by David Gane
My heart beats a little harder and I’m grateful when Mrs. Opal says, “Mr. Barry can see you now.”
He opens the door as we approach, and of course he’s smiling.
Mr. Barry has been at the school for a couple of years, and at the start, we called him Mr. Smiley—but we never meant it as an insult. Most of us like him. He’s a young and good-natured guy who loves sports: he’s a back-up coach for badminton, volleyball, curling, golf, and cross-country. More importantly, though, he seems to have this way with students; even if a kid is in trouble and gets suspended, they somehow leave his office without a lot of freaking out.
I think it’s all him.
He welcomes us into his office. A dark red folder sits on his desk. “Morning, Ben.” He looks over at me. “Tony, shouldn’t you still be in bed?”
“That’d be nice.”
Mr. Barry turns to Charlie. “And you’re Charlie Wolfe?” He offers Charlie a hand.
Charlie shakes it.
“Looking to register at our school?”
Charlie nods, not giving much of anything.
“Your transcripts—” Mr. Barry flips open the red folder, looking through it, his eyebrows rising “—are certainly excellent. When you show up, that is.”
I can’t help but want to get a peek at what’s in there.
Mr. Barry continues, “But it’s April. There’s only three months of school left.”
Dad speaks up. “Wayne, I understand that it’s unusual to register this late in the semester. However, like I said on the phone, Charlie’s got some special circumstances.”
Mr. Barry nods, thinking it through, before asking Charlie, “And you think this is the right choice for you?”
I know Charlie could bullshit his answer here—in the time I’ve known him, he’s rarely handled authority well—but I don’t think he’s doing that when he says, “Honestly, sir, I think this is for the best.”
I catch Dad’s smile. He seems to understand exactly the importance of Charlie’s words.
chapter 26
Dad and I step out of the office while Charlie fills out paperwork with Mr. Barry. After a quick goodbye, Dad’s on his way to work, and I’m on my way to my period one class.
I head over to the Psych 30 classroom and find it empty. Not even the teacher, Ms. Statten, is here. I take my seat at the back and pull out my phone while I wait for people to show up. I send Charlie a text:
What classes did you get?
And then I send one to Mike:
Where are you?
I don’t hear from Charlie, but Mike responds.
Getting breakfast. Want anything?
After Charlie’s cooking, I’m stuffed.
Nope
I hang out, checking sports scores, what music and movies are being released this week, and it’s not until I’m looking at a new pair of basketball shoes that Mike lumbers into class. He’s juggling a breakfast sandwich (with extra bacon) and a coffee in one hand, and his phone in the other.
He’s a tall guy—like me—but he’s also built bulkier. He has to fold himself up to slide into his desk. He’s barely in his seat before he starts grilling me. “Charlie?”
“He got kicked out of his house and needed a place to stay.”
“What if he robs you in the middle of the night?”
Obviously, Mike’s interpreted my stories about Charlie the wrong way. “He’s not like that—”
“What if he pisses off some crazy person and then they attack you—”
Well, that’s more likely to happen.
“He’s not—” I’m fumbling for words, knowing I’m as much to blame for what’s happened as he is. “We’re not chasing weird mysteries anymore.”
“Sure, you’re not,” he says dismissively. His phone bings and he’s immediately distracted. “Hey, check this girl out.”
He’s Snapchatting some intense-looking girl I don’t recognize. She’s got a dye job that is literally pink on one side and black on the other. She’s a hundred percent not my type.
“No, Mike. Just no.”
“What? Why not? She’s cool.”
I shake my head. “It’d be like dating two girls at once.”
“Is that so bad?” He studies her picture some more, shrugging his shoulders. “Says she’s got a piercing on her—”
Ms. Statten walks in—thankfully—and Mike is distracted again.
Statten is all legs and long strawberry blond hair, but she’s also one of the most demanding and thorough teachers I’ve ever had. She expects a lot from her students but only because she really thinks we’re capable of giving our best.
Unfortunately, Mike can’t seem to get past her looks. As she takes a seat at her desk, I hear him sigh. “It’s those glasses, man. Whenever she does attendance … it just gets me every time.”
I point at his breakfast. “She will get you if she catches you with that in her class.”
Statten takes a hard line about food in the classroom.
He realizes his mistake and mumbles, “Shit.” He ducks behind the guy who’s just taken the seat in front of him and shoves the rest of the sandwich into his mouth.
“Gross, dude!” I say as I watch him chew; his cheeks pop like a chipmunk’s.
The bell rings and Statten shuts the door.
“Good morning, everyone.” She goes straight to business, turning down the lights and turning on the slides. “Today’s lesson: Development Theories of Gender Identity.”
Then I hear it.
Bzzz.
Mike forgot to silence his phone.
Bzzz.
Statten stops mid-sentence, eyeing the room like a hawk.
He panics, looking at me.
I shrug. He’s on his own.
Statten follows the sound to his desk. “Mike? Would that be your phone?”
“Maybe?”
“So, let’s pretend that you know how important it is to me for you not to have your phone on in class.” She notices his food wrapper and coffee cup. “And let’s also pretend you know how important it is to me for you not to bring food into my class.”
Mike is like a deer in the headlights.
“Now, let’s pretend that you simply forgot to silence your phone and dispose of your garbage before my class only because you were too busy studying for the exam on Friday that you most certainly need to pass.”
“Ms. Statten?”
“Yes, Mike?”
“Can you pretend to not care while I toss my garbage away?”
“As long as you put your phone on my desk on the way over, so I don’t make you take it all the way to the office.”
“Deal,” he says, peeling himself out of his desk and clomping to the front of the room.
Now that he’s not in her line of fire, he reminds me of someone’s big goofy pet: not a care in the world, only wanting to chase cars and hump your leg.
I have to stifle a laugh at the thought.
chapter 27
Before I know it, the bell goes and Mike grabs up his phone before we file out into the noisy hallway.
“How could you forget to shut your phone off?” I ask, shaking my head.
“Hey, what can I say? I got to keep an open line to the ladies.”
I shake my head, checking my own phone. Nothing yet from Charlie. I look over at Mike. “You’re lucky she went easy on you.”
“Don’t I know it.”
He looks down at the Snap he was sent. “Wasn’t even worth it.”
He shows me a shot of a guy from our team sleeping in class, a big pool of drool covering his textbook.
We head for our lockers, flowing through the river of teenagers, but there’s a pile-up ahead. A group has formed outside Mrs. Shelley’s classroom, and the way they’re circling around, their phone
s out, taking video—
“Fight!” shouts Mike.
Shit. Please don’t let it be Charlie.
I remind myself he’s too strategic to get into a brawl on day one and too low profile to want that kind of attention, but then again—
“Maybe we should break it up,” I say.
“Lead the way, Mr. Do-Gooder.”
I push my way through the wall of students.
In the centre of the crowd, two girls are rolling on the ground, wailing on each other like animals. One has a fistful of hair—she’s definitely been in a fight or two—while the other flails her arms, scratching the air, screaming, “He’s mine, bitch!”
“Pfft, they’re in Grade 9,” Mike says. “Dumb.”
I’m relieved that’s all it is.
“Still want to break it up?” he asks.
Before I can answer, Mr. Quint from physics and Mr. Barry ram their way through the crowd, along with Mr. Martin, the head of maintenance, to break up the fight, mostly to the jeers of the crowd.
“Shit, man. Your school is ghetto,” I hear behind me.
Charlie’s standing there, backpack on his shoulder, holding a binder, wearing a school hoodie with the logo on it. He takes a bite out of a puffed wheat square.
“Where’d you get that?” I say, nodding at the treat.
“From Karen, a girl in my Math 30 class.”
“Karen Witzki? She just gave you food?” Mike asks.
He shrugs, swallowing his mouthful. “She thinks of me as a lost stray.”
Mike shakes his head. “Damn, I’ve been trying to get with her for a year.”
I do proper introductions. “Mike, Charlie. Charlie, Mike.”
They give each other a short nod. Having these two aspects of my life stand side by side feels weird. Mike seems tense, but Charlie doesn’t let the moment linger and points to the two girls. “I can’t believe Penny tried to go toe-to-toe with Carol over Bruce.”
“Wait. Didn’t you just get here this morning?” Mike asks.
Charlie shrugs, taking another bite of gooey square.
“You just have to get used to it,” I smile, patting Mike on the shoulder. I point to the hoodie. “Where’d you get that?”
“Mrs. Opal’s lost and found.” He shows me his binder. “I also got this, full of loose-leaf.”
“You know Mom and Dad could have given you stuff.”
“Aw, they’ve done enough. Besides, why pass up gently used, but perfectly good school supplies that have been left by kids whose parents have too much money and too little time to care when it’s lost?”
“Ask and the universe provides?” I say.
“Precisely. And Mrs. Opal loved that I cared about the environment so much that she gave me school swag too.” He pulls out a pen from behind his ear, emblazoned with the school logo.
Mike shakes his head. “You are too much, man.” His phone bings again and he glances at it. “Sweet. Got some arranging to do with the ladies. Boys—”
Mike might just be using this as an excuse to get out of this conversation, but I can’t really blame him. Charlie is a lot to take in.
Charlie puts out his hand to shake as Mike attempts a fist bump. They totally miss each other’s signals.
“Awkward,” I say, shaking my head.
Mike shrugs, giving me a proper goodbye before sauntering off with his head down, face in his phone.
“Who fist bumps?” Charlie says, chewing the last of the puffed wheat square.
“Who shakes hands? What are you? A forty-six-year-old realtor?” I laugh.
“I prefer travelling salesman. Maybe vacuums or encyclopedias.”
This kid is from another time. Maybe another planet.
Charlie’s already moved on, pulling out the printout of his schedule to study it.
“What’s next?”
“Chem 30. Down the hall and to the left?”
“Well done, Mr. Wolfe. Meet back here after next class?”
He throws up a peace sign and walks away.
chapter 28
After English, I head to my homeroom. I’m not surprised to find Charlie there, this time eating a cookie.
I take the seat beside him. “Looks good. Where’d you get it this time?”
“Brynn’s mom made it.”
“Who’s Brynn?”
“Grade 11. Moved here at the start of the year from Ontario. Dad and Mom divorced after he couldn’t quit being a genuine asshole. She hangs out with Zack and Paula on the weekends playing D&D. She’s also a lightweight grey hat.”
“Grey hat?”
He rolls his eyes at me. “A hacker. A little good, or white hat, as they like to say—and a little bad, or black hat.”
“Ah! Put them together and you get—”
“Grey. Does it mostly for the entertainment.”
I nod, admiring him. “I’ve been around you for almost two years and I still don’t understand how you pull off finding out about people’s shit so quickly.”
“I ask questions, Shepherd, and then listen to what they have to say. Most people say way more than they need to.”
He makes it sound easy, but he and I both know there’s a lot more to it than that. He seems to have an innate ability to ask the right questions.
“But I also use familiar patterns. There are always certain types of groups, like jocks and nerds. There’s always relationships: students with students, teachers with teachers, and depending on age, likely one teacher or student attempting to cross that line.”
Considering Charlie and I saw this happen once, it doesn’t shock me.
“The sooner you figure out the power dynamics of a situation, the sooner you can manoeuvre through the different players and take advantage of it.”
“But aren’t you relying on stereotypes?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Of course. I mean, there will always be outliers—people who move on the fringes or navigate between the spaces—but there are always those who define the groups.”
As if on cue, Charity Pelton, class princess, sits herself in front of Charlie. She’s wearing short shorts even though it’s not that hot out yet, and her cardigan is slouching off one shoulder. Her hair is up in what seems like a messy bun, but I know every piece of it has been precisely styled.
“Hey, Tony,” she turns sideways in her desk, knees in the aisle, crowding into our space.
“Hi, Charity.”
“You didn’t come out to party this weekend.” She leans farther toward me. “What’s with that?”
“My parents had their anniversary.”
She shrugs her bare shoulder. “That’s too bad. We had a good time.”
“Well, maybe next time.” I find her presence claustrophobic, but I’m trying hard not to be a dick.
She cocks her head, turning to Charlie, giving a big fake smile. “And who is this?”
He stares at her, expressionless, saying nothing.
I intervene. “Charity, this is Charlie.”
“Hello. New here, huh?” She reaches across his desk to give his arm a little squeeze. “And so late in the year?”
Charlie suddenly forces a smile. “Well, you know. Life does that. Moved from Ontario after Mom and Dad divorced. Dad was an alcoholic and an asshole, and Mom came out here to start fresh.”
He’s going to have to thank Brynn for the backstory.
Not that it matters much to Charity. She continues smiling, but her eyes have glazed over and dart to the door where two of her friends have entered.
“Well, nice to meet you. You two should definitely come out with us next weekend.”
Before either of us can answer, she winks at me and is on her way to the other side of the classroom.
“And that would be an example of bad listening,” I say.
“Charity Pelton. French Immersion student. Good grades, not great. Likes the attention but is noncommittal. Your buddy, Mike, is unfortunately one of those who falls for it nearly every time.” He takes a breath before rattling off more. “Rumour has it she’s hooked up with a guy from university, but nothing’s been confirmed. And despite her attempt to cover it with some nice perfume, she likes to have a smoke in the parking lot before school.”
I stare at him, dumbfounded.
He leans forward and copies Charity’s wink. “And that would be an example of good listening.”
chapter 29
After homeroom, Charlie leaves for Native studies with Statten, and I meet Mike for our spare. I have a few scenes of King Lear to read and my group project in Law 30 is a mess, but I’m mostly caught up in the rest of my classes. I need to get outside and grab some fresh air, though, so I convince him to play some one-on-one on the outside court.
Even though the sun is out, the weather’s still cool, so we have to keep our hoodies on to begin with. Snow and slush still lie along one end of the fenceline, so it’s a restrained game of streetball. I use this to my advantage; Mike uses his size and muscle to control the game while I use ball-handling and speed, and I keep pushing him against the muck to make him back off. This only annoys him and he starts throwing a lot of smack talk my way. After he nearly takes a spill into a puddle, I ease up, and he catches up to my five.
I go for a crossover for my six and pull off a wraparound fake for the last point.
“Good game, man,” he says, giving me a fist bump before leaning forward to put his hands on his knees.
“Thought you had me,” I lie.
“Figured I’d let you have the win.”
“Thanks.”
He lets out a big sigh, still breathing hard. “So, Charlie?”
After this morning’s meeting, Mike must still be trying to decide what to think of him.
“Yeah …?” I say, hoping he’ll guide the conversation.
“How long is he staying with you?”
“Not sure. I guess until things get sorted out for him.”