by Cody Wagner
I shook the thoughts out of my head. I had more important things to talk about.
“Did you just join random protests to find gay kids?” I blurted.
Timothy squinted at me, confused. It must have been weird, me springing this on him out of nowhere. I flinched, feeling like a loser, and added a quick, “Sorry.”
“No, it’s fine,” he said. “I didn’t know what you meant at first.” He smiled and shrugged. “Honestly, I didn’t even know Zimmerman’s Zealots were protesting. I was there for the funeral, remember?”
Duh. He’d told me that.
“So what about Justin and Ryan?”
“The douche bags?” Timothy said.
I grinned. “Yeah?”
“I stumbled across them. They wouldn’t stop talking about you, so I took advantage.”
I nodded. So the whole protest thing was just a coincidence. Funny how fate seems to step in and give you a hand sometimes. Then I remembered something way too odd to be a coincidence.
“How did Preacher Montgomery end up with your brochure? There are tons of churches in Pamata.”
“Your house had a bunch of signs with his name on it. Wasn’t too hard.”
At that, I swore Timothy’s cheeks reddened.
He was at my house? I stared at him, my brain filling with more questions I didn’t know how to ask. The sarcastic part of me wanted to accuse him of being a stalker, but that probably wouldn’t help.
Before I could blather something stupid, someone tore through the field toward us. All images of Timothy and farming and protests evaporated. For a split second, I’d allowed myself to get sidetracked from the Pumpkin Bash. Did Timothy distract me on purpose?
The air got darker, if that’s even possible, and I tensed, ready to run. Jimmy absently grabbed his butt, like he’d been sabotaged again. I took a couple steps toward the bell. Timothy matched me.
“One of yours?” he asked, as wary as me.
“No,” I said. “Yours?”
“Nope.”
My heart pounded as I watched the figure emerge. Is Timothy lying?
Ms. Dodd, my English teacher, came into view.
She arrived so winded, she couldn’t speak. We all looked at each other. Is she in on this somehow? In hindsight, that was a stupid thought, but I couldn’t help but imagine her pinning me down while Timothy moved the pumpkin.
“What’s wrong?” Timothy asked.
After heaving for a second, Ms. Dodd said, “We need you, Jimmy.”
Jimmy gaped at her. “Now?”
“Yes.”
His eyes were terrified. I knew exactly what he was thinking—he was going to lose the Pumpkin Bash for us again. I didn’t want to see that happen. And not just because I wanted to win; he was really upset.
“Please, Ms. Dodd,” I said. “We’re in the middle of something important. Can’t it wait?”
Ms. Dodd gave me a sympathetic look, but said, “I’m sorry, Blaize, but it cannot. Jimmy?” She looked back at him and his shoulders slumped.
“OK,” he said.
They walked away together and, although Jimmy barely moved and frequently looked back, they were soon out-of-sight.
Nervous, I turned back to Timothy.
“Did you plan this?” I was tempted to ring the bell, but stopped. This was another weird Jimmy thing that had nothing to do with the Pumpkin Bash.
“Of course not,” Timothy replied. I looked at his shift partner to see what he or she had to say. No one else was there. Timothy was alone.
“Where’s your partner?”
He shrugged. “Don’t have one.”
“Why not?”
I could see him struggling with something.
“What is it?” I looked at the bell again. A voice told me to run to it, to yank the handle until everyone was up. Another voice told me to break the pumpkin and get it over with. Something was off.
“You’re going to lose.”
That’s all Timothy said. He spoke absolutely matter-of-fact: like the sun rose in the morning, they were going to win.
“No,” I growled.
Taking a deep breath to shield my lungs, I ran to the bell and grabbed for the handle. It was gone. I gasped, breathing in something that smelled like year-old dog food. Coughing, I reached up into the bell. The ringer wasn’t there. I dropped to my knees and began searching around.
“You’re not going to find it,” Timothy said.
“What did you do?”
Timothy shrugged. “It wasn’t me.”
I made a fist and smacked the bell with my knuckles. It emitted pathetic little pinging noises no one would hear.
Although it was just a game, I rounded on Timothy, furious. I’d put him on a pedestal because he saved me, and I didn’t think he’d double-cross me. That’s stupid, I told myself. If the situation were reversed, I would have screwed him over to win. The truth was, I didn’t expect my first meeting with him to go like this. The disappointment made me angry.
“Calm down,” he said.
“What’s going on,” I demanded.
“I told you. We’re going to win.”
Timothy struggled with himself again, then lost his resolve. Flashing his charming grin, he said, “OK I’ll make this interesting for you, seeing as you have,” he looked down at his watch, “exactly ten minutes to do something.”
“What?”
He took a deep breath, flinching as stench hit his nose. He coughed once, then said, “We know about your raid tonight. We know everything you’ve been up to.”
My jaw dropped. “How?”
He shrugged. “We’re going to beat you to it. A preemptive strike, if you will. I don’t necessarily like winning this way, but a win is a win.”
“How do you know? And what do you mean by ‘this way’?” Then it hit me. “You’re cheating somehow. What, are you spying on us?”
I said the last part as a joke, but he nodded.
I squinted and said, “There’s nothing wrong with that. We’d totally spy on you if we had the chance.”
“Actually, we aren’t spying on you,” Timothy said.
My stomach dropped as his words sank in. “One of us is helping you?”
He nodded again.
I was stunned; we had a traitor.
“Who is it?” I demanded.
“Sorry, can’t tell you. Won’t tell you.”
My hands were shaking. Why would someone betray us? Popularity? The thought made me furious, until a voice in my head said, How far would you go to be popular?
I ignored the voice and said, “If you didn’t like it, why didn’t you tell us sooner?”
He shrugged. “I want to win.”
“Then why tell me at all?”
At this, Timothy grinned and looked at his watch. “You have nine minutes. Good luck.”
I didn’t know what to think. Part of me wanted to strangle Timothy, while part of me understood his desire to win. I couldn’t blame him for that. However, nothing was going as planned, and we were nine minutes away from losing. On my shift.
Desperate, I ran up to the pumpkin, intending to break it. Better to have no winners than put up with the gloating from the older dorm. Besides, it would serve Timothy right to have to clean it with me.
He stepped in my way and thrust out his arms. “I was an all-state wrestler my freshman year. That wouldn’t be a good idea.”
I stared at him and he grinned. In the moment, I hated that grin. It signaled defeat. I didn’t know the first thing about wrestling or fighting. A couple months of pull-ups wasn’t going to help. Timothy knew this and winked at me. This was just a game to him, and my imagination ran wild. I pictured my dorm running to the field just in time to see us lose. I pictured the smug grin on the traitor’s face. I pictured all of us scooping mounds of turds. I pictured the embarrassment I’d suffer. Most importantly, I pictured Jimmy getting blamed again.
That last thought jolted me into action. I didn’t know what to do, but I had to
try something.
Without another word, I took off running. Instead of heading back to the dorms, I sprinted down to the gym, approached the closest doors, and pulled. Locked. Cursing, I ran around, yanking at the next set and yelled when they, too, were locked.
Punching the air, I made my way around to the far side doors that faced off-campus. A small truck had been pulled up right to the entrance, blocking those doors. Cursing again, I continued around the building. Miraculously, the next set of doors were unlocked.
Whooping, I yanked them open and ran into the darkened gym. Looking at the useless floor and bleachers, I stopped, reason slamming into me. What am I doing here? I’d wasted a couple minutes already, but for what?
I was looking for an ally.
I hurled myself back into Adkins’s office. Naturally, it was empty, being the middle of the night and all. Feeling even more idiotic, I threw my hands up in defeat. I’d pulled another stupid Blaize maneuver.
That’s when I noticed the set of keys on the desk.
I stared at them, trying to make the connection. After a few seconds, it hit me. The truck outside! Before I could second-guess myself, I grabbed the keys and sprinted for the exit. Sure, it was dumb. I was risking big trouble just to win a pumpkin game. But my competitive streak kept me going.
A minute later, I approached the truck and pressed the unlock button on the remote. The truck beeped at me. I pumped my fists in the air and climbed in. It had an automatic transmission. Another fist pump; I had no idea how to operate a standard. Heck, other than making a few circles in a parking lot with Dad, I barely knew how to drive.
Ignoring my ignorance, I stuck the keys in the ignition and started it up. Holding my breath, I threw the shifter in reverse, clumsily backed up, drove around the gym, and bumped the curb leading onto the field.
This is it.
Gritting my teeth, I floored the gas. The truck leapt the curb, and I lost control. Yelling, I yanked the wheel to the left and smashed the brakes. The truck lurched to a stop and I stopped, heaving, and looked around.
I was on the field, about eighty yards from the pumpkin. I’d forgotten to turn on the headlights, which worked to my advantage; Timothy hadn’t noticed me. In the distance, I could see his silhouette watching the pumpkin. I still had a few minutes.
Gripping the wheel and yelling, DO IT! in my head, I gassed the truck again. This time, I rammed into something. A huge creak jolted me as the side mirror flung backwards, almost into the window. I must have hit a goal post. My not turning on the headlights had backfired.
Shrieking in surprise and blindly reaching forward, I began throwing switches. The windshield wipers turned on, as did the wiper spray. I fumbled for more buttons and, finally, the headlights blared on.
What I saw was chaos.
Older students were entering the field from every direction. Some even emerged from trees on the far side of campus. They must have been watching as Timothy and I talked. Hearing my wreck had brought them out, like a duck call.
My entire body buzzed with electricity as I saw Timothy standing at the pumpkin, arms crossed. He stared at me wide-eyed, but didn’t move. No one was making a move for the truck. Instead, they ran toward Timothy, forming a confused huddle.
They must not have known who was driving. For all they knew, Adkins was coming. A breath caught in my chest; I had a fraction of time to use their confusion to my advantage.
Clenching my teeth, I floored the truck and barreled through the middle of the field. Students sprinted out of the way, yelling. Gripping the wheel, which was covered in sweat, I steered slightly left and went to slow down as the truck jerked to a stop, and I flew forward in my seat. I had bumped the pumpkin.
Someone shouted, “It’s Blaize!” and pandemonium erupted.
Angry students surrounded the truck from every side, demanding I stop and get out. Someone ripped open my door and a guy seized my wrist. Yelling, I tore my hand away and pushed him out the door, managing to shut and lock it.
Trembling with fear and frenetic energy, I grabbed the wheel and pressed the gas. The truck didn’t budge; the pumpkin was too heavy. I began to press harder when pounding erupted behind me. I turned to see three guys in the bed of the truck, opening the rear glass window.
Panicking, I rammed the gas and the truck lurched forward. For an instant, I was terrified I’d run over the pumpkin. But the truck was fairly low and, thankfully, I felt something huge start to grind along the ground.
Just twenty yards, I told myself.
The rear window slid open and I felt arms around me. I was yanked up and pinned against the seat. Some dude lifted me until my foot couldn’t reach the gas. The truck slowed and lurched to a stop. Clawing at my captor, I ripped off my left shoe with the other foot, stuck it on the gas pedal, and pressed down. The shoe gave me the extra couple inches I needed and the truck jerked forward again. I whooped out loud, until Timothy threw open the passenger door and climbed in.
I screamed, angry at myself because I hadn’t locked both doors.
“I’ve got this!” Timothy said.
The arms reaching through the back window let go, and I dropped onto my seat.
With blinding speed, Timothy reached out and pinned me under him. The comment about being a wrestler was obviously true. I yelled and tried flailing around, but couldn’t budge. Without my help, the truck stopped again.
Desperate and heaving, I tried to push myself up and peek out the window. Timothy caught me and did something agonizing to my arm. I yelled and fell against the seat in pain. Twisting my hand back, he wrapped me into what felt like a knot. I couldn’t do anything more than blink and wheeze.
It was hopeless. Already, I could hear the pumpkin being inched from the front of the truck. The older students must have been pushing it. I squirmed ferociously, but Timothy readjusted his grip and soon, my face was smashed into the floorboard. I started to scream out in frustration and pain and embarrassment when I noticed it. The gas pedal was right by my face. Intent on securing my arms and legs, Timothy hadn’t noticed where my head was.
Seized with an idea, I began thrashing around again, a stray foot hitting him. Timothy pinned me down harder, which pressed my face against the gas pedal. Yelling one final scream, I pushed it as hard as I could with my nose. The truck roared in response and careened forward. Before Timothy could process what had happened, we drove five yards, together.
Stunned, Timothy released me and flew from the truck. Aching, I managed to push myself up and, riding an adrenaline wave, climbed out and walked around to the front. The pumpkin was pretty much intact. And it was resting several feet past the red line.
I had done it.
I balled my fists and yelled into the air. Two seconds later, I was flooded by my dorm. They threw themselves on me and laughed and cheered. Questions were dumped on me so fast, I couldn’t answer them.
Peeking out from the dog pile, I saw Jimmy looking down at me, face apologetic. I went to console him when the most disgusting smell hit my nose like a sledgehammer. Screwing up my face, I turned to see three girls from my dorm smashing the pumpkin with their feet. Mounds of rotten food oozed out like lava. The stench broke up our dog pile, and we fled to the edge of the stink zone.
The older kids were stunned, and we pointed and jeered at them like they had at us the past couple weeks. I looked around and found Roze. She was scurrying away from me with her head down. I’m sure she was avoiding the gloat party I was about to have. It was amazing and, although I was exhausted and sore, I couldn’t stop smiling. Just like in the movies, I had saved the day.
Then, unlike in the movies, I felt myself jerked away from the group. I stumbled backwards and was whipped around to see Adkin’s face pressed into mine, like an army sergeant. He had an excruciating grip on my arm. His eyes were on fire and he practically snarled. Every bit of elation I felt seconds earlier vanished. I wanted to throw up.
“Did you do this,” he growled.
I nodded; I co
uldn’t lie.
Without saying a word, he dragged me to the gym. A few older students pretended to laugh, but I could tell they were still furious at losing. It didn’t make me feel any better and, before I could process anything, I was hauled into Adkins office, and thrown into a plastic chair across from his desk.
“What were you thinking?” he barked. “You stole a car.” He pounded the desk for emphasis and added, “You committed a felony just to win a damned game.”
My heart stopped. I hadn’t thought about the legal implications, but he was right: I had just committed grand theft auto. Up to that moment, I half-heartedly thought I might get expelled, but didn’t really believe it. Now, expulsion was reality. Worse, I was going to jail.
My eyes blurred with tears and my hands began shaking as I said, “I’m sorry. I found out the older dorm cheated and really wanted to win. I was gonna return the truck the second I was done with it. And I only drove it to the field.”
My words ran together in one jumbled outburst. I felt like a stupid little kid trying to defend himself. I was terrified, and angry with myself. This wasn’t worth it. More than anything I’d ever wished for in my life, I wanted to go back in time and let the other dorm win.
Adkins saw my regret and his eyes softened, but his voice stayed angry.
“And you thought you’d get away with it? Do you really think members of the staff aren’t monitoring the Bash? And what if you damaged the truck? Trying to push a half-ton of mush could have ruined the grill.”
None of that occurred to me. Again, I had severe moments of not thinking things through. I hung my head, defeated.
“I’m sorry,” I sputtered. “I’ll pay for any damages. Whose truck was it?”
“Mine,” said Adkins.
I hung my head lower, thinking, Duh, the keys were on his desk.
“How did you get in here, anyway?” Adkins asked.
“One of the gym doors was unlocked.”
“Show me.”
We got up and went to the door. I prayed it was still unlocked. It was. Adkins cursed under his breath, but I don’t think it was directed at me. I guessed the place was supposed to be locked up at night.