by Jamie Sumner
It’s been almost three weeks since we raided Chance’s locker. I looked up the prescription. It’s the goldmine I was hoping for. But I still haven’t done anything with the intel. It swirls in my brain like a tornado of badness, or possibly goodness, depending on how you want to look at it. My last elementary school had posters everywhere that said “Bully-Free Zone,” but the teachers never did anything about it. I was bullied for years until Marquis and Cole and Jason came along and provided cover. It’s harder to pick on a group. With the info I’ve got on Chance, I could keep him from ever bullying anyone again. I don’t know what’s stopping me.
Vij keeps bugging me about it, so I’ve started to avoid him. Not totally on purpose. I’ve just been really busy. The garbology business has picked up, and last week Andrew and Peter asked me to join their weekly street hockey game. Things are pretty good for me right now. When I walk down the hall, people other than the newsletter crew say hey. I guess that’s why I’m not in a hurry to share what I found. Why rock the boat when it’s smooth sailing?
I breathe out, and it forms a white cloud. The extra space heater cranks away in the corner, but it can’t fight the unstoppable cold. I check the clock. It’s way past time to get up, but Mom hasn’t called me. I pull on two pairs of socks and zip my fleece jacket over my pajamas and sneak up the stairs. I put my ear to the door, but all I catch is snatches—
“—not safe.”
“—take precautions.”
“We,” something something “dinner” something “not worth it.”
“—finally doing something that matters.”
“Matters?”
Something something “miss you.”
“Don’t—” and then a whole lot of quieter mumbling that I can’t make out. I sit on the top step with my arms around my knees. I guess Dad moving back into the bedroom didn’t mean their problems were solved after all. I got more sleep last night than I have in weeks, but all of a sudden I’m more tired than ever. I don’t move until I hear the coffee grinder whirring.
When I finally creep out and pad down the hall into the kitchen, Mom is standing at the counter in her pajamas with a scarf wrapped around her neck, holding the button down on the grinder and staring off into space
“Hey,” I say. She jumps and spills a mound of coffee onto the counter.
“You’re up!” she says, chipper enough, and sits down at the table, ignoring the spill. “Did you enjoy the extra sleep?”
“Yeah.”
“You okay, kiddo?”
Loaded question. I could ask her the same thing. I change the subject. “Is school cancelled?”
She shakes her head.
“Nope. Delayed until ten, though. Want to do a crossword?” We both look over at the pile of stacked newspapers wedged between the refrigerator and the fruit bowl. It was our Saturday family tradition for so long. We’ve missed a lot of Saturdays.
“Sure. Is Dad here?”
She presses her lips together so tight, they kind of disappear.
“Just you and me, kid.” We’ve never done one without all three of us, but she gets up to dig through the kitchen drawer and holds up two pens. “Want to be purple or green?”
We finish the entire puzzle in twenty minutes. I get more sports answers than I thought I would. In some ways, it’s easier without Dad.
* * *
The bus takes FOREVER to get to school. Half the side streets still haven’t been cleared, even at almost ten. For one impossibly long stretch on Belmont, we get stuck behind the snowplow going all of five miles an hour. When I run into school, already almost late, I slip on the extra mats Janitor Phil laid out to soak up the slush. I take a hard knee to the floor. But I don’t have even a second to feel sorry for myself, because Principal Myer is yelling over the intercom, “Get to class immediately!” and so I hobble toward English as fast as I can.
I scan the room. There’s a green creeper from Minecraft. Three girls in Ninja Turtle T-shirts and tutus. A sumo wrestler. A Pac-Man. A bucket of popcorn. And a giant red M&M. I spot Vij, in his usual seat, wearing an orange fleece hat and his ski goggles.
“Hey, cuz.” I sit down and tap on the plastic over his left eye.
He lifts his goggles. They’ve left a big oval crease on his face, but there’s an extra crease between his eyes as he looks me up and down. I lean over and look under his desk.
“Are you really wearing your ski pants?”
Vij nods.
“Aren’t you hot?”
He tugs at the collar of his ski jacket.
“What happened to your suit? I thought we were both going to go in our ski gear.”
I push up the sleeves on my red-and-white Colorado Avalanche jersey.
“I, uh, I didn’t know it was, like, an official plan or anything. Peter let me borrow his O’Connor jersey.”
Vij crosses his arms. “Since when do you care about pro hockey?”
“Since O’Connor signed a two-year contract. Peter says the Avalanche have actually gotten good.”
“Well, if Peter says it.”
“Not just Peter. I think so too.”
Why is Vij making such a big deal out of this?
“Look, man, I’m sorry. You still want to hang after school? We can eat Reese’s and M&M’s for dinner and watch Friday the 13th on Netflix.”
He stares out the window. “Don’t do me any favors.”
I open my mouth, but I don’t know what to say. I didn’t think Vij would care so much. It’s just a jersey. And I already said I was sorry. What does he want me to do, go home and change? When Mrs. Jacobsen threatens the sumo wrestler with detention unless he deflates his outfit and sits down, I laugh and try to catch Vij’s eye, but he won’t look at me. For the rest of class, I fight a squirmy, seasick feeling in my gut. But it’s just a jersey, right?
He’s still not talking to me in algebra when Micah shows up dressed like a graphing calculator in an oversize black T-shirt pinned with white squares that have the functions labeled neatly at the top. It’s truly impressive and must have taken hours.
“Sweet,” I say.
“It’s a TI-84!” Micah announces to the room, except no one’s listening but me.
“Seats, now,” the Crow says, though the bell hasn’t rung. Micah points to his shirt and looks at him expectantly, but he doesn’t even crack a smile. And then he passes out a pop quiz. Who gives a pop quiz on Halloween?
When Vij is still radio silent at lunch, I’ve had enough.
I pull him aside before he can get in line. “Look, man, what’s your problem? It’s just a costume.”
He whirls back on me like I punched him. “It’s not about the costume, Hugo.”
Same as mom, he never calls me by my name unless he’s deadly serious or super mad.
I take a step back. “Well, what’s it about, then?”
Over Vij’s shoulder, I see Peter wave at me from the table next to Jasmine’s, where the girls’ soccer team sits.
Vij follows my eye and turns. When he sees where I’m looking, he shakes his head.
“Forget it, man, go sit with your new friends.”
I wasn’t going to. I was going to tell Peter I’d catch up with him later. But if Vij is going to make a big deal over nothing, then I don’t want to sit with him anyway.
“Fine,” I say.
“Fine,” he replies.
“Hey, guys!” Em calls from our usual table. She’s wearing black cat ears, her Cougars sweatshirt, and a tail. When we don’t move, she gets up and hurries over.
“I’ve been thinking about it and I have an idea for the next newsletter. The problem was that we were too rushed. I talked with Mrs. Jacobsen and she’s giving us an extension on the next one. It will go out right before Thanksgiving break.” She’s talking at warp speed and her cheeks are red and tiny wisps of hair have escaped her cat-ear headband. “Lack of professionalism. That’s what it was. As editor-in-chief, I take full responsibility. But we’re a team, and like you all
said—like you promised—this next one is going to be great.” She stops and looks from me to Vij, finally noticing that something’s off.
“I wouldn’t put too much weight on Hugo’s promises,” Vij says, staring me down through his yellow-tinted goggles. “Plus, he has places to be. Don’t you, Hugo?”
Vij tips his head toward Peter’s table.
“Wait.” Em swivels so fast, her cat ears slide a little crooked. “You’re not sitting with us? I thought we could use this time to strategize.” She looks back at me, the question in her eyes.
“Yeah, uh, not today.”
Her shoulders fall and my pulse stutters. It’s not her fault she got caught up in this thing with me and Vij.
“But I have an idea for the newsletter!” Do I? Do I have an idea? My panicky brain spits out the first thing I can come up with. “I’m going to make a crossword puzzle!”
“That’s—” She pauses. “That’s actually genius.”
I smirk at Vij. But then it’s time to walk away, and all of a sudden I don’t know how to leave. I take one step back. And then Em does the same and the space fills between us. Vij watches.
I start to move again just as she says, “I’ll have Micah start formatting the space for it,” so I turn back.
“Oh, uh, cool.”
“Yeah, cool,” Vij says.
“Well, bye,” I say, and then, like a total idiot, I throw my hand up for a high-five. Em gives me a weak slap back and then walks away with Vij following. When they get to the table, Micah and Jack and Gray look confusedly from them to me. I turn before I can see any more. I’m getting exactly what I never thought was possible—a seat at the cool table. So why do I feel so alone?
* * *
Somebody decorated the locker room with fake cobwebs and giant spiders. They also covered the overhead lights with paper jack-o’-lanterns so the whole place glows orange. It makes changing clothes so much less stressful. You can hide better. But in a practical sense, it’s also just… darker. So I don’t realize what’s wrong until it’s too late.
I pull out my gym clothes like I always do. I take off my jersey and tug the yellow Cougars T-shirt over my head. But it won’t budge. I tug harder. Nothing. So I shift it around and lift it up to look for the tag, thinking maybe I stuck my head through the armhole by mistake. That’s when I see the it. 5T. I have to read it twice. Someone switched my gym shirt for a toddler’s size 5.
Someone—I can’t see who because the shirt is still over my head, but I have a pretty good guess—lets out a high, nasally laugh. “Ha-hahahahahaha!”
I try to breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth like Mom taught me, but I feel like I’m suffocating. I lower my arms and the tiny shirt falls to the ground.
“What happened, O’Connell?” Chance asks. “Did you finally hit a growth spurt?”
“Where are they, Chance?” I am in boxers and socks with a toddler’s T-shirt at my feet. I might as well be naked. I try to breathe shallowly so you can’t see my ribs.
“Where’s what, buddy?”
“Where are my gym clothes?”
He scratches his pimply forehead. “Maybe check your locker again? I know how messy you are.”
They’re not in there. I know it. But still I look, feeling the cold air and all the eyes of the entire locker room on me. My regular gym clothes are gone. He must have swiped them while I had my back turned.
“Please,” I mumble. My voice is a white flag.
“Dude, I don’t know what you’re talking about. This looks about right to me.” With his toe, he nudges the tiny shirt on the floor.
Chance has kicked my jersey and jeans behind him under the bench. If I want to get my clothes, I’m going to have to walk into the gym in a too-small shirt and my underwear to tell the coach, just like the baby Chance has been calling me all year. It’s not fair.
He smirks, and some switch flips in me. Shame morphs into anger, and I can’t take it anymore. I’m the Garbologist. I’m the King of Trash, Wizard of Waste—everybody knows I’m the one to go to when they need help winning over girlfriends or boyfriends or parents or siblings or teachers or coaches. Who does Chance think he is to mess with me? I rush him.
“WHERE’S MY STUFF?!” I scream. He sees me coming and doesn’t move. I pull my arm back. He doesn’t look scared, which makes me want to punch him even more. But before I can get in a swing, Coach appears out of nowhere and grabs me by the arm. I jerk to a stop.
“O’Connell,” he says, calm as can be. “Principal Myer needs you in her office.”
* * *
I’d never been in Principal Myer’s office. It’s smaller than I thought. There’s barely enough room for her desk and two plastic chairs. She’s smaller than I thought too. You hear her on the intercom and she’s like the Wizard of Oz, but in real life she’s just a regular person, kind of old, with enormous glasses that take up half her face.
“So, Hugo,” Principal Myer says once I sit down in the chair closest to the door. “How are you settling in here at Beech Creek?” Her voice is gravelly deep and roughed-up around the edges.
“Ummm, fine?” We’re almost to November. Why ask me about school now? Isn’t this about what happened with Chance? Can you get in trouble for almost fighting? Wait. Did she find out about us breaking into Chance’s locker? I grip the armrest and try not to look guilty.
She blinks at me. It’s hard to read her face through those glasses.
“That’s good. I like to think this is a pretty good place to spend your time.”
I slink down in my seat.
“I hear you’ve joined the newsletter,” she says then.
“Uh, yeah. It’s great.”
She nods and puts her fingertips together. It makes me think of that Sunday-school song, Here’s the church. Here’s the steeple, Open the door and see all the people.
The intercom on her phone buzzes.
“Mrs. Myer, Hugo’s mother is out front,” the secretary chirps. I sit up again. My mom?
“Oh good. Thank you, Vanessa.”
Principal Myer unsteeples her fingers.
“What’s my mom doing here?”
“Is that your bag?” she asks, ignoring my question. “Got everything you need for the day? Good.” She walks me out into the cold, where Mom waits in the car.
“Take care, dear,” she whispers before turning back inside. It sounds like good-bye.
* * *
It’s freezing inside the car. Why isn’t the heat on? I crank the dial all the way to red and glance at Mom. She’s in work clothes—her favorite cream sweater and the wool skirt with the dots on it that makes me think of Pac-Man. She hits the gas before I finish buckling my seat belt. I’m thrown back against the headrest and then thrown forward again when she breaks at the stop sign.
“Where’s your coat, Mom?”
She looks down. “Oh, I must have forgotten it.”
Warning bells go off in my head. It’s her voice—it’s all wrong. My heart squeezes without knowing why.
We make a left and hit the roundabout too fast. A white van swerves to get out of our way and lays on the horn. Mom doesn’t react. We merge onto the interstate. Her hands are shaking. She grips the wheel until her knuckles turn white and then lets go. Over and over. Grip. Release. Grip. Release. I don’t know where to look, and it makes me carsick and dizzy. My hands shake so I grip the armrest, but it doesn’t do anything to still my heart. Something’s wrong. Something’s happened. Something so much bigger than my fight with Chance.
“Mom. Where are we going?”
No answer.
I punch the armrest. “Mom!”
“Hugo,” she says in that robot tone, “we are going to the hospital.” And then her voice cracks open, “Your dad had an accident.”
My hands go numb. All the adrenaline from my almost-fight with Chance is gone. I shiver. Shake my head.
“That can’t be right.”
“Hugo—”
“No, Dad do
esn’t get hurt. He’s never even had a fever!”
She hits the gas harder.
I grip my backpack. It’s still in my lap. “Take me back to school. I have science next, and there’s a lab report due.”
“Honey—”
“Take me back to school!”
“Hugo, we are going to the hospital!” she yells. “A nurse called. He was in an accident on the mountain.”
“What kind of accident?”
“She didn’t have any more information. We’ll find out when we get there.”
It’s when she starts crying that I know it’s not a mistake. Dad is hurt, and it’s the kind you leave school and speed down the highway for. An acidy taste fills my mouth. I need to throw up. I want to throw up. You always feel better after. But Mom’s eyes slide over to me then dart back to the road, and I swallow it down and we don’t say anything else.
It takes seventeen minutes to get to the hospital.
The emergency room doors slide open, and I stumble behind Mom toward the nurse’s desk. There’s a line. A woman with two long, gray braids leans against the counter hugging a pillow and moaning. Half of me wants to shove my way to the front, but the other half wishes I could hide in a corner because if I never find out what happened, it can all be a bad dream and I’ll wake up in my basement bedroom and start this Halloween all over again and in this version Dad will do the crossword with me and Mom and I will dress up in my ski gear like I promised Vij and I will skip gym class altogether and then I will eat a hundred Reese’s cups with Vij on the couch while watching a scary movie that would get us both grounded if our moms found out.
“Excuse me,” Mom says. Nobody turns around.
“Excuse me,” she tries again. The woman moans louder.