  “What is all this?” Adam asked. “Like the note said, we’re sick of getting bullied by the Parmars and—”

  “You want to get them back?” This was the first thing Dutch had said, and it seemed by the way he squinted a few times in a row that he hadn’t expected the words to come out.

  “Yep, we want to put a stop to it once and for all.”

  “What are you thinking?” Ray asked. “You have a plan?”

  Adam and Perk looked at each other. “We have some ideas,” Adam said. “But didn’t want to start something until we had enough people. You guys. Each one of you was chosen for a reason. You all have had, at one time or another, a bad experience with our principal, Mr. Parmar, and his son, Hill.”

  Ray huffed and took a bite of his burrito. “You could say that.”

  “Whether it has been as one of Hill’s punching bags”—Adam looked at Dutch—“or getting kicked off the wrestling team”—directed at Ray—“or not making it to the regional orchestra competition because you dumped Mr. Parmar’s son—”

  Pearl looked up. “How did you—?”

  Perk smiled. “We have our ways.”

  “Wait,” Pearl said. “Believe me, I’d like to get back at Mr. Parmar, too, but I’m not willing to spend the rest of the year in detention just to see them get water dumped on their heads.”

  Adam nodded. “Fair enough, but not only did we trap Mr. Parmar in his office a few days ago and slather every door in the school with Vaseline, we were able to get into each of your lockers, change the attendance sheet for Mrs. Stevenson, bring food, text Mrs. Stevenson about the show, make sure the DVR was ‘broken’ to get rid of her, and cancel orchestra practice,” Adam said. “If that doesn’t show you what can be done, I don’t know what else could.”

  “You guys—?”

  They almost had her.

  “How are you going to keep us from getting caught?” Ray asked.

  Perk took over. “We have three main rules. No one gets hurt, no property is damaged, and we don’t get caught. There’s always a risk, and whatever we come up with is going to be huge, but if we stick to the plan and everyone keeps their mouths shut, we’ll be good.”

  Adam jumped in. “Still, we understand if any of you don’t want to get involved. We’ll give you a few days to decide. If you do, come to my house on Sunday. Perk will hand out directions. If you decide this isn’t for you, no hard feelings. Just tell us and we’ll look for someone else.”

  “Aren’t you going to tell us why you want to get back at them?” Pearl asked. “You named all our reasons. What’s yours? And his?”

  Adam and Perk exchanged glances.

  Adam spoke, dipping a chip into the queso. “Hill persuaded Perk’s brother, Tommy, to play hide-and-seek after school, then locked him in a utility room with a sign taped to his back that said ‘Kick me, I’m retarded.’” Adam crunched down on the chip. “No one gets away with that.”

  Ray nodded. “I heard about that. Count me in. Whatever it is.”

  “Me, too,” Dutch said.

  Pearl looked down at her desk, then nodded. “Where do you live?”

  “This is good to hear,” Adam said. He handed them each a piece of paper with his address scrawled on it. “We’ll talk more on Sunday.”

  Perk pointed at the clock and gathered up his own trash. “Mrs. Stevenson will be coming back in about a minute. Let’s clean this up. We’ll see you on Sunday … or we won’t.”

  Perk held out the empty bag and everyone stuffed their trash inside before settling back into their seats. Mrs. Stevenson’s heels clicked in the hallway. Perk ducked out the window just before the door opened and she stepped in.

  “I trust that all went well here,” she said, walking over to her desk.

  “Yeah. Everything was fine,” Pearl said.

  The teacher lifted her nose in the air and sniffed. “What’s that smell? It smells like some sort of taco.”

  A
dam shrugged and pointed out the partially opened window. “Someone must’ve walked by with Mexican food,” he said.

  Mrs. Stevenson eyed them all, then sat down in her chair and opened her book.

  CHAPTER 12

  Perk

  Perk ducked away from the window, crawled along the ground for a few feet, and then stood, carrying the mostly empty bag. He’d bought an extra burrito for Tommy, and Pearl hadn’t eaten hers. Score. Reaching in, he pulled out both and looked at the wrappers, leaving the one labeled “no sour cream” inside. It was a nice snack for the walk home. Perk unwrapped the extra burrito and took a bite. Maybe it would help settle his stomach or at least get his mind off the tightening and fluttering inside him.

  He didn’t feel sick, necessarily, but he felt uneasy. Yes, that was it. Uneasy.

  But it wasn’t Pearl or Ray or Dutch. He actually felt better now about them joining than he had before. He was uneasy about them meeting Tommy, but he was always uneasy whenever anyone met his brother for the first time. So it wasn’t that, either.

  It was himself.

  It was the pounding of his heart when he’d knocked on the window and Adam had let him in.

  The thoughts that had poked at him.

  Will they like the burritos?

  Maybe he should’ve gotten something else?

  Was the small yellow mustard mark on his sleeve really noticeable?

  Perk took another bite of the burrito and swallowed.

  He hadn’t worried about what other people thought or even about making friends since … since he didn’t know when. Maybe it was back in second grade when Adam first met Tommy. Perk hadn’t invited Adam home that afternoon. Adam had simply shown up at the front gate. He was grinning like he usually did and held a plate of cookies that his mom had made.

  Perk remembered walking up to the security monitor, how his stomach had dropped when he’d seen who it was waiting to come in. Perk and Adam had been friends at school, and they’d even played a few times after school or on the weekends. But never at Perk’s house. Now, standing at his door, Adam would expect to come in. Then he’d meet Tommy.