Right Behind You

by Gail Giles

  But something about this class felt familiar. It was quiet. Not because everyone in class was hard at work, but because there was a disconnect. Most of my fellow students doodled idly, slept, or stared vacantly. They were appliances left unplugged. I got my book and read Indiana history. I’d wear eyeliner and get a tat before I’d check out of life.

  When the bell rang, I walked out looking over my list for the next class when it was snatched out of my hand.

  My old reaction was to swing a fist first and ask questions never, but I ground my teeth and looked to see who had grabbed my schedule.

  “Here you go, Kemo Sabe.” Four-cornered Dave.

  I unclenched and took a calming breath.

  “I told the speech teacher I was mentoring a new student.” He handed the class schedule back. “Don’t give me that look. I’m on student council. She totally bought it. And face it — you’re like the puppy at the pound that’s so ugly it’s almost cute, ya know? If I don’t watch out for you, the big dogs will chew you up by noon. Don’t thank me now. Cash will be appropriate at a later time.”

  “I’m supposed to pay you for calling me an ugly dog?”

  “Now, that’s putting a harsh on it.”

  He gave that one-fingered let’s go motion and took off. I shouldered my pack and followed, since I was the ugly puppy at the pound.

  “Algebra. Not bonehead math. That homeschooling must work. And you’ve got the teacher everybody wants. Not much homework. I’ll take you in and the rabble will see you’re under my protection. You’ll be fine.”

  He sailed in the door. “Hey, Mr. Schultz. I have the new kid for ya. From Siberia, no less.”

  “Alaska,” I said.

  “Same thing,” Dave said. “He can tell you great stories about snow and stuff.”

  “Thank you, Dave. Have you adopted this young man or is there a test you’d like to be late for?”

  “I would like a late pass, Mr. S. I’m mentoring Wade here as part of the student council program and . . .”

  “I seriously doubt that, Dave, but to get rid of you, I’ll do anything short of payment. Well, I might resort to payment.” He handed Dave a pass. “Go, and go quickly, before I lose all hope for your generation’s future.”

  Dave flapped off a half-assed salute and sauntered out. Schultz made a shooing motion. “Faster, lout, faster.”

  Mr. S. was youngish, maybe my dad’s age, and the geezer talk didn’t seem to fit. It seemed almost like a rehearsed thing between them.

  I handed my form to Schultz. He signed it, handed me a book. “So, where did you meet my son?”

  “Square-headed — ummm, Dave is your son?”

  “Yes. His blockhead is a chip off my own. I see you didn’t know that.”

  “He didn’t mention it, sir.”

  “Please forget it immediately. The child is demented. Take a seat, please, and tell us a bit about Alaska.”

  And I went through the same questions: polar bears, penguins, igloos, the cold, and the dark. But this time I was more answering questions than feeling like I was reciting lines from a play Doc and I had written.

  In fact, I finally got comfortable enough to test Doc’s throw-yourself-on-their-mercy theory.

  “You guys are gonna have to help me out a little. Living out in the boonies, we didn’t care how we dressed. Anything that kept us warm was fine. Somebody has to show me what works here. Flannel and duck shoes don’t look like they’re ‘in’ in Indiana.”

  The absolutely cutest girl in the room said, “Hey, I can shop like a Harvard grad. I’ll help.”

  Doc was a genius.

  Mr. Schultz said, “My son is most adept in spending someone else’s money. He’s also supposed to do chores for his mother this weekend, so I’m quite certain he would find his assistance to your cause crucial at that time.”

  I don’t know why this guy talked the way he did, but I kind of liked it. I pictured him in a class full of guys from the Loon Platoon. I’d love to overhear a convo between Slice ’N’ Dice and Mr. Schultz.

  Schultz used his strange vocabulary and phrasing with a sense of humor, and he clearly thought we were intelligent enough to understand him. The class returned the respect. I felt a sense of déjà vu, like when I slid into the chair in Doc’s office and we slipped into our routine.

  The day swung back to bipolar when I hit the gym. I had heard the term “corn-fed” about the Midwest population before, but how much corn had they fed them? These guys standing around in shorts had biceps and quads that were bigger than my head.

  I was new and skinny. Call me target.

  I had bought a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, but I hadn’t bought a pair of sneakers yet. The right kind of athletic shoe was critical, Doc had told me, and I had to check what the locals wore before I bought a pair. So, for my first class I played in my duck shoes.

  The game was Scramble. A kinder, gentler dodgeball. Rule: ball hits below the knee. But there’s an acre of hurt between knee and toe. And I was about to be schooled.

  Bam! “Hey, new kid, did that hurt?”

  Zing, thwamp! “Alaska, you better go home and put some snow on that.”

  Thwack! “Didn’t they have a gym at that home school?”

  Thud! “Dude, seriously, those stupid shoes are slowing you down. This isn’t even fun anymore.”

  And the agony didn’t stop on the gym floor. I limped my way to the showers only to come out to find my towel missing. I slicked off most of the water, trying to take it in stride, and then walked to the bench to find my clothes gone, too. The thumping started in my head hard and loud, but I shook if off, slicking the anger away as I had the water drops.

  The few guys still hanging around for the show shrugged and high-fived as they left. I sat, naked as a plucked chicken, shivering and goose-pimpled as the next class filed in.

  “Could someone ask the coach to come here?”

  “Look, kid, I’ll have every one of those little jerks in this office, and in two minutes I’ll have your clothes back and their butts in detention.”

  I didn’t know how this worked in high school, but on the ward that could have gotten me killed. I sat in the coach’s office in a cast-off pair of football sweats and my bare feet.

  “I’m seriously asking you not to do that.”

  “It’s my job to do that.”

  “I get that, I do. But it’s your job to help your students. I’m your student and I’m asking for your help.”

  “You’re letting these boys off scot-free. Doesn’t that rev your motor, son?”

  I looked down at my bare feet. Rev my motor? My motor was in overdrive, but my ghost was hungry and I was going to feed it.

  “Can you let me handle this? Please?”

  The coach slammed his palms down on the desk. “You want to be a knucklehead? Go ahead.”

  “I need to go to the rest of my classes. These sweats you loaned me are fine.” They were a few sizes beyond huge, and the sleeves slid over my hand, the legs bunched in folds, and the crotch hung to my knees.

  “But I need something on my feet.” I pointed to a pair of rubber boots in the corner. “If you have a pair of socks somewhere I could wear those.”

  “My boots? You’ll walk out in those hallways in sweats and boots twenty sizes too big for you?”

  I nodded.

  “Son, you’re a whole new kind of fish.” He disappeared for a minute or two and returned with a pair of thick socks. He dropped them in my lap then placed the boots next to my chair.

  I was majorly late to computer class. A couple of the gym bullies were there. The teacher did a double take at my attire but said nothing. Nobody said a word. No Alaska questions here.

  When class was over, I clunked down the hall in the too-big boots, and a hole opened around me as I walked. I hiked my shoulders back and tried to put a strut on. The oversized boots turned strut to spastic, but I kept my head up and gave anyone that dared make eye contact a smile and a nod like this was part of the e
stablished dress code.

  I got to earth science and the absolutely cutest girl in the room (from algebra) cruised in behind me.

  “Oh. My. God.” She circled me. “It’s impossible. You got . . . even worse.” She pulled my admission form from my fingers and dropped it on the teacher’s desk. “Be kind, Ms. Strohm, and let him sit by me. It’s looking like he’s had a hard day.”

  The teacher signed the form. My outfit didn’t seem to faze her. “Be sure to get a book from the back.”

  “Who did what to you?” Absolutely Cutest asked as she got my book and herded me toward a desk. “Somebody took your shoes?”

  I sat without reply.

  “And your clothes?”

  I gestured, palms up.

  “Did someone, like, tie you up or . . . Oh. My. God. You had gym, didn’t you?”

  “Don’t worry about it. If your eyes fall out of your head, I don’t know how to put them back in,” I said. “They could end up all crossed or upside down or something.”

  She turned around in her desk. Then back again. “The shoes . . . not really a loss. Even if it was a mean trick.” She smiled.

  Mood on the upswing.

  Chapter 12

  HUNK O’ LOVE

  I caught the bus and endured the ride home. I made like a harbor seal and closed out the sounds around me as I reviewed the ups and downs of the day. Stares tinged with revulsion, down. Walking among people that weren’t obvious psychopaths, up. Tripping on bus, down. Feeling lost, stupid, and alien, down. Overhearing hostile comments, way down. Watching hostile stares become looks of interest, up. Having an odd but seemingly decent guy make himself my guide dog, up. Some decent teachers, up. No orderlies accompanying me through doors that are locked at each corridor, way up. Being a target in Scramble, down. Sitting naked on bench, down. Wearing coach’s sweats and boots, so down it’s hard to find up. Absolutely Cutest’s big wide smile, so up I can’t remember down. And that was just the first day. The ward was never like this.

  By the time Carrie got home from her job, I had washed and dried the sweats and socks and was dressed in my own clothes. I realized I had to go to school in a pair of moccasins tomorrow, when the phone rang.

  “Hey, Siberia. Get your bad self ready. My mom is picking you up in thirty and taking us to the mall. She says if your mom wants to come to supervise the cash flow, it’s cool, and she’d like to meet her. We’re meeting Lindsey there.”

  “Is this Dave?”

  “I heard you can’t be trusted to choose new footwear.”

  “Do you take in all the strays that appear at your school?”

  He sighed. “Lindsey called me.”

  “Who’s Lindsey?”

  “Big smile, big eyes, totally good-looking, in your algebra and earth science classes?”

  “Oh, her.” Absolutely Cutest. Wow.

  “Yeah, her. She called and told me about the boots and the sweats. I told Dad. He called Coach Tulling. Coach told Dad that you wouldn’t narc and wouldn’t let him do anything to find out who took your stuff. Dad told Mom. Mom said for me to call. I told her about Lindsey. Do I have to go through the whole thing? Come on, Mom’s buying slices at the mall.”

  “Hang on.”

  By eight we were in the mall. Carrie was in a Starbucks with Mrs. Schultz, and I was scarfing pizza with Dave and Absolutely Cutest. I had a few bags with long-sleeved tees, a couple new pairs of jeans that didn’t look so “frontiersy,” a hoodie, and the athletic shoe of choice that was in my price range.

  Three boys that looked remarkably similar smiled, waved, and started in our direction.

  “What’s up, Schultz? Lindsey? Hey.” The last was directed to me. One scooted into the booth and the other two grabbed chairs, turned them backward, and straddled them.

  “Wade, these are the three B’s in a pod.” One of the B’s rolled his eyes. The other two didn’t react at all.

  The eye roller said, “I’m Brett, first cousin, a month older than these two and way better lookin’.”

  One of the guys hanging over the chairs made a lit-tle chin jut and said, “Brandon. I’m in language arts with you.”

  “Brendan,” said the other.

  “Brandon and Brendan are twins,” Lindsey said.

  “The B’s’ parents own a nursery and landscape business, so they practically grew up in the same playpen. If you find one, the other two will be close,” Dave said. “Don’t bother learning their names. Just yell “B!” and one of them will answer. And oh, yeah, they, like, invented religion, so don’t swear around them. If one of ’em hears a cussword he’ll faint, and the others will see and go down like dominoes.”

  The one in the booth (Brett?) pointed a finger at Dave and squinted one eye. “The fact that Schultz here is still alive and walking the earth is proof of a merciful God.”

  One of the B’s straddling the chair said, “I saw you in the hall today. The whole school knows who took your clothes, dude, and you walked those halls and made ’em yours. Good move.”

  “The whole school knows?”

  “It’s a little town and we got nothing to do but talk. You’re new and were pretty interesting today,” Dave said.

  Great. I wanted to fly under the radar, blend in, lie low. And now I was the talk of the town.

  “Look, I just didn’t want to make waves. No real harm done.”

  “Are you like Gandhi or something? Wasn’t he the guy that wouldn’t squash a bug and wore a diaper?” This from Dave.

  “Yeah, that’s me.” The Anger King of the Loon Platoon, the kid who burned another kid being compared to the guy who wouldn’t step on an ant. I shrugged. “Really, it’s wasn’t a big deal. Lindsey said the shoes needed to go anyway.”

  “Definitely. You’re cute, but not cute enough to overcome those shoes.”

  Dave cleared his throat. “Shiny, smiley faces everyone, moms at three o’clock and closing fast,” he said.

  After we all said our good-byes, Carrie and I headed for the car.

  “Now that it’s pretty much over, how was your first day?” she asked.

  I thought a minute. “It really wasn’t bad. A couple of people were lousy to me and a couple more were really great. I think I can make this work.”

  “I get paid next week; you’ll need more shirts.”

  “Thanks, Carrie.”

  “I noticed that the cute girl was noticing you notic-ing her.”

  “Carrie . . .” It was a warning.

  “Just stating facts.”

  “Your facts are wrong. She might be noticing me, but I’m not so much noticing her.” I rubbed my nose with the back of my hand. “Okay, I noticed she was cute.”

  Carrie smiled at me.

  “Carrie, can I ask you something weird?”

  “Hmmmm, I hope fourteen weird isn’t out of my league.”

  “It’s just, I grew up in kind of a strange environment.”

  “Understatement,” Carrie said.

  “Somebody today — well, the cute girl, said I was cute. And I don’t have a clue. Doc told me I was good-looking, but that’s therapy stuff. To make you feel confident. But the girl? Is that the truth, or was she making fun of me?”

  Carrie turned to look at me. “You know, it makes sense that you have two names. There’s this ‘you’ that’s far too grown-up, the one with the therapy mind-set and vocabulary, always examining his emotions.” She sighed and smiled. “And then there’s the ‘you’ that’s so naive. Because you haven’t lived in a real world at all. You’re like a little bird that fell out of the nest.”

  She rapped the top of my head lightly with her knuckles and began walking again. “The answer is yes, Wade, you’re cute. That girl was definitely not making fun of you. You’re what I think girls refer to as a ‘hottie.’ You look like your dad, and trust me, I was lucky to snag him.”

  “Dad? My dad is good-looking?”

  Carrie threw back her head and laughed. Full and happy. “A hunk o’ love, kid.”


  “Eww, TMI, Carrie.”

  “You started this convo, so don’t blame me if it derailed.”

  As we rode home, I wondered what in the hell Doc had been thinking. He prepared me for the clothes and the questions and not making friends with the wrong people. But he forgot something big.

  Females.

  Hormones.

  How could I remember anything Doc said when all my thoughts were in my pants?

  And there was something else lurking on the horizon. Whoever took my clothes might want to take a swing at me tomorrow.

  Could Wade handle that? Or would Kip, that guy that was part of the Loon Platoon, show his face?

  Chapter 13

  SOMETIMES TOMORROW IS JUST ANOTHER DAY

  I swung onto the bus the next morning and took a seat without making eye contact with the other riders. We made the last pickup at a corner of a subdivision of McMansions, and a herd of kids tramped on.

  “Scoot over, dude.”

  One of the Corn-fed No Necks that had slammed me at Scramble stood over me.

  I slid and No Neck thudded next to me.

  “What’s in the duffel?” he asked.

  “Coach’s sweats and his boots.”

  “You not gonna wear ’em today?”

  “I guess that depends on if my clothes disappear again.”

  No Neck made some kind of rocking motion. It appeared to stand in for a nod. I guess you can’t nod if you don’t have a neck.

  He eyed my clothes, leaning over to check my shoes.

  “You look like one of us today.”

  I plopped my head against the back of the seat and smiled.

  “It would take fifty pounds of muscle and a complete change of gene pool for me to look even remotely like you. I’m a worm, you’re an anaconda.”

  No Neck grinned. “You’re starting to sound like Schultz — you got Schultz’s dad for algebra? Guy went to school on a basketball scholarship but talks like a thesaurus. I like to listen to him.”