“Fish and visitors stink after three days,” Hardy said as Ed’s car passed out of sight.
“But they were only here for two,” Aidos said.
“Yeah, well, they were spoiled before they got here.”
Mr. Thoreson decided that they had had too much society for one weekend and suggested a two-week camping trip. Aidos needed neither an excuse nor time to prepare, and in less than ten minutes they were out of the house and into the thick of the woods, Beowulf scouting ahead.
Aside from Aidos carrying her bow and quiver of arrows, they brought only what fit on their belts or inside their small daypacks—knife, compass, canteen, and a few other essentials. The only food they carried was for Beowulf. They carried neither a tent nor sleeping bags, or even matches. For years now they had been making such outings, each time bringing less and less with them, forced to find their substitutes in the wilderness itself. They continually experimented with new survival techniques, most of which they had learned from books on the subject.
On this particular outing Mr. Thoreson took a keener than usual interest in his daughter’s skills. He insisted that Aidos do all the work. She built the shelters, fished and foraged for the food, started the fires, and did all the cooking. She reveled in the challenge.
Her father’s apparent laziness didn’t bother her in the least. Instead, she poked fun at him, saying how much more quickly and smoothly things got done without him getting in the way. She went about the business of keeping alive with the seriousness of a child at play.
Hardy took tremendous pride in his daughter’s accomplishments. He marveled at her skills and the way she made herself at home in the wilderness. It seemed second nature to her. She was many more times adept than he. It was almost as if the woods knew her, expected her. She never complained. She never fretted. She was never bored. She seemed as much at home in the woods as the many animals that came out to greet her. Hardy Thoreson felt relief and a new sense of ease and confidence. It came from his feeling that he had been doing the right thing after all. She’s ready, he thought. But am I?
16
Bullies
Monday morning, a few minutes before school was to begin, and two days after the excitement in the alley, the boys were hanging out around a large, ten-foot, oblong-shaped planter with red brick walls that stood in the center of the school quad. Behind them was the cafeteria, and in front, running alongside the breezeway, were rows of lockers sectioned off to permit passage to the parking lot and playing field beyond.
“Here he comes,” Randy said.
“Prick,” Steve muttered.
“I dare you to say that to his face,” Jake said, sitting on the wall of the planter, indiscriminately plucking petals off flowers, rolling them into little balls, and flicking them at Cheeks who sat nearby.
“I’m not afraid of him,” Steve said, as he watched with narrowing eyes the approach of Max Stormer across the playing field.
Alex Humphreys crossed his arms on his chest. “Me neither,” he said.
“Hah,” Randy clucked. “Right.”
“Shut up, Dawson, I’m sure as hell not afraid of you, you weenie.”
“At least I don’t go beating up girls. You hit her in the face with a rock! That’s real manly, Alex.”
Alex uncrossed his arms and shamefully looked away. “I didn’t mean to.”
“Yeah,” Cheeks said, “I still can’t believe you did that.”
“I told you, it was an accident. I was aiming for her feet but the thing slipped out of my fingers too soon. I only wanted to scare her…”
Brandon Harper said, “The dumbest thing I ever saw.” He was standing with his back to the others, checking out a group of girls sitting around the next planter.
“Hey,” Alex retorted. “Don’t put the blame all on me. You guys were the ones who started the whole thing. Jake spotted her in the first place, and Kelpy, he was the first to push her.”
Sid Kelpy didn’t say anything. Instead he felt at his swollen and scabbed nose.
Cheeks snickered. “Tried to push her, you mean.”
“I missed,” Sid said, getting up from the planter.
“You missed bad,” Randy said.
“Well, so did Sanchez,” Sid said.
“I don’t know how she did it,” Mike Sanchez said, shaking his head. “I tried to grab her and the next thing I knew I was picking pebbles out of my hands.”
“Hey, Jake,” Cheeks said. “Where’s that cool walking stick of yours?”
“You know damn well where it is,” Jake Dempster said.
“It looked like you just handed it to her,” Brandon said, his back still turned to the group. He waved and smiled at the girls.
“Hardly,” Randy said. “He went spinning away like a top.”
Everyone laughed, and even Jake had to smile a little.
“We still don’t know who she is,” Mike said.
Alex said, “She’s just a dumb tourist, that’s all.”
“She’s not a tourist,” Steve said, still eying Max’s approach.
“How do you know?”
“I know.”
The boys watched as Max headed across the parking lot. His long, sturdy strides were unmistakable, as characteristic as one’s own signature. He moved swiftly and powerfully, like a gathering thundercloud.
“Ever notice,” Cheeks said, his short, stubby legs dangling in a straddle over the wall, “that Max walks as if he’s pushing through a crowd?”
“He just tries to look tough,” Alex said, glancing over at Steve for a response; but Steve said nothing.
“What are you guys so mad at Max for?” Brandon asked, finally turning around. He was big and strapping, nearly six-feet five, but not as big as Steve. “He wasn’t even there. I haven’t seen him since Friday.”
Alex said, “That’s because you guys all took off running when the old lady screamed. Max showed up a minute later. He was coming home from work.”
“So?” Mike said.
“So, he saw me and Steve come out from behind the building there and asked us what was going on.”
“What did he say?”
“He got really pissed off.”
“At the girl?” Sid said.
“No, stupid. At me and Steve.”
“What happened to her after we took off?”
“She ran over to the old lady. Her back was to us so we couldn’t tell how messed up she was.”
Brandon said, “So what did Max say that made you so mad?”
Alex said, “Well, we told him, you know, what happened and all. You know, how Jake spotted her and we started asking her questions and how she was giving us these smart-ass answers trying to make us sound stupid, saying that she wasn’t spying on us, but that she was—what was it she said? Oh yeah, ‘contemplating’ us, and all that other superior junk, and that, well, things got sorta out of hand…”
Mike said, “Did you tell him about the rock?”
“Why should I have?” Alex said. “I just said she might be hurt.”
“You still haven’t told us why he got so mad,” Brandon said.
Steve Hanson, who hadn’t said a word about the incident until now, hopped from the planter to his feet. “I’ll tell you,” he said. “He was pissed at me. He blamed me for it all. Poking me in the chest like this…” he demonstrated on Alex who squealed in pain, “…saying that I shouldn’t have let it happen. That I should have known better.”
“But you didn’t even touch her,” Sid said. “You didn’t do anything.”
“That’s just it, you clod. He said I should never have let it happen in the first place. He called me a coward. Well, screw him. Who does he think he is anyway?”
Nobody said anything for a moment. Disconcerted, ashamed, and a little scared, they watched Max draw closer.
Randy said, “You don’t get it, do you? Max trusts you, Steve. Don’t ask me why, but he does. He just expected you to handle things, that’s all. He trusted you to use your bett
er judgment.”
“Why me? Why should I be responsible for you jerks?”
Randy smirked. “Heck, he knows none of you guys would ever listen to me or Cheeks. You’re the only one besides Max that could make good on a threat.”
“That’s right,” Cheeks said. “You know how much Max hates bullies. He’s always said so. He probably thinks you let the rest of us bully that girl—a girl mind you—and for a guy like Max, that’s really low.”
Max Stormer strolled up just as the bell sounded, signaling the start of classes. With Pavlovian predictability, the bell triggered a mixture of lassitude, boredom, and despair, which the youths expressed by yawning and whining. As much as they wanted to stick around and see what would happen between Steve and Max, the fear of reprimand from an approaching teacher dispersed them like a stink bomb.
“Steve,” Max said, “hold on a second.”
17
Face On, Face Off
Steve turned slowly around. Randy and Cheeks’ words had caused him some reflection. To his own mystification, suddenly he wasn’t as angry as he had prepared himself to be.
“Listen,” Max said, “I shouldn’t have been so rough on you the other day. I, ah—” Max extended his hand and looked Steve squarely in the eyes. “I apologize.”
Steve shook Max’s hand. He was embarrassed.
“I shouldn’t have taken it out on you,” Max said. “I know how these guys get sometimes.”
“No,” Steve said. “You were right. I should have done something.” Steve was surprised by his own confession, but even more so by the weight that lifted from his conscience the moment he had uttered it. That was one of the cool things about Max, he thought. He had a way of showing you your screw-ups without making you feel like a total loser. It was part of what made him such a damn good football captain.
“Hey, you two!” shouted Mr. Bannister, the English teacher and wrestling coach.
A barrel-chested man with no rear end to keep his pants up, he also sported a muddy-brown mustache that looked like a piece of matted shag carpet. In his right hand he held a mug of coffee, and in his left, the last bite of a powdered doughnut.
Bannister strolled up to Max and Steve and said, “Maybe you guys are deaf and blind, but if you haven’t noticed,” he made a sweep of the premises with his coffee mug, “…the bell rang and you’re the only two here. Now where do you suppose everyone went?”
The boys rolled their eyes.
“Oh,” he continued, “you fellas dumb too? But of course, everyone already knows that.” He snickered, pleased by his pun. He popped the rest of his doughnut into his mouth. “Maybe if you started getting to class on time for a change—”
“We’re going,” Max said. He turned to Steve for a final word.
“You’re still here,” Bannister hummed.
“We’re going, I said.”
“But you’re still here. Why do you say things you don’t mean, Mr. Stormer? Look, you’re still here…”
Max patted Steve on the shoulder. “I’ll talk to you later.”
“I see you playing with each other, but I don’t see you going. For a quarterback you sure are slow.”
“What’s your problem, man?” Steve said. “Why aren’t you going? Don’t you have a class to teach?”
“That’s not a concern of yours, Mr. Hanson.”
“Fine,” Steve said. “You mind your business and we’ll mind ours.”
“I don’t believe it,” Bannister said. “You’re still here.”
“Déjà vu,” Max said.
Bannister squinted at Max in intimidation. Max met his glare with his own brand of intimidation, a blatant disregard for authority. He grinned and pointed to a spot under his own nose. “Sir, you’ve got some doughnut in your mustache… Nope, missed it.”
Steve said, “Ever try vacuuming that thing?”
“Enjoy it while you can,” Bannister sneered. “Here you might be big fish in a little pond, but out there in the real world you’ll be swallowed up like the shrimp that you are.”
“What does that make you then, huh?” Max said. “Why are you here, Mr. Bannister? You don’t like teaching and you don’t like kids, so what are you doing here? I’ve always wondered about that.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Stormer. It’s easy to be a big-mouthed punk, but just try being anything else and you’ll find out what a nobody you really are. What do you know about life?”
“Not much, maybe. But a lot more than you know about me.”
“You’re no mystery, Stormer. I’ve been watching your type traipse through here for fifteen years. You’re just like your good-for-nothing brother, and you’ll end up the same—a dropout and a nobody.”
“Come on, Max,” Steve said, putting his big hand on his pal’s shoulder. “Let’s go. We don’t have to listen to his crap.”
“Yeah, we do,” Max said, his eyes locked on Bannister’s. “That’s what kills me. Ever since I can remember we’ve had to sit in classes like his and listen to this garbage. Adults like threatening you with the future. The future is always something ugly and hard and heavy and grim. Unless, of course, we do exactly as we’re told. Then it’s a great place to be, and we can look forward to becoming just like them. But you’ve got to wonder, if they’re so smart then why are they so miserable most of the time, huh? School isn’t the only place a person can get an education.”
“Oh, that’s a good one!” Bannister said. “And where do you get it, Mr. Stormer? In alleys roughing up little tourist girls? Is that your idea of an educational experience, Maxwell?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Come on, Stormer, this is a small town. You can hardly sit on your own potty without someone knowing about it. You’re just lucky no one has pressed any charges. Even that crazy old librarian won’t talk about it. If I were that girl’s parents I’d see to it that you boys got what you deserved, but her parents were probably just some big city flakes who thought it best to get the hell out of our little hickville and forget about it. Too bad too, because I would have enjoyed watching Principal Kohl make you boys squirm.” Feeling much better for having had the last word, Bannister clapped, rubbed his hands together, and then grinned big and proud. “Well, I’ve got to be going now. I have a test to give.”
As soon as the teacher disappeared around the corner Steve said, “Man I hate that guy. I wonder who else knows about what happened?”
“If Bannister knows, the whole school will know, including Kohl.”
“It sucks for you, Max. You weren’t even there, but as usual, you’ll get all the blame.”
Max didn’t reply. It was a given, and he saw yet another trip to the principal’s office in his future.
Steve cleared his throat. “So, is the girl okay? She got hit pretty bad, I think.”
“Hit?”
“In the face. With a rock.”
“What are you talking about?”
“One of the guys accidentally hit her in the face with a rock. She stumbled into some trashcans. We all saw it.”
Max stared at Steve, puzzled, trying hard to remember. He saw her, all right. He looked her straight in the eyes—beautiful eyes. She smiled at him. “She looked fine,” he said.
Steve scratched his head. How could he not have noticed?
“She was concerned about the librarian, that’s all,” Max said. “I carried the old lady to the aunt’s car… Listen, I don’t know what all went on and I don’t want to know.” He plopped his hands down on Steve’s hulking shoulders. “Come on, we’re getting out of here.”
“What do you mean? We’re already late for class.”
“So what?”
“So I don’t want to get in trouble.”
Max threw one arm around his friend’s shoulder and with the other he indicated the big, wide world. “What do you see out there, Steve? Come on, don’t hold back. What do you see?”
“You’re nuts. Let’s—” Steve tried to turn
, but Max gripped him tighter and continued pulling him out towards the playing field.
“It’s a simple question. What do you see?”
“Okay, I’ll tell you…” Steve dug in his heels and Max’s arm slipped off over his head. “If we don’t turn around right now, I see myself grounded for a month. I see my dad’s face pressed up against mine, barking at me like a drill sergeant, telling me what a lousy piece of crap I am. I see my mom’s head buried between her hands at the kitchen table, sobbing like it’s the end of the world.”
“Good, good,” Max said.
“Good nothing. Are you crazy?”
“Descriptive,” Max said.
“That’s the way it is, man. It happens every time I screw up.”
“Never mind that now. What else do you see—here, now, in front of you?” Max offered up the world with another sweep of his arm.
“Come on, Max, let’s go back. I’m serious. I haven’t been in trouble for two months. That’s a record.”
“First just tell me what you see.”
“All right, all right…” Steve paused for a moment, took a deep breath and exhaled through pursed lips. “Sky. Clouds. Mountains.” He looked to his left and to his right. He kicked at the ground. “Rocks. Trees. Weeds and dirt.”
“Okay, okay, what do the clouds look like?”
Steve looked up at the sky. A mischievous grin surfaced. “Boobs,” he said. “Big, milky white—”
Max smacked him across the back of the head. “They do not.”
“Hey, you asked and I told you. I’m just being honest.”
“No, you’re being lazy.”
“Yeah?” Steve said. “I suppose you see barges of popcorn drifting on a sea of blue satin or something, huh?”
“No,” Max said, “but much better. Maybe there’s a writer in you, Steve W. Hanson. Or a poet, even.”
“Huh?”
“Yeah, a big bruiser like you, it adds something to you. Gives you a kind of mystique, you know?”
Max started walking again. Steve, still a little reluctant, glanced over his shoulder to see if anyone was watching.
Stormer’s Pass: Aidos Trilogy: Book 1 Page 8