A Semester in the Life of a Garbage Bag

by Gordon Korman

  As it turned out, he got the worst of both worlds, because Howard continued to be unbeatable at poker, and Raymond showed up anyway.

  “This is impressive,” Raymond announced, a painful smile on his face. “And here was Jardine thinking you were going to waste your time doing a poetry assignment. What a relief.”

  “Howard, Randy, Chris,” said Sean quickly, “this is Raymond Jardine.” He added, “My English partner.” God forbid anyone should think he and Raymond were friends. An ugly rumor like that could kill a guy’s image.

  Greetings were exchanged all around.

  “I’m the guy who put the toilet paper on the windmill last night,” Howard informed Raymond.

  “Right — uh — thanks. Come on, Delancey. We’ve got to go hit the library.”

  Sean was incensed. “I’m in the middle of a hand! What was the bet? Thirty-five?”

  Howard raised it to fifty.

  Raymond picked up Sean’s hole cards and snorted. “You think you’re going to beat him with three lousy queens? He’s already got two aces showing, probably one in the hole, and the one in his sock makes four.”

  Howard blew up. “Hey, will you let the guy play, huh?”

  “I fold,” said Sean, tossing his cards into the center of the table. Randy and Chris did the same.

  Howard slapped his forehead and looked daggers at Raymond. “Man, you just cost me a hundred and fifty toothpicks!”

  “I’ll make it up to you,” Raymond promised. He patted his pockets experimentally. “Hmmm. Fresh out of toothpicks. Would you accept maybe a good-sized roll of dental floss instead?”

  “Raymond —” said Sean warningly.

  Howard stood up. “My game is off limits to you!”

  “Are you sure?” asked Raymond innocently. “It’s lightly waxed, shred-resistant —”

  “Out!”

  “I’ll see you guys later,” said Sean quickly, grabbing his toothpicks and hustling Raymond away from the game.

  When they were out of earshot, Sean turned on his partner. “Nice going. Do you always make friends so charmingly?”

  Raymond shrugged. “The guy cheats.”

  “Of course he cheats. And everybody knows it. The point is, Howard Newman is the easiest guy in the world to get along with. All you have to do is play poker and hate the windmill. He liked everybody — until you came along with your dental floss.”

  Raymond shook his head, indicating that he had no time for such small talk. “Never mind that. The worst thing that could have happened has just happened. Cementhead has signed up for Theamelpos.”

  “Cementhead? Who’s that?”

  “You know — the guy with a big cement block for a head, who wears shirts with no sleeves even when it’s freezing. Steve Cementhead.”

  Sean was outraged. “His name is Steve Semenski, and he’s one of my best friends. He’s a good guy.”

  “If he was a good guy,” said Raymond, “he’d stay away from Jardine’s trip.” From his clipboard he produced a sheet of paper and held it out to Sean. “Look at his record. It’s enough to make you cry.”

  SEMENSKI, S., 5669, Junior

  Height: 5′ 10″ Weight: 160 lbs.

  Hair: brown Eyes: brown

  Extracurricular activities: varsity football, basketball, baseball, volleyball, track and field, water polo, wrestling.

  (Who is this creep?)

  Comments: Forget it! He’s going to Theamelpos unless someone accidentally uses his head to put up a skyscraper.

  Sean reddened further. He and Steve had become friends in eighth grade, when the two had formed a secret society, which had turned out to be not so secret, since practically everybody had known about it. Actually, the whole thing had started as a dare to see who would have the guts to sneak into the girls’ locker room during gym class and steal Karen Whitehead’s underwear. Gradually, a few others had been admitted to the society, but since Karen Whitehead was the biggest and meanest girl in the entire eighth grade, it had been almost summer vacation before Steve had finally accomplished the mission. This explained why the secret society had lasted all through the year, and was probably the main reason why Sean and Steve were so close.

  “You are a vicious person!” he accused Raymond. “What has Steve Semenski ever done to you, huh? Here you are cutting the guy up when you know nothing about him! Steve is on all the teams, but he never gets to play. He’s just good enough to be the last guy who makes it before the cut. He plays substitute for every team we’ve got, but he never so much as breaks a sweat.”

  “That’s even worse,” said Raymond. “He gets a record that makes him look like an Olympic decathlon champion, and he doesn’t even have to do anything to earn it. He’s never going to get injured, he’s never going to get kicked off a team for lousy play, and he’s never going to neglect one sport for another, because he doesn’t play anything. This guy must have been born with a serious horseshoe up his diaper! Now I know why I have no luck. They gave it all to Cementhead! How’s Jardine supposed to compete with a guy like that?”

  Sean held his head. “Look, you compete with our poetry assignment, remember? Come on. Let’s go to the library.”

  Raymond was not so easily consoled. “I’m starting to think that a poetry assignment isn’t going to be enough to pull this off.” He looked up at the ceiling. “Who’s going to sign up next — Superman? Delancey, we need some of that extracurricular garbage on our side, too. Like it or not, we’ve got to get involved.”

  Sean frowned. “You’re my English partner. Don’t make me your partner at anything else.”

  ***

  The library was a nightmare. He and Raymond sat at a long worktable, surrounded by mountains of books, desperately skimming for a topic for their project. To make matters worse, Raymond was being difficult. He was still dead set on the idea of pulling some obscure poet out of nowhere, bringing him to Mr. Kerr’s attention with their brilliant analysis, and chuckling about it all the way to Theamelpos.

  “Too famous, Delancey,” Raymond said for about the fifteenth time. “Look at the universities he taught at. Look at the prizes they gave him. He’s practically the Cementhead of poetry. What we’re looking for is the Jardine of poetry.”

  “Quit calling him Cementhead,” Sean growled. “Now look. We’ve got to get thirty pages out of this. I haven’t seen anything I could do thirty words on! Not even three!”

  Raymond looked over at the book opened in front of Sean. “How about ‘This really stinks’?”

  “Come on! At least we can do research on some of the famous guys!”

  “We’ve got till Friday to pick a topic. Keep looking.”

  Sean’s mood was not helped by the fact that Mindy O’Toole was sitting right across the table. When he said hello, her return greeting sounded as though she were talking to the gas man who had come to read the meter.

  “How’s it going?” Sean asked her.

  “Fan-tastic,” she replied, and returned to her work, shutting him out completely.

  Mindy was also in Mr. Kerr’s class, and was in the library searching for a topic with her partner, Danny Eckerman. Actually, Danny was sitting passively by, munching on an apple, while Mindy slaved diligently over a volume of modern poetry. Danny was presently enjoying his second term as student body president, and was far more concerned with discussing the school’s upcoming Halloween party than rendering any assistance to poor Mindy.

  “Halloween is the ultimate party night,” said the president, “and I give awesome Halloween parties. Remember that blowout we had last year?”

  Sean, who had been there for a total of forty-five seconds en route to a different party, said, “How could I forget? It was amazing.”

  “An event like that practically plans itself,” Danny went on, “but there are always a lot of little details to look after, and I’m pretty busy these days. I need a couple of helpers.”

  Before Sean could issue a certificate of ineligibility, Raymond was out from behind a s
tack of books, throwing his hat into the ring. “No, you don’t. You’ve got two helpers — me and Delancey.” He stuck out his hand. “Jardine. Pleased to meet you.”

  Smiling with all thirty-two teeth, Danny shook Raymond’s hand and then Sean’s. “I love this school,” the president declared emotionally. “There’s always someone ready to lend a hand.” From his pocket he produced a handwritten list and passed it over to Sean. “I jotted down a few basic ideas for you to take a look at. They should be helpful.”

  Sean could hardly contain his rage until they left the library en route to second period. Then he turned to Raymond with a vengeance. “How could you be so stupid?”

  Raymond was mystified. “What do you mean? This is a real break for us. Think how great it’ll look on our records — ‘Student Social Activities Planning Committee.’ And all we have to do is show up once or twice and help El Presidente put up streamers or something.”

  Sean shoved the list under his nose. “Check this out, Mr. Streamer-Putter-Upper! ‘Food, drinks, music, lighting, games, contests, prizes, advertising, decorations —’ Get the picture? When you volunteer to ‘help’ Danny Eckerman, it means you have to do it for him! He never does anything! He’s the laziest guy in the school! You saw how he had poor Mindy doing all his work for him. I bet she even wrote this list. See? This is her handwriting!”

  Raymond examined the paper. “Hmmm. Doesn’t leave much for him to do, does it?”

  “See? And look! Our posters have to say ‘Danny Eckerman invites you to a Halloween Extravaganza’! I could kill myself! We’ve got a thirty-page poetry assignment with no topic, and now we’ve got to put on the social event of the season!”

  Raymond looked up at the ceiling. “Cementhead doesn’t even have to play.” He shrugged. “Oh, well. We need the Brownie points. When we’re on Theamelpos, it’ll all seem worth it.”

  ***

  SACGEN behaved itself for the people from Popular Science. So for that one day, the students were given respite from the usual breakdowns and inconveniences. This was largely because the Department of Energy sent in fourteen engineers instead of the usual two. It was their policy anytime visitors were expected to see to it that their pet project’s every mood was lovingly catered to. For this reason SACGEN, which was a complete turkey for the students who had to deal with it daily, had a perfect performance record in front of observers, and was fast earning a reputation in the industry as the energy source of the future.

  Howard Newman was pleased to note that there was still one undiscovered small strand of toilet paper waving feebly but proudly from the back of an angled solar collector on the roof. He took out a subscription to Popular Science that very day.

  ***

  The next day, Sean knew it was business as usual when he arrived at school to find the lights dim and flickering and a strange ping sound echoing through the hall every ten seconds or so.

  There was only one other student by the east-side entrance. Raymond was in the process of removing the school’s notice advertising the Theamelpos trip and replacing it with one that read:

  COOKING WITH CABBAGE

  A SYMPOSIUM

  Raymond looked at it critically, nodded with satisfaction, then ripped the Theamelpos ad into sixty-four pieces and spread them among three garbage cans. He was chanting again, too, a vague Latin-American rumba melody in time with the ping. It was all gibberish except for “Theamelpos,” which was sprinkled here and there amidst the nonsense. He wasn’t exactly dancing, but there was a certain spring in his step, and his movements were all to the beat of his music.

  “That’s dishonest, you know,” Sean said behind him.

  Raymond nodded absently. “Uh-huh.”

  “Well, it is, you know. Never mind the notice you ripped up. What if some poor jerk really wants to sign up for” — he squinted at the new paper — “Cooking with Cabbage?”

  “Oh, no sweat,” said Raymond seriously. “I admit a couple of people enrolled when I tried it with Knuckle-Cracking, but there wasn’t any fuss when it didn’t come off. I was on the right track with Seminar on SACGEN, until Q-Dave signed up. But this is perfect. It won’t even get a nibble. Any brilliant poetry topic inspiration come to you?”

  “I’m too preoccupied with Halloween,” Sean said sourly.

  Raymond nodded sadly. “My uncle called last night — you know, the fish guts czar of New Jersey. He asked me what I was going to be doing next summer.” He shuddered. “I said I was going to be seventy-five hundred miles southeast of Secaucus, flaked out on a beach, catching a rap with Miss Stockholm. He just laughed and told me I was getting a thirty-five-cent raise.” He reached down to pick up his clipboard, which was leaning against the wall, and began to walk. Sean followed.

  It was ten to nine, and the halls were bustling with students putting in those last few minutes of hanging out before first period. Raymond pointed to a tall, dark-haired girl waiting in front of the physics lab.

  “See her? She was the first one on the Theamelpos list after you. Amelia Vanderhoof. The day she signed up — poof — the first of those six spots — gone. Q-Dave and the teachers all love her.”

  Sean felt his lips forming into a smile as he distinctly remembered telling Amelia about this great trip that had just been proposed. “Cut it out, Raymond. Amelia’s a friend of mine. She’s really nice. Kind of a goody-goody …” He waved at Amelia, who smiled and waved back.

  “Good for her; terrible for Jardine. She’s got a record Albert Schweitzer couldn’t match. And the thing that bugs me is that she’ll get nothing out of that trip, when it would be such a rich and rewarding experience for Jardine!” He waved the clipboard under Sean’s nose. “Read about her! Read about her and weep!”

  VANDERHOOF, A., 3992, Senior

  Height: 5′ 11″ Weight: 119 lbs.

  Hair: dark brown

  Eyes: twin dots of India ink

  Grade point average: 3.95 (I may throw up.)

  Comments: Definitely going. Will probably put a damper on trip for everyone else. The most boring person alive.

  Sean looked up to find Amelia standing in front of him, and quickly jammed the clipboard into Raymond’s chest so hard that it almost winded him.

  “Hi, Sean. Nice shot last Monday.”

  “Thanks, Amelia.” Sean paused. “Uh — this is Raymond, my English partner.” He was relieved to note that Raymond was polite and friendly, not to mention careful to keep his clipboard well concealed.

  “So where did you live before here?” asked Amelia after Raymond had mentioned that he was new to this school.

  “Oh, we didn’t move,” Raymond explained. “The town moved.”

  “Pardon?”

  “My house used to be in Seaford, but the town boundaries were changed, so suddenly we’re in DeWitt.”

  “That’s really interesting,” said Amelia blandly. “Oh! Time for class. Bye.” She headed off.

  “You never told me all that stuff about your house and the town lines,” said Sean as he and Raymond settled themselves in English class. “I figured you just moved here.”

  Raymond looked pained. “It’s not one of Jardine’s favorite things to think about. You know what was affected by the rezoning? Two gas stations, a 7-Eleven, a flower shop, a Mexican food place, and one house. One house! Jardine. I live two blocks from Seaford High, but I can’t go there anymore because I woke up one morning a resident of DeWitt.”

  Sean rolled his eyes. “Did you like it better at Seaford High?”

  Raymond shrugged. “The lights worked there. But in the end, it doesn’t matter where Jardine is. They find him.” He cast a significant glance at the ceiling. “Did you catch the late news last night? There was this great piece on that sewer cleaner who went to Theamelpos and came home to find that he’d won the lottery. Eight-point-three million smackers.”

  Sean scowled and tried to concentrate on the front of the room where Mr. Kerr was in a terrible snit. Ashley Bach, a transfer student newly arrived from
Staten Island, had been placed in his class, thereby throwing off the partner system. As the twenty-seventh student, she had no one to work with on the term’s major assignment.

  “Why couldn’t you have come before?” lamented the teacher. “Where am I going to put you?”

  Ashley looked mystified. “Can’t one of the groups have three of us?”

  Mr. Kerr winced. “But that’s so sloppy. If you’d come Monday, I could have made nine groups of three. Or if there were two of you, an extra pair — or seven groups of four! Wouldn’t that be something!”

  Ashley shuffled uncomfortably. “Sorry, sir.”

  “Oh, I guess it isn’t your fault. Go over there and work with” — he consulted his class list — “Delancey and Jardine. It has no balance, but I suppose it’s the simplest solution.”

  Sean let his breath out, and suddenly realized that he had been holding it. He heard Raymond do the same. Ashley Bach was easily the most beautiful girl in the school and quite possibly the whole world.

  “I thought you said you had no luck,” Sean whispered to Raymond.

  “This must have been your luck,” Raymond whispered back.

  The two watched mesmerized as Ashley gathered up her books and made her way over to the vacant seat beside Sean. She smiled at them, and Sean was positive that he saw a few soft strands of her auburn hair stir in the breeze as she passed the ventilation duct.

  “Hi. I’m Ashley. I hope you guys don’t mind me joining your group.” The expression in her green eyes was open and friendly.

  “Hi,” Sean greeted her, craning his neck to confirm that Mindy had noticed that this vision had been assigned to his group. “Welcome to DeWitt. I think you’re going to like it here. I’m Sean Delancey, and I play on the basketball team. I’m a guard, and —” He gawked. “Raymond, would you cut that out?”

  Raymond had made a noose out of a piece of string, and was pretending to hang himself as Sean spoke. Ashley turned to Raymond, but by that time, he had the noose off his neck and out of sight.