by David Lubar
I told him that after they’d left.
“It’s just too much of a long shot,” he said. “I’d love to get the band back together, but what’s the point? Besides, I’m tired of wandering around.”
I could hear him pacing in his room all night.
• • •
The paper had come out on Wednesday because of the holiday. I looked through it in homeroom, even though I didn’t have an article in it. That is, I thought I didn’t. But there it was, on page 3—“A Football Feast,” by Scott Hudson. Hot dog references and all. They’d used boldface for the players’ names. And decorated the whole thing with clip-art drawings of food. Oh, my God.
This was no time to wonder how it got printed. This was the time to get as far away from the football team as possible. I got permission to go to the nurse’s office. “You’re pale and sweating,” she said. No kidding.
The nurse called Mom, who picked me up. I talked Mom out of taking me to the doctor. I told her I just wanted to go home and go to bed. I spent the morning imagining a million variations of my death at the hands of enraged football players.
That afternoon, I called Kyle to check on things. “Did Vernon see the article?” I asked.
“Yeah. He’s pissed. Big-time.”
“Can you talk to him? Explain it was just a joke.”
“No way,” Kyle said. “I’m not getting him mad at me. One of the guys called him ‘wiener boy,’ and Vernon decked him.”
A couple minutes later, the phone rang. It was Mouth. “Hey, Scotty, I didn’t see you in school. I heard you went home sick. So maybe you don’t know about this. But remember that great article you wrote? You know, the really funny one about the snacks.”
“Uh-huh …”
“I made a photocopy for myself after the meeting. I kept waiting for them to run it since it was so funny and everybody laughed when you showed it around at the meeting, but I guess you never turned it in to Mandy. And then there was all this space in the paper since nothing much is going on because of midterms. And you didn’t have a new article. So I had a great idea. Which I guess you don’t know about. Anyhow, I gave a copy to Mandy. Isn’t that cool? It’s too good not to share. I wish you’d seen it when it came out. It looks great. We put the players’ names in bold so they could find themselves more easily. That was my idea. Don’t worry. You didn’t miss anything. I saved you a copy.”
“Mouth,” I said.
“What?”
“You’re an idiot.”
He laughed. “Yeah. I know. So, do you want me to drop off a copy for you, or do you think you’ll be back in school soon? The last time I was out, I missed five days. Boy, the homework piles up. You think you’ll be out long? Like I said, I can drop off a copy for you.”
I told him I’d get a copy. I didn’t bother explaining that I’d already seen it. Or that he’d doomed me.
January 23
I might get killed tomorrow. If I don’t make it home alive, you can have my books.
I managed to slink around for part of the morning without running into Vernon. But I knew I couldn’t avoid him forever. I stopped at my locker right before fourth period. Lee had stuck a note there in her distinct handwriting. All it said was You are what you eat. So what’s eating you? I guess she’d read my article.
That’s when Vernon caught up with me. Along with three of his buddies. Together, they probably had about the same mass as a small car.
“Hudson?” he asked.
I nodded. At the moment, I didn’t think I was capable of producing any sort of sounds that would resemble words. At least, not out of my mouth. My butt felt like it was getting ready to issue a cry for help.
Vernon grabbed my shirt in one fist. His knuckles looked like walnuts. “You write for the school paper?”
As I nodded again, I could feel his fist tighten. At least it would be over soon. He’d punch the crap out of me—maybe all 90 percent—and in a mere five or six months I’d be as good as new, except for a couple scars, some false teeth, and an inability to remember my name or hold a conversation. On the bright side, I’d probably be able to sit through history class without fidgeting.
He curled his other hand into a fist. Behind him, his friends pulled closer. I felt like I was getting a tour of Mount Rushmore.
“Hey, Scott. What’s up?”
I looked over to my right.
“Everything okay?” Wesley asked.
Instead of waiting for me to answer, he shifted his eyes toward Vernon. I felt the grip loosen on my shirt, like Vernon had been hit by one of those blowgun darts that paralyzes all your muscles. Wesley kept staring. Vernon let go and backed up a step.
“I got that stripe painted on the car yesterday,” Wesley said. He was still staring at Vernon, but talking to me. “Come see.”
The bell rang for fourth period, but I didn’t care. I was just happy that all of my organs were still inside my body where they belonged. I followed Wesley into the parking lot and admired the bright red racing stripe painted on the side of his Mustang. I’d never seen a more beautiful work of art.
“Very nice,” I said. “It’s really very … uh … straight.”
He nodded.
“Thanks,” I added.
“Anytime.”
I realized I’d be hanging out with Wesley for a while. At least until Vernon graduated. Vernon was a senior, but with my luck and his brains, he’d be here for two or three years. Later, when I passed him in the hall, he bumped me with his shoulder. But he just kept walking. So did I.
Wesley was waiting for me after school. It actually was nice—sort of like he was looking out for me. We went cruising. Which meant we drove around without any real destination. He didn’t say much. Neither did I.
There was a dance Friday night, but I had a game to cover first, and then I had play rehearsal. The cast had complained about missing the dance, so Mr. Perchal said we could leave a little early. I caught the end. Right after I walked into the gym, I remembered how little fun I’d had at the last dance. And made a note to myself to skip the next dance. I didn’t even have Patrick around to help pass the time.
I had no idea why I went. Maybe I enjoyed seeing Julia with Vernon. Maybe I’d enjoy having my toenails slowly peeled away with a Swiss Army knife.
I did enjoy a fantasy. It went like this: Julia leaves Vernon in the middle of a dance and crosses the floor, coming straight to me. We dance every dance, and then walk off together, hand in hand. I spent most of the time running that scene through my mind.
Kyle was there, hanging out with the wrestlers. Mouth was there, too. He got turned down by at least seven girls in the brief time I was watching. I had to give him credit for being resilient. Nothing seemed to bother him. If I asked a girl to dance and she said no, I’d want to crawl into a hole and die.
{twenty-four}
not all education happens in the classroom. I learned a new skill Tuesday morning on the way to school when Wesley pulled into the parking lot behind the YMCA.
“Why’d you stop?” I asked.
“Need gas.” He hopped out of the car, then looked back at me and said, “Tap the horn if you see anyone coming.”
“What …?”
But by then he’d popped the trunk and pulled out a gas can, along with a couple feet of plastic tubing. I knew enough about the laws of physics to guess what was going to happen next.
Visions of jail danced in my head as I watched him stroll over to a car, open the door, release the gas cap, and start siphoning. Then he came back and poured the gas into his tank.
“I can give you gas money,” I said when he finally slipped back behind the wheel.
Wesley shrugged. “Why?”
“So you can buy gas,” I said.
“Don’t need to.”
I spent the rest of the trip trying to think of a counterargument. Nothing came to mind.
Wednesday, I had another near-death experience. Perry Dunlop, who’s one of the seniors on the football t
eam, cornered me on the way out of school. I figured he was going to pound me and then take his chances with Wesley.
He swung his right hand at me. I flinched. But my head stayed connected to my neck. He didn’t hit me. He just gave me a friendly slap on the shoulder. Of course, his idea of a friendly slap was enough to nearly lift me off the ground.
“Your article was pretty funny, dude,” he said. “Nachos. That’s classic.”
“Thanks.” I realized Perry was on the defensive line, so he liked the joke about the offensive line. Maybe most people don’t mind getting kidded, as long as they aren’t being singled out.
“It’s really just Vernon and a couple of his friends who want to kill you,” Perry said.
“That’s a relief.” I felt so much better.
February 1
Another month has passed into history. Mom had some kind of ultrasound test the other day. Apparently, you have a head, hands, feet, and a working heart. And other stuff. Congratulations. You’re a guy.
I woke up Monday morning to any student’s favorite sound—the silence of a world blanketed by a major snowfall. No school today. I planned to hang out in my room and read. But around noon, I heard the drone of a small gas engine. Next thing I knew, a snowmobile cut across our yard. When I got to the door, I saw Wesley shouting for me to come out.
“Is that yours?” I asked. The snowmobile looked brand-new.
“Borrowed it,” he said. “Get on.”
I thought about the way he drove a car. But at least if we crashed the snowmobile, there’d be something soft to cushion the blow. We rode around for an hour, about half of which we spent in the air. Then he dropped me off.
“Thanks,” I said.
“If the town ever floods, I can borrow a Jet Ski,” he said. Then he took off.
Mom was in the kitchen, looking out the window. “You should have invited your friend in. I made cocoa. With little marshmallows.”
“Maybe next time.” Wesley didn’t strike me as the little-marshmallow type.
Dad had gone to work. One of the mechanics had four-wheel drive.
I grabbed a shovel and started clearing the driveway. The snow was pretty light. Last year, I remember really struggling. This year, I was able to load up the shovel. Right after I started, Bobby came out and joined me.
“You heard it’s a boy?” he asked.
“Yeah. You think Mom wanted a girl?”
“Nah.” Bobby stuck his shovel in a snowbank. “Why would she? She already has you.”
I waited until he turned his back, then nailed him in the side with a snowball.
“Ouch. Okay, maybe you don’t throw like a girl.”
A moment later, he whacked me with a whole shovelful of snow.
“I win,” he said.
I decided a truce would be smart, so I turned my attention to the driveway.
Unfortunately, the road crews turned their attention to the streets around us, so I only got one day off.
On Tuesday, I noticed that Julia and Kelly were friends again. They acted like nothing had happened. I think girls fight differently than guys. I know I’ve never seen one girl knock another out in a parking lot. Maybe girls fight like brothers. No matter what happens between me and Bobby, we never stay angry for long.
When I got home, I found an e-mail from Patrick. His dad was being transferred again. He’d actually sent it a week ago, but I hadn’t been online for a while. I got all excited for a second, figuring he was coming back here, or at least somewhere closer than Texas. Then I read the rest. They were moving to Japan.
That really sucked. I’d figured I could at least try to visit Patrick this summer. Texas has some of the best largemouth bass lakes in the country. I’d bet I could have talked Dad into a trip. But there’s no way I’ll see Patrick now.
There were more departures on Friday. Mr. Kamber left. G’day. Or, as we say in Aussie Spanish, awdee-yowse. Mr. Cravutto was subbing until they could find a new teacher. He didn’t know any Spanish at all except some numbers. Halfway through class, we took a break to do push-ups. But we got to count in Spanish.
Lee was talking to me again. I guess she’d gotten over my stupid comment. But she looked depressed. I mean, she always looked down—it’s hard not to when you dress mostly in black. But she looked really down right now.
“Something wrong?” I asked her.
“It’s winter,” she said.
“It’s been winter for a while,” I said.
“That’s the problem.”
“Hang in there,” I told her. “It’ll be over soon enough.”
“But it’ll come back.”
I couldn’t argue with that. But I hated to see her looking so down. “Hey—you need to have a little fun. You should go to the dance on Friday.” As I spoke, I realized she might think I was inviting her. That would be awkward. My mind raced in search of some way to make it clear that I wasn’t asking her to go with me.
But I didn’t have to worry. Lee actually snorted as she walked away. I tried to imagine her dancing in the school gym, amid the paper streamers and balloons. All I could see was balloons popping when they got close to her face.
When we were driving home from school, Wesley spotted Mandy ahead of us on the sidewalk. “Mmmmm,” he said. “Look at her.” He slowed down as we drove past. I was afraid he was going to shout something crude. But he didn’t. As much as I know he’s always within an inch of doing something dangerous, I get the funny feeling he has a set of rules he lives by. It’s just that they aren’t any rules I ever learned.
Right before Wesley dropped me off, he asked, “What was the book with my name in it?”
It took me a second to remember what he was talking about. “The Princess Bride,” I told him. “Want to borrow my copy?”
He shrugged. “Sure.”
I ran in and got it for him. It felt good to return the favor. I mean, he’d been giving me rides, and saving my life, and all that. Not to mention teaching me useful skills like stealing gas. After he drove off, I started to worry. It’s a great book, but it’s complicated. I wondered whether giving it to him was the same as showing off. I’d hate to have Wesley decide to make me eat my words. Or William Goldman’s words. Page by tasty page.
To help keep my mind off that image, I tried making a list of Wesley’s rules
Wesley’s Rules of Life
It’s all mine.
If I like you, I’ll share, but it’s still all mine.
Nothing can hurt me.
I can hurt you.
All rules are subject to change without notice.
February 13
Tomorrow is Valentine’s Day. From what I see, they don’t make a big deal of it in high school. That’s good, because the whole thing with cards and flowers and all can just drive home how pathetic your social life is.
Here’s an interesting thought. I realized I can write anything I want here. I have complete freedom. Nobody is grading this. Nobody but you will ever see it. I can even write XXXXXXXXXXXX! Okay, I chickened out and crossed that off. Just in case. But it felt kind of nice to write it.
{twenty-five}
happy artificial holiday with strong commercial overtones.” Lee handed me a wrinkled white paper bag. She was wearing a shirt with a heart on it. I guess in honor of Valentine’s Day. Except it was a real heart.
“Happy that to you, too.” I looked inside the bag and shook it a bit. Jelly beans. All black. “I don’t have anything for you.”
“Reciprocity is not mandatory,” she said.
“Now that would make a good T-shirt.”
On the way home, I offered Wesley some jelly beans. He shoved a handful in his mouth, took a couple chews, then spat them out the window.
“Where’d you get these?” he asked.
“A girl I know.” I flinched at the sight of his blackened teeth.
“I hate the black ones.” He spat again, then lit a cigarette. I noticed his tongue was black, but I figured it wouldn’t be g
ood to point that out to him. Or to laugh.
The cast convinced Mr. Perchal to let us out early on Friday, so I got to go to the dance. It was exactly like the others. I needed to make a note for myself. Or get a tattoo that said No Dances. I stood around for two hours, trying to look like I was happy to be there. I got to watch Julia dance with Vernon. He was almost as graceless off the field as on. I hope he’s as scoreless, too. But there was one small bright moment. It looked like they were arguing. Julia even walked away from him for a while. I remembered Mom telling me that the smart girls got tired of the bad boys pretty quickly. But by the end of the dance, they were back together.
Kyle was with the wrestlers. A bunch of girls were hanging around with them. After a while, Kyle and Kelly started talking. I thought about how easily Mitch had walked over to that girl in the cafeteria at the start of the year. Kyle didn’t look comfortable. But he and Kelly kept talking. Then they started dancing. I guess I should have felt happy for him. He’d been dying to have a girlfriend ever since Mitch got one.
Eventually, I wandered over to the snack table. Mouth was there, eating Cheez Doodles. “Aren’t you going to ask anyone to dance?”
“I asked them all,” he said.
“What?”
“Every single girl.”
“You sure?”
“Positive. I’ve been keeping track. Since the first dance. I pretty much did it alphabetically. All the way through to Diane Zupstra. I ran out of girls to ask last month. I guess I could start at the beginning again, with Mary Abernathy. Maybe that’s not a bad idea. One of them could change her mind. What do you think?”
“Oh God, Mouth. I don’t know. I have no idea what any girl on the planet will do. Not ever. You just can’t predict how they’ll act.” I thought about the story “The Waltz.” Even when the girl danced with the guy, he had no clue what was running through her mind.
Mouth took a sip of his soda. “You’re right. There’s no way to know. So it’s possible someone will say yes. I hadn’t thought of that. Thanks, Scott.” He put down his soda and trotted across the gym.
