Egghead

by Caroline Pignat

  Devan

  "Holy crap! Did you see that?" the crowd says.

  "I know. He peed right there. In front of everyone," it answers. More laughter. "What's with his mother?" it asks as we climb the stairs to next class.

  "Didn't you know?" goes Paulo DiPalma, some kid from Egghead's old school. "She's dead."

  It echoes in the stairwell.

  Dead.

  Dead.

  Dead.

  I feel bad. I mean, I wouldn't have mentioned her if I'd known that.

  No wonder he freaked out. But how was I supposed to know? He could've told us. I mean, he should've said something, instead of just acting like a total retard, right?

  "What's with that girl who's always trying to save Egghead?" Shane says. "That was her, wasn't it, in the hall?"

  "Yeah."

  "Serves them right." Shane smiles. He looks pleased with how things are turning out. "Freakin' weirdos?'

  I didn't think she seemed all that weird. Other than the fact that she thought she could stand up to Shane. I have to admit, for such a cute little thing, she's got guts.

  Did I say she was cute? Well, I mean cute, like, small cute. Like how kittens are cute. Oh, never mind.

  I just wonder when I'll see her again. And what Shane's going to do when he does.

  Katie

  My stomach twisted as I followed Mr. Spence into his office. I couldn't believe I was here. Me, Katie McGillvary, straight-A student and all-around rule follower. What would Dad think? I hoped he wouldn't have to know. He wasn't feeling all that great these days, what with the chemo and all. The last thing I wanted was to stress him out with something like this.

  Mr. Spence motioned for me to sit in the chair. He eyed Will, and placed a plastic grocery bag on the other chair's cushion. I don't know how he managed in those tight, wet shorts, but somehow Will sat.

  "Now, Will, your clothes are ..."

  Will shrugged. Mr. Spence had taken us by the change rooms on the way to the office, but Will's clothes were long gone.

  "Do you have any explanation for this?" Mr. Spence asked. Again, Will shrugged.

  Mr. Spence looked at me. I told him what I'd seen. He stroked his mustache as he listened, then nodded and turned his attention back to Will. "Son, I need to know who is responsible. I can't help unless you help me help you." He paused. "Why were you in the hallway in your underwear? Is anyone harassing you?"

  Will stared at the carpet.

  Finally, Mr. Spence typed something in his computer and picked up the phone. "Well, I suppose the least I can do is get you some clothes ... yes, hello, Professor Reid? Principal Spence here ... there has been an incident ..."

  Will slumped lower in his chair at the sound of his father's name. I'd never met Professor Reid before. He never came to any school events, even when Will, Jenna, and I won last year's science fair. I guess professors were too busy. He sure wouldn't appreciate having to come because his son lost his pants and wet his shorts.

  "Yes. Thank you, Professor. I look forward to meeting you." Mr. Spence hung up and checked his watch. "He should be here in ten minutes. You are free to go back to class now;' he said to me as he walked around his desk.

  "Would it be okay, sir, if I stayed with Will for a while ... until his father comes?"

  Mr. Spence glanced at Will trembling in the chair. Despite the little he had on, I doubted it was from the cold. "Sure. I've got hall duty but I'll be back shortly?' He closed the door behind him.

  We sat in silence for a while. Finally I spoke. "What really happened?"

  "The boys." Will's voice was soft and shaky. "They ... I dunno ... I was trying to get dressed and ..."

  "What boys?"

  "Sh-shane and his friends. Everybody."

  "Why didn't you tell Mr. Spence, Will? He can't help you if you don't tell him."

  Will looked at me then, his eyes teary. "And what do you think they would do to me, Katie? Huh? Getting them in trouble wouldn't help anyone, least of all me." He looked away and wiped his cheek. "If I don't say anything, it ends here."

  I wanted it to be true, for his sake. Maybe both of us hoping might make it true. We sat without speaking until a knock came at the door.

  "Mr. Spence?"

  Will jumped to his feet at the sound of the voice. I opened the door. The man on the other side had to be Will's dad. It was like seeing the Will of the future. Same hair parted just above the left ear, same cords, V-neck sweater and turtleneck—although his was probably a full turtleneck and not just the neck part, the dickie that Will always wore. His eyes swept past me.

  "William James Reid! What in the name—"

  "Sorry, Dad—it was an accident. I ... I'm sorry."

  "Here." His father frowned and handed him a bag. "Put these on. You can't be running around the school in ... in that!" He didn't seem to care what had happened. All that mattered was having the right appearance.

  "I'll see you later, Will." I said.

  "Sorry about your shorts, Katie," he answered, eyes down.

  I was about to tell him not to worry, that I had a spare pair, but Professor Reid cut in. "Her shorts? Why in God's name are you wearing her shorts?"

  I clicked the door behind me. The least I could do was let Will have that moment in private.

  I joined my English class in the library.

  "I still can't believe Will did that," Jenna whispered, sliding in the seat beside me. "I mean, he's weird and all that, but I didn't think he was like streaker weird."

  "It was an accident." I argued. "He didn't do it on purpose."

  "I heard he wears ladies underwear. Is that true?" she asked, eyes wide. "Did you, like, see everything?"

  "I—"

  "No, wait," she stuck her fingers in her ears. "Don't tell me. I don't want to know."

  If Will thought being caught in the hall in pink underwear was the most devastating thing that could happen to him, he definitely wasn't prepared for the aftershocks. The story had a life of its own. By the end of that period, most of St. Patrick's High School was convinced Will Reid wore a pink thong and garters under his brown cords. Will was famous now, for all the wrong reasons.

  And thanks to Will, I was too.

  William James Reid

  Teacher's Manual

  Mr. Donlan knew

  About me

  About Mom,

  About my ways.

  Mr. Donlan knew a lot.

  But I wonder

  if he knew

  highschool teachers wouldn't know.

  An there is

  no teacher's manual

  on me.

  Devan

  The underwear dangles from the lock. It's pink, just like all the other ones.

  Egghead comes out of class. You can see him freeze up when he notices what's hanging from his lock again. He pulls his ruler from his book and tries to jimmy them off, but when he flicks his wrist, the panties go flying through the air and land right in front of Spence who just happens to be patrolling the hall. Stopping, Spence picks them up and turns to Egghead.

  "Yours?" Spence asks, holding them out.

  Egghead shakes his head, no.

  "I think we need to talk about this. Maybe discuss some strategies;' Spence says, pocketing the panties and walking Egghead down the hall.

  "Where are you getting all the panties?" I ask Shane. Pretty much every day for the past week there's been a pink pair on Egghead's locker, all different sizes and shapes. One time there was even a pair of those wicked-huge gramma underpants and another time there was a matching bra.

  "How do I know?" he goes. "I just brought the first pair."

  Leave it to Shane to start a new tradition.

  Egghead may not think it's funny. I bet there's a few older sisters missing some underwear who don't think it's funny either. But I think it's hilarious.

  We get our stuff and head to class. "Hey," Shane elbows me. "I wonder what'll happen to Spence when Mrs. Spence finds those in his coat pocket." We crack up
all over again.

  "See ya after class," Shane says, going into Peloso's room. I head up the stairs, still laughing as I round the corner and slam into someone.

  Only it isn't just someone.

  It's her.

  She falls back on her butt from the impact. Even her glasses get knocked off. Papers float down around her and all over the floor.

  "Oh, sorry," I say, getting her glasses and giving her a hand up. She stands, a little wobbly, and puts her glasses on. They sit all cockeyed on her face as she looks at me kind of dazed.

  "Are you okay?" I ask. I must've hit her harder than I thought.

  We both notice that I'm still holding her hand. My face burns and I let go real quick and bend down to pick up her papers. Drawings actually.

  "Hey, these are really good," I say, stopping to look at them one by one.

  "They're of Brayside," she says, still stunned. "My Granny's farm. I love it there."

  Her drawings were fantastic. A cat. A man on a dock. But the best one was her. I couldn't stop looking at it.

  She—I mean, it was beautiful.

  Katie

  They were the sketches from Brayside; Gizmo stretched out in a sunbeam licking his paws, the birches by the creek. Dad sitting on the dock dangling his feet in the lake. That one was my favorite. I couldn't wait to finish it—somehow, my pencil had captured the moment. It was so Dad. Granny said that old dock was always his favorite place, even as a little boy. He had his face turned up to the sun and you couldn't really see it, but you just knew he was smiling.

  Devan stopped at the last drawing, my self-portrait. Mr. Cameron said to use a reference photo that was "emotionally charged, one that moves you;' so I picked the one of me sitting on Granny's log fence singing the theme song from Titanic (my favorite movie). Thanks to my singing, and Granny saying I sounded like Gizmo in heat, Dad couldn't stop laughing. I don't know how he took the picture in focus. I hadn't heard him laugh like that in a long time. The chemo left him so drained. Gray like the ashes from the cigarettes he used to smoke. Some days he looked older than Granny.

  But that day—that day was a good one.

  Devan looked at that drawing, a long time. It felt weird to have Devan, Shane's Devan, looking at my sketches. Especially that one of me.

  I looked at it in his hands: me, straddling the fence, arms up and chest out like I was flying. What a stupid grin. And look at my hair, uncut, uncombed, a rat's nest of tangles and straw. I looked like a total idiot.

  In all the time I'd been working on the piece, studying every detail, somehow I had never noticed the big picture of how dumb I looked, like some scrawny, freckled scarecrow with dirty bare feet. Why hadn't I just drawn my class picture like everyone else? Maybe then I wouldn't have felt so ... exposed. Like Devan was seeing something he shouldn't.

  My face grew hotter the longer he stared. I shifted from foot to foot. Finally, I held out my hand.

  "Not bad," he said, passing it back and laughing. "But it needs work. Things look a bit ... flat."

  I couldn't believe it. Flat?

  My jaw dropped for a moment as the insult sank in. Not that it was news to me. I already knew I wasn't big-boob gorgeous like the senior girls. I didn't need Jenna's dumb Sixteen Magazine quiz to tell me that. I didn't need to hear the lingerie lady at Sears say "Sorry dear, bras don't come any smaller?' I didn't have to do the math to know 27-25-27 didn't add up to a great figure. And I certainly didn't need Devan Mitchell to tell me my body "needed work."

  I snatched the sketch out of his hand. He looked stunned. He must be stupider than I thought. He doesn't even know what he said wrong.

  "You're such a ... a ...." I looked him over, trying to find a great comeback. "... a goof!” I blurted. It was the first insult I could think of. Too bad it was so pathetic.

  I saw the laughter in his eyes and, not waiting around to hear it, I ran all the way to class. My head swam with questions.

  Why did God make boys so stupid?

  Why did God make me so flat?

  Why do I even care what Devan thinks?

  And why, I thought as I entered the classroom, am I crying?

  Devan

  That's her name. Katie.

  I think she hates me.

  Probably because I knocked her down. God, I'm such an idiot. First I clock her in the hall, and then I start giving her an art critique. As if someone who can draw as well as her needs advice from me. I just thought the fence's perspective was off. The vanishing points were all wrong. I was trying to impress her. I should've just kept my big mouth shut. Dad's the architect, not me. I may have visited his studio a couple of times, but seriously, what do I know? Not much about art. Even less about girls.

  She's right. I really am a goof.

  Shane and Brad don't take advanced science, but Dad made me take it. But I'm glad I'm in it now. It's the only class I have with Katie. Something about her being there makes it better. Even when I'm sitting through Jackson's lectures. Man, that guy can talk! Last week we sat through his twenty-minute speech on what we'll find inside a worm. Yeah, worm guts. Duh!

  But the good news is that I ended up in Katie's group, with Egghead and some girl called Erin. We've been working together on this worm project for the last few classes. Which gives me some chances to make up for whatever I did to upset her. Only I don't know what to say.

  Jackson finally shuts up and passes out the worms. "Ewww." Erin starts griping the moment Egghead pulls ours out of the jar. "That is like so disgusting."

  It does smell bad, even for a dead worm. Must be the formaldehyde. Although pretty much any dead thing I've seen reeked.

  One time last year, Shane found a dead rat somewhere and we stuck it in Kronke's desk—the drawer where she kept treats, the one she hardly ever opened. Anyways, it stayed there for three days of a June heat wave. By the time Kronke found it, it smelled so strong it burned. Kinda like tar mixed with egg and fart. The janitor lifted it out of the drawer by the tail. All the girls screamed. The freakin' thing moved! I swear. Then the fur bust open and out came these little wriggling maggots. Sarah Crawford puked right there.

  Now that was gross. But this, this is just a plain, old, dumb worm.

  Katie and Egghead are wearing their goggles and gloves. They lay the worm on the dissection tray, like they're prepping for the O.R.

  Egghead holds out his hand. "Scalpel."

  Katie hands it to him.

  "Pin."

  Katie's got it in her fingers, like they read each other's minds or something. He takes the pin, then four others, and spreads the worm like a hot dog bun. Katie leans in and pushes some of the greasy guts around with the forceps. She hooks a stringy thing.

  "Oh. My. God." Erin goes. "Totally dis-gusting."

  "Ah," Egghead says. "The dorsal blood vessel."

  "So, uh ... Katie," I go, standing there with my hands in my pockets. "How did Cameron like your drawings?"

  She freezes and gives me this look. Man, she really hates me. But I can't stop myself. "I'm doing animation for the science fair."

  "Uh-huh," she says, going back to the worm. "Here, Will, the crop and gizzard."

  "You mean like cartoons?" Erin asks, as if I said I was studying Sesame Street. I turn my shoulder to block her out.

  Katie pokes the worm with a pin. Something green squirts on my shirt. I pretend not to notice, but man, it's hard to be cool with worm snot on you.

  "Umm ... Jackson said we could do it in partners? You know? Uh ... if we wanted to?" Everything is coming out like a question. Only I haven't even gotten to that yet. I sound like a total loser. Erin gags in the background.

  "Partners are good," Katie says removing something like a spaghetti noodle and laying it on the tray, "if you don't get stuck doing all the work. Intestine."

  She likes the idea of partners. Good. I take a deep breath.

  "So I was just wondering, you know, if you like drawing and animation and that—"

  "Will," she interrupts, "check thi
s out. I think I found the aortic arches!"

  “—maybe we could, you know ..." I keep rambling, as Will pushes me aside for a better look.

  "Totally gross!" Erin groans, watching them slide something into the dish.

  Will looks at Katie's discovery with a magnifying glass. "You're right, they are, and you've removed all five intact!"

  Katie smiles. Jackson comes over and gets just as excited. What's the big deal? We see worm guts all over the street every time it rains. Big woop.

  "Well done, group three." Jackson smiles at us over his clipboard and writes something down. "Be sure to include that in your report."

  Will goes back to his diagrams. Erin's rolling the intestine between her fingers like a mini play dough snake. And Katie looks up as if noticing me there for the first time.

  "Did you say something, Devan?" she asks. My face gets hot. I'd never heard her say my name before. It sounds nice.

  "I ... uh," I look away and mumble. "Well, it's just that I ... uh ... I thought maybe you might—do you want to be my partner for the science fair?"

  It rushes out in one breath but, right away, I want it back. I know the answer by the look on her face.

  "No," she says. Just like that.

  She's looking at me like I'm an experiment standing there with my heart gutted. Just like that worm, only less interesting to her.

  Egghead comes over with his woop-de-doo diagrams. "Here's my contribution. Our report is almost complete."

  Geek.

  Katie puts them in the folder behind her outline and Erin's introduction. Then all three look at me, like they're waiting for something.

  "Look, Katie," I blurt. "I'm sorry about knocking you over and all, I just think you're real artistic, and I know if you just give me a chance we could really be an awesome team ... uh ... for the science fair, I mean."

  "Will's my partner," she says.

  Erin pinches the intestine until worm turds come out. I just want to disappear. God, I feel like such an idiot for asking her. Things couldn't get worse.

  Then Erin turns and barfs all over my new shoes.

  Katie

  He'd asked me to be his partner for the science fair and, for a second, I thought he was serious. I mean, he said I was artistic and everything. But come on. Devan? Shane's Devan?