Troublemakers

by Gregg Maxwell Parker

  The plan was pretty simple: during lunch, Laremy would loudly and angrily attack Armando in front of everyone. We’d then rush over and defend the boy with a series of carefully-choreographed moves that no one would be able to tell were fake because I’ve seen Equilibrium like ten times. Armando would be so grateful that he’d invite us to his party, and if not, he’d look like a butthole in front of the whole school.

  Armando was eating a bag lunch that I assume had caviar in it, seated at a middle table and looking at his phone. We plopped down at the table right next to his, in prime defending position. Once the seventh graders that occupied the other seats at Armando’s table left, we signaled to Laremy, who was waiting by the door and anxiously tapping his foot because he hadn’t had a smoke in three hours. Laremy marched over to Armando’s table and shook his fist.

  “Hey, pipsqueak!” he shouted. “I’m gonna beat you so hard, you’re gonna—”

  WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!!!!

  Oh my. The loudest and most horrific noise I’ve ever heard. Armando had pressed the button on some insane keychain alarm his mom had given him that let out a deafening squeal capable of subduing anyone in a fifteen-foot range, which included Laremy and also us. We covered our ears and put our heads on the table. Laremy fell to the floor and twitched in the fetal position. Armando calmly packed up his stuff, clicked off the alarm, and walked away. I can still hear it sometimes when I’m lying in bed at night.

  I pointed out to Laremy that it didn’t really make sense for us to pay him ten bucks when he hadn’t gotten us what we wanted, but then he pointed out that he could pound all three of us into mush without even getting out of his chair, so Carlos negotiated and we settled on $15 and our chocolate milk in perpetuity, which hopefully doesn’t mean forever. To top it all off, the lunch proctors just assumed we’d made that horrible noise (because most of the time, when something like that happens, we’re the ones who did it), and we got detention. It seemed we’d need a much smarter and more intricate plan if we were gonna make that birthday party. But since we couldn’t come up with one, it was Byron’s turn.

  __________

  The Spider Catches Its Fly

  At the end of the school day, Armando went up to the small group of kids in Advanced Reading who weren’t total dorks to ask them to his birthday party.

  “There’s gonna be food and drinks, and we have a trampoline!” he said. “Oh, and you don’t have to bring gifts. Your presence is all that’s required. Hope you guys can make it!”

  As he happily addressed these four normal-sized people, he failed to notice a small boy crouched just behind them. Byron leaped out and put his hand on Armando’s shoulder.

  “Wow, that sounds awesome!” he said. “Thanks for inviting us! I’ll definitely be there!”

  He then ran away and stayed home from school the next three days so Armando couldn’t un-invite him. Sometimes the simplest plan is the best.

  __________

  Confrontation

  I could see Armando getting nervous as the week went on. He’d glance at Byron’s empty seat at the start of every class, hoping he’d show up. Byron said his phone kept ringing, so he just unplugged it and lied when his mom asked if the company had called about checking their house for carbon monoxide.

  On Thursday, Armando finally decided to take action. I was at my locker, explaining to Carlos how Apollo 13 was an inside job, when Armando sheepishly shuffled up to us.

  “Hey, guys,” he said.

  “Hey, Armando,” said Carlos. “Here to invite us to something?”

  “Um, no,” he said, clutching his books to his chest as I looked for an opening to smack them out of his hands. “Have you guys talked to Byron this week?”

  “Nah, we don’t actually know him that well,” I said.

  “Maybe we can talk to him at your party if you invite us,” said Carlos, shutting his locker.

  “Well, I, um… he, um…” he stammered.

  “Were you paying attention when we studied Greek mythology?” asked Carlos. “This reminds me of the myth of Trampolinius, the boy who didn’t share his trampoline and ended up trapped forever inside a fart-filled locker.”

  Armando kept his eyes on the floor. He looked defeated.

  “Please don’t ruin this for me,” he said. “I just want to have friends.”

  “Pardon?” said Carlos. “Shall I assume that was an invite to your party?”

  “Go away,” I said to Carlos. “I’ll handle this.”

  “Okay,” he said. “I’ll save you a seat in detention.”

  After Carlos walked away, Armando looked at me with sad eyes. He didn’t say anything. It occurred to me at that moment that the guys and I had a lot in common with Armando. He sat alone at lunch, ignored by whoever was at the table with him, same as us. When our class went on a field trip and we each had to pick a buddy to sit with on the bus, the one out of the three of us who lost the rock-paper-scissors always had to sit with Armando. He didn’t play sports or go to make-out parties or have a breakdancing video with over ten million views. Despite the trampolines and smartphones and Disneyland season pass, he struggled to fit in just like we did. Maybe it was time to cut him a break.

  “I’ll think about it,” I said.

  He nodded and walked away.

  I was still mostly sure I hated Armando, but I decided to cool it for the rest of the week. I left him alone and didn’t throw his sneakers in the trash after P.E. even though I totally had an opportunity to do so. I even came up with new, fairer rules for Thunderstorms[3]. I also went over to Byron’s and told him to turn his phone back on so I could call him later.

  “Why don’t you just tell me whatever it is now, since you’re standing on our porch?”

  I thought about that.

  “Because… in my head, I was gonna call you later.”

  “Yeah, but you’re here now,” he said.

  “Just turn on your phone!” I snapped.

  “Okay, I’ll talk to you later,” he said. “Don’t hurt me. I’m sick.”

  “You’re pretending.”

  “Some would say lying this much is also a sickness of a sort.”

  Anyway, later I called Byron and told him the plan was off.

  “But I’ve been home from school specifically so I can show up to his party and bring you guys and we can jump on the trampoline and possibly kidnap Armando and hold him for ransom!” he said.

  “I just think this is one time where we should lay off. We’ve done enough to Armando. Let’s let him have his party.”

  “But he’s a rich jerk,” said Byron.

  “I know,” I said, “but maybe the reason he shows off his money is because he doesn’t think anyone will like him without it. That’s kind of sad. Like, he wants to be nice, but what if he were nice to people, and they rejected him?”

  “Kind of like how you act tough because you’re so insecure,” said Byron.

  “No, like you. I was talking about you.”

  “No,” he said. “You’re the one who overcompensates.”

  “You are.”

  “Let’s just agree Carlos is.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “He’s the friend we all feel sorry for.”

  “Total charity case. Okay, so we’re not gonna terrorize his birthday party. Did I miss anything in school the last three days?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t listen this week. And I used the backs of my worksheets to write letters to Clayton Kershaw pretending to be dying and asking for $100,000 or an equivalent amount of fireworks.”

  “Okay, I’ll assume there was no homework. See you Monday.”

  After I hung up the phone, I actually felt kind of good. Proud, almost. Like, yes, I didn’t get to jump on the trampoline, and Carlos and Byron were confused and annoyed, but I’d made the decision, so it didn’t really matter what the result was, because it was my choice. I almost wanted to tell my dad, but I wasn’t sure he’d understand, so I just asked him if we could watch Shoot ‘Em Up, a
nd he said yes. But before we even got to the part where he stabs that guy with a carrot, the phone rang and my dad said it was for me.

  It was Armando.

  I was suspicious, but I tried to play it cool.

  “What do you want?” I snapped.

  “I was just calling to apologize,” he said.

  Hmm. Strange move.

  “Why?” I asked.

  He took a deep breath.

  “I realize that in the past, I’ve condescended to you and belittled you, and I know now that I could have been more inviting to you guys. I’ve been kind of a jerk.”

  “Yes, you have,” I said.

  “And I can see that you’re trying now,” he said, “so I want to make it up to you by inviting you to my party.”

  “Is this a trap?” I said.

  “No,” he said. “I’m trying to be nice! I know we haven’t gotten along in the past, but if you can let it go, so can I.”

  “Okay,” I said. “So… we don’t hate each other now?”

  “No, I don’t hate you,” he said. “I understand. It’s tough for me at school sometimes too. I forgive you.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “You, too.”

  “Why don’t you, Carlos, and Byron come over to my house on Sunday at around noon. We’ll be in the backyard. It’ll be fun.”

  “Okay,” I said. “I’ll tell them.”

  “I’ll see you then,” he said.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “Yeah,” he said.

  After I hung up the phone, I just stood there for a second.

  “What is it?” said my dad.

  “I’m not sure,” I said. “I think… I won. Maybe. It’s tough to tell.”

  “Do you… want to talk about… your feelings?”

  “No. Anything but that. Forget I said anything. Let’s sit in silence all night.”

  “Sounds good,” he said, putting up the footstool on his chair and leaning back.

  Somehow, as soon as I stopped fighting my eternal war against Armando, I got what I’d wanted in the first place, which was to be included. Once I forgave him, he forgave me. Maybe he was no longer the garbage human he used to be. Maybe being nice actually worked, and people wouldn’t hold everything you ever did against you for the rest of your life. I guess that’s what maturity is, although don’t type “Mature woman” into Google or you’ll get kicked out of the computer lab really fast.

  __________

  Armando’s House

  We showed up at Armando’s at noon, just like he’d said to. The house wasn’t as big as I’d thought it would be, but I’d imagined he lived in a giant manor with a fleet of servants and a moat and stuff.

  “It looks dead here,” said Byron. “There’s no cars.”

  “The parents probably didn’t stay,” said Carlos. “If I had a kid, after I dropped them off, I’d go straight to the casino.”

  “He said to go around back,” I said. We trudged around the side of the house on the carefully-placed octagonal stones that cut through the lawn. This neighborhood was so fancy, they didn’t even need a fence.

  Once we got to the backyard, we saw it: the trampoline, the deflated bouncy boxing ring, the ten bubble soccer orbs rolling about in the breeze, the table covered in gifts, wrapping paper everywhere, plates of half-eaten cake and tacos, red plastic cups on the ground… their yard was filthy.

  “It’s covered in trash,” said Byron. “This place looks like my neighbors’ yard. Are Armando’s parents crackheads too?”

  “Where is everybody?” said Carlos.

  I looked around at the flies buzzing in discarded cups, white deck chairs dragged across the concrete to form little semicircles, bits of food being eaten by ants.

  “I don’t understand,” said Byron.

  “The party was yesterday,” I said. “It was a Saturday party, and we’re here on Sunday.”

  “Hi, guys!” shouted Armando. We turned and saw him. He was calling to us from inside the house. We approached the sliding glass door, and once we got closer, I saw him more clearly: sitting on the couch, his leg up on a pillow and an ice pack taped to his ankle.

  “So glad you could make it,” he said.

  “Why are you alone in your living room?” asked Carlos.

  “Oh, hey, helpers!”

  Armando’s mom appeared from the kitchen. She handed us each a black trash bag.

  “I was so proud of Armando for offering to do the clean-up himself, and he said you guys wanted to help out! It really eases the burden – it’s hard to find cleaners who will come on a Sunday morning!”

  “What is happening?” asked Byron.

  “I so wish I could help,” said Armando.

  “Oh,” said his mom, going over and tousling his hair. “Our little guy twisted his ankle on the trampoline yesterday, so unfortunately he’s gonna have to sit this one out.”

  “No, mom!” he said, overacting. “Please let me help!”

  “You just stay here and let your friends do the work. I’m sure they’re happy to help after such a fun party yesterday!”

  “We weren’t here yesterday,” said Carlos.

  She ushered us toward the yard.

  “So, if you can just pick up the trash, get the boxing thing back in that box, and stack the chairs in the shed, that’d be great. Oh, and see if you can scrub the patio over there – somebody had a few too many tacos and got sick. When you’re finished, I think there’s a few diet sodas left! Thanks so much!”

  She shut the sliding glass door and disappeared.

  “What’s going on?” asked Byron. “I’m very confused.”

  “He tricked us,” I said. “The party was yesterday, and his mom thinks we were there and volunteered to help clean up today. Now we have to pick up the trash while he eats gelato and watches R-rated movies. It was a diabolical ruse.”

  I caught Armando’s gaze through the window. He glared at me with a victorious smirk.

  “Muahahahahahaha,” said Armando’s evil voice in my head.

  I should have known. I let my guard down, and he made fools of us. I’d led us right into a trap. I felt like an idiot.

  “This is seriously weak,” said Carlos.

  I angrily kicked one of the soccer bubbles. It bounced off the shed and into a neighbor’s yard, and I had to walk over there to get it back.

  We sulked and picked up trash – I did plates while Carlos dumped out cups on the grass and stacked them.

  “Why are we doing this?” asked Byron. “This is dumb.”

  “Let’s focus on what we can control,” said Carlos, “like how we’re gonna get revenge.”

  “I don’t understand it,” I said, picking up stray chicken bones. “I tried to be nice, and we got farted on. Revenge didn’t work, and being nice didn’t work… nothing works. We just lose.”

  It was true. Life is dumb. People always ask me why I act so “standoffish.” Well, this is why. When you act nice, people are jerks to you and take advantage of you. But they’re also jerks when you’re mean to them. No matter if you’re nice or mean, people are jerks. So I guess you just have to decide whether their jerkiness is gonna turn you into a jerk as well.

  “Why don’t we just not do anything?” said Byron.

  “Seriously,” I said. “What’s the point?”

  “No, really,” he said.

  “Can you help?” I snapped. “Go wipe up that barf.”

  “Why should I?” he said.

  I raised a fist.

  “Because I’m going to knock your teeth out,” I said.

  “Maybe if we do a really good job, she’ll give us money,” said Carlos.

  “That’s the attitude of a servant,” said Byron. “Or worse: an employee.”

  Carlos tossed his bag on the ground.

  “Don’t you ever accuse me of being the type of person who would do honest work,” he said.

  “Just listen for a sec,” said Byron. “Our whole goal here was to jump on the trampoline, yes?”
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  “Correct,” said Carlos.

  “Well, it’s right there. So why are we cleaning? We don’t care about Armando or his mom or what they think of us. We only care about the trampoline, which is right there.”

  He pointed. We looked at it. Then Carlos and I looked at each other. It seemed Byron was right.

  “Let’s just jump on it and run away,” he said. “Let him deal with the yard.”

  The boy had a point.

  Jumping on a trampoline for two minutes while a rich kid pretending to be injured shouts at you from inside his mansion may not be as good as actually owning one yourself, but it’s pretty good. It would have been even better if we could have broken his trampoline, but if it could withstand Kenji the day before, no way we could take it down.

  As we gleefully ran away, scattering our trash bags all over Armando’s yard, it felt like we’d won a little. He may have outsmarted us, but we out-whatevered him in the end.

  A less generous interpretation of events might be that we turned Armando from a nice boy into a conniving monster, and looked like chumps when he beat us at our own game, but I don’t know why you gotta be so negative. Besides, that was the old me. I’ve matured since then. I hereby promise to do the mature thing next time, and if not then, the time after that.

  Yes, it was probably a bit shortsighted to ruin our chances of reconciliation forever, since in a couple years, Armando would be throwing house parties and driving people to the beach in a Lexus and stuff, but it taught me a valuable lesson: some people are never going to like you no matter what you do, so don’t waste your energy trying to get in good with them. Best practice might be not to make so many enemies in the first place, but let’s not get bogged down in the details.

  Plus, even if jumping on Armando’s trampoline and running away without considering the long-term consequences wasn’t the smartest or most grown-up choice, it was what we wanted to do right then. And in the end, isn’t that what’s most important?

  My dad says no, but if he’s so smart, why doesn’t he notice that I spit my vitamins in the toilet because they taste gross? Vitamins are a huge mind control conspiracy anyway. I’ve seen several videos that prove it.