He hadn’t liked it much at all.
“There aren’t many big words in it,” Blondie said.
Mary Cherry snorted.
“It is true that it’s written in a simple style,” Bucky agreed. “What do you think the moral of the story was?”
Why was she asking him all these questions? Blondie could feel dozens of eyes nibbling at his skin like feeding piranha.
“Don’t go fishing where there are sharks?”
Bucky’s clamped her lips around her huge front teeth and glared at him.
“I don’t think you really understood the book, Mr. Reimer.”
She turned to Mary with a bountiful smile. “What did you get from the book, dear?”
“Oh, I just think it was full of powerful metaphors for how life is.” She recited a litany of the book’s virtues.
“Thank you, Mary. That was well done,” Bucky said when Mary finished. She began to write some of Mary’s points on the board.
A loud braying resounded across the room. Bucky wheeled around like a cape buffalo.
“All right, who did that?” she demanded.
The room was still.
Bucky turned back to the board. From out of the air, a mouse fell on Mary’s desk. It lay stunned for a second, then began to stir. For an instant, Mary stared at the groggy creature in disbelief. Then, she began to scream. The mouse staggered to its feet and began running around the desk, seeking a way down.
“Get that filthy creature out of here!” Bucky shrieked when she saw it.
Blondie saw a chance to get back in Bucky’s good graces. He strode to the front of the room and grabbed the frightened rodent around its waist. It bit him on the finger. A tiny drop of blood appeared. Blondie cursed and dropped it back on the desk.
“You’re going to need a shot for that,” Mary said.
This time, Blondie picked the mouse up by the tail. Bucky gave him a grateful look as he marched out of her class with it. He began second-guessing himself as soon as he reached the hallway. He had no idea what to do with the squirming beast, which was struggling to raise its head and bite him again. He decided the easiest thing would be to take it outside and let it go.
As he walked down the corridor, he happened to glance through the glass in a classroom door — and there she was! His Tammy. She was standing in front of the class, holding out her hands toward them. Blondie figured it had to be drama class.
Intrigued, he crept closer. She suddenly moved out of his view. He pressed his face against the glass to see where she’d gone. She reappeared and turned his way, raising her arms in the air as if appealing to the gods above. She stopped in mid-motion and stared straight at him, mouth open. Her classmates turned to see what she was looking at.
Blondie realized he was framed in the class’s view, mouse in hand.
Peals of laughter rang out behind the door.
Blondie felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned to face Mr. Bearzinsky. He wore a crooked smile on his face.
“Having a little fun, Mr. …?”
“Reimer, sir. Bernard Reimer.”
“Oh yes. The transfer student from Percy. Tell me, is this what students do down there?”
He was still smiling, but his eyes were flint.
“No sir. You don’t understand. I was just taking this mouse outside.”
“Is it time for its walk?”
“It’s not my mouse.”
“I’m glad. Now, just give it to me.”
“Well, I don’t…”
“Just do as I say, Reimer, and you may graduate one day.”
“Yes sir.”
Blondie handed Bearzinsky the mouse. It immediately bit him on the thumb, jumped to the floor and raced down the hall out of sight.
“You stupid …. ” Bearzinsky grabbed Blondie by the shirt collar and hustled him down the hall. “Now, I’ve got to get a tetanus shot.”
“Me too.” Blondie held up his finger.
“Good,” Bearzinsky said.
Mrs. Shively, the school nurse, was unprepared for the double mouse mauling.
“All I can do is put some alcohol on it,” she said to Mr. Bearzinsky apologetically.
“Why’d you have to bring a mouse to school, anyway?” she asked Blondie.
He didn’t attempt to explain.
“I don’t understand how it could bite both of you.”
Mr. Bearzinsky glared at her.
“Well, you’ll both have to go see a doctor as soon as you can. Who knows what diseases that mouse might have? You know they’ll eat anything — old bacon grease, leftover melon rinds, coffee grounds, spoiled meat …. ”
“I get the picture, Mrs. Shively,” Bear snapped.
“This should be good for a three-day suspension, mister wise guy,” Bear told Blondie once they were back in the hall.
“I was just removing it from class. I don’t know who brought it.”
“A likely story.”
“Ask Mrs. Buckley.”
“That old …,” the Bear began, before catching himself. “Yes, I suppose I should.”
Blondie noted Shakes’ look of alarm when Bear hustled him back into her class. He had a pathological fear of the Bear. Grouper kept his eyes straight ahead, although Blondie caught the hint of a smile.
Blondie was relieved when Bucky verified his story — reluctantly, it seemed to him. Bearzinsky seemed disappointed.
“I don’t ever want to have to deal with you again,” he threatened as he went out the door.
As Blondie sat back down, his relief turned to dismay as he remembered Tammy’s astonished look. Why were events conspiring to make him a complete ass in her eyes?
After class, Blondie confronted Grouper and asked him who’d thrown the mouse at Mary’s desk.
“Brick, of course. He detests her.”
“He’s ruining my love life,” Blondie blurted out.
Grouper looked at Blondie quizzically. Blondie told him how Tammy’d caught him watching her with the mouse in his hand.
Grouper eyes twinkled.
“Don’t you know the first rule of courting, my boy,” he said, and Blondie knew he was about to receive another of Grouper’s laws. “Never go calling with mouse in hand.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Armageddon. Blondie could see it in his mind. A fireball big as Maryland. A mushroom cloud halfway to the moon. His parents incinerated. He, somehow surviving, deep in a cave beneath the earth, sick from radiation poisoning.
A couple weeks before, the Russians had exploded a 50-megaton bomb. Khrushchev said they had an even bigger one, a “doomsday device” that could end life on earth. It was horrible to contemplate. Nonetheless, Miss Darlington wanted to talk about it — and the scariest part was that most of the class acted as if the issue had no relevance to them. Had they been lobotomized? Didn’t they understand that an arsenal of ballistic missiles was pointed their way?
Maybe it was him, though, who was out of step. Maybe he just worried too much. That’s what his mom said — “There’s no point worrying about things you can’t change” was how she put it. Perhaps she was right, although he’d always believed that worrying about something helped ward it off — like a charm. He still felt unsettled when the lunch bell rang. He shared his dread about the big bomb with Feller.
“Cheer up, Blondie, you take things too seriously,” Feller said. “Tell you what, why don’t you spend the night at my house tonight and we can talk more about things?”
Blondie wasn’t sure his mom would go for that, it being a school night and all. However, she seemed happy he’d made a friend. She even drove him over and came in to chat with Mrs. Feller for a few minutes.
After dinner, he and Feller watched television for a while with his folks, then went upstairs to Paul’s attic quarters, a bathroom and a long bedroom crimped at the sides by the angle of the roof. It was furnished with two single beds across from each other, a chest of dra
wers, a bookcase, and a desk.
Neither he nor Paul made any pretense of opening the books they’d brought home. They’d come to talk. Blondie asked Feller what it was like growing up in Fenton. In response, he went to the bookcase, took a large scrapbook from it, and handed it to Blondie. It was filled with photographs of Feller’s life — standard-issue baby pictures, pictures from birthday parties, family portraits from Sears. Blondie came upon some photos of Feller in a little league baseball uniform. He towered over most of his peers.
“Isn’t that Bobby Clements?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“You’re so much bigger.”
“I was an early bloomer. It gave me an edge back then.”
Another picture was from a teen party. Feller was standing next to a young Ethel Philbin. He showed it to Feller.
“Glory days,” Feller said wistfully.
Blondie was envious. Feller had a history. There was a continuity to his life. When he put the scrapbook back on the shelf, he noticed several three-ring binders labeled “Paul’s Photos.”
“Mind if I look?” Blondie asked.
Feller looked a little sheepish but told him to go ahead.
The binders were crammed with photographs of landscapes and buildings. Blondie could tell Feller had been aiming for artistic effect. But whether it was the limitations of the camera — a Brownie, Feller told him — or the photographer, Blondie found them uninspiring. They were nowhere near as good as the pictures in Life or National Geographic.
“They’re good,” Blondie said anyway. Why douse someone else’s dream? Besides, what did he know about photography? “Have you shown them to anyone else?”
“In Fenton? Are you kidding?”
Feller put on his pajamas and went to the bathroom to brush his teeth.
“Please don’t mention the photos to anyone,” he asked Blondie as he crawled under the covers.
“No, I wouldn’t.”
“Have you taken your college boards yet?” Feller asked.
“No. Have you?”
“January. Got any idea where you might go?”
“I haven’t given it much thought,” Blondie said.
“Most of the guys are going to the University of Maryland. They don’t have the grades to get into anywhere else. Brick might not even swing that.”
“Is that where’s Grouper’s going?”
“I don’t think so. He told me his dad wants him to go to some fancy school.”
“How about you?” Blondie asked.
“There’s a little school in Pennsylvania, in the Poconos. It’s called Smith-Reid. It’s got a good photography program. Co-ed, too. I’m thinking I might go there if I can get in.”
Feller looked over at Blondie.
“Smith-Reid’s pretty good in English, too. That’s what you’re interested in, isn’t it?”
“Some kind of writing.”
“So what do you say? Want to join me up there?”
Blondie had hardly given college a thought. But he was flattered by Feller’s invitation.
“That could be fun. Let me think about it.”
Feller turned out his bedside light, plunging the room into darkness.
“I saw the way you were dancing with Tammy,” Feller said after a time.
Blondie didn’t respond.
“I like her, too,” Feller said.
Strangely, Feller’s admission didn’t cause Blondie any concern. He was glad someone else could understand his feelings.
“Have you ever told her?” Blondie asked him.
“No.”
“Have you ever dated her?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Afraid to ask, I suppose.”
Blondie was surprised. He thought Feller had nerve, at least a lot more than he did.
“You’re not what you seem,” Blondie’s words floated across the darkness.
“What’s that?”
“Devil-may-care. Super confident.”
“Is anyone?”
“Super confident?”
“No. What they seem.”
The room fell quiet. Only a faint glow of light from the small window on the far wall eased the gloom.
“Have you ever gone out with that Delores girl you were talking to at the game?” he asked Feller after a while.
“Yeah.”
“Did you ever do it with her?”
“You mean screw her? No.”
“Why not? I could tell by the way she looked at you that she’d let you do it.”
“I’ve got to have some respect for Henry.”
“Who’s Henry?”
“My dick.”
“Your dick?”
“Sure. Don’t you have a name for your dick?”
Feller made it sound abnormal not to. Blondie wracked his brain for a response.
“Nessie,” he blurted out.
“Nessie? That sounds like a girl’s name.”
“You haven’t heard of the Loch Ness monster?” Blondie challenged, hoping to mask his discomfort by taking the offensive.
“Oh yeah,” Feller answered, with a sudden note of respect.
“When my dad was stationed in France, we went up to Scotland on a
trip …. “Tired as he was, Blondie could feel his mind going into overdrive. ” … and it was kind of hot, so I snuck off from my family and went for a skinny dip. There I was floating on my back in this little cove when a boatload of tourists came by and … well, the rest is history.”
Feller chuckled appreciatively.
“They say it’s about sixty feet long and has six or seven humps,” Blondie went on. “Really, it doesn’t have any humps. I’d put some water wings on it to keep it from sinking into the cold depths of the lake. As far as being sixty feet long … of course, they didn’t see it when it was hard.”
Feller began to roar. He put his pillow over his face to keep from waking the house. Blondie knew he’d scored big with him.
“Nessie, huh?” Feller said after a while. “Wait’ll I tell the guys this.”
Blondie lay back on his bed and smiled at the ceiling. He began to think about Tammy. He wondered what it would be like to make love to her — or for that matter any girl. Suddenly, he felt an urgent need to know. He wondered if there was a way to wheedle it out of Feller without giving away the fact that he was a virgin. Perhaps there was a way ….
“How many times have you done it?” he whispered into the darkness.
He congratulated himself on his cleverness. Next, he could probe for a couple names and ask how they were in bed. If he was lucky, he could get the information he wanted without volunteering anything himself.
There was a long stillness and Blondie feared that Feller had fallen asleep.
“I’ve never done it,” Feller finally answered.
“You’ve never done it? But what about all the things you’ve said? You seemed to know all about it.”
“I never said I did it, did I?”
Blondie eased up on him.
“What about the others?” he asked.
“I don’t know. Who’d admit he was a virgin?”
“Yeah. I know what you mean.”
“Are you?” Feller asked.
“What?”
“A virgin?”
Blondie didn’t see any point in hiding it now that Feller had come clean.
“Yeah,” he admitted.
“Why are you a virgin?” Feller asked.
“I don’t know. Lack of opportunity, I guess. How about you?”
“Not lack of opportunity. Delores asked me to do it with her once. It may be hard for you to understand, but it’s what I said before. Respect for my weenie.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t put any old food in my stomach. I don’t wear any old clothes. You know what I’m saying? You’ve got to respect yourself. You’ve got to have som
e standards.”
“What about the girl?” Blondie asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Do you want her to be a virgin?”
“Of course.”
“Isn’t that inconsistent?”
Feller laughed.
“Absolutely.”
Blondie woke the next morning, groggy from half-remembered dreams and disoriented by unfamiliar surroundings. He took a long shower. The warm streams coursing down his body gradually focused his awareness on the weight dangling between his legs.
“You’re a dangerous weapon, Nessie, but you’ve never had your trigger pulled.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Okay. So it was the Saturday after Thanks-giving. So people were well fed and their thoughts had turned to Christmas. Did that mean they had to be so damned cheerful?
His mom was the worst. She seemed consumed by the holiday spirit. Already, she was playing Christmas carols on the stereo and singing along with them. Already, she’d baked Christmas cookies — big shortbread jobs cut into stars, candy canes and snowmen, then frosted and sprinkled with colored sugar.
They were hurtling down Route 40 on their way to a monster mall near Baltimore for some Christmas shopping. Blondie could envision the scene: throngs of shoppers pushing and shoving each other to buy ties and toys, sweaters and scarves, toasters and televisions.
He stared out the window at the washed-out papier-mâché countryside. He hated winter. Everything was so hard and dead — and cold. Most of all he hated the cold. Every winter, it sank into his body and wouldn’t go away until summer.
“You’re being awfully quiet today,” his mother said. “Is something the matter?”
“My life is half over, I’ve never been laid, and my dream of love is ended,” he mumbled.
“What’s that?”
“Nothing,” Blondie said.
Blondie glanced over at his mom, somehow afraid she could read his thoughts. She was humming “Amazing Grace.” That always seemed to put her into a trance. Blondie watched her from the corner of his eye and noted the look of contentment on her face. Was that something that came with getting older? He could never remember feeling that way. He wondered if his mom had ever felt as desperately attracted to someone as he did to Tammy.
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