Losers, Inc.

by Claudia Mills

  “Montana,” Julius said. “On a river. The river is where they go rafting.”

  “Were there any other memorable characters in it? Besides the boy and the dog?”

  “No,” Julius said. “Oh, there’s a bear. A grizzly bear. I guess I forgot to mention him.”

  Ms. Leeds didn’t look completely satisfied, but she turned to Ethan. “Ethan, what about you? What do you have to share? I hope both you and Julius chose longer books this time. Remember, class, your book-report books must be at least one hundred pages. Julius, how long was A Boy and a Dog?”

  “One hundred pages,” Julius said. He held it up, open to page 100. In the back of the room, someone guffawed.

  “Ethan?”

  “I read A Tale of Two Cities, by Charles Dickens. It has 422 pages.” Ethan tried to say it in a matter-of-fact tone, but he couldn’t keep the glee out of his voice. Then he read his page. Like Julius’s, it told mainly what the book was about. But the plot of A Tale of Two Cities was so complicated that it wasn’t that easy to summarize in a page.

  Basically, there were two guys who looked alike, Charles Darnay and Sydney Carton, and they were both in love with the same person, Lucie Manette, only Darnay got to marry her because he was a nobleman, plus a really wonderful person, and Sydney Carton was a super-loser. But then Darnay got arrested and condemned to death, and Sydney Carton helped him escape from prison and went off to be executed in his place, because he loved Lucie so much that he was willing to sacrifice himself so that she could be with the man she loved. Over the past two weeks, Ethan had found himself thinking of Lucie Manette as Grace Gunderson, and every once in a while he was Darnay, but mostly he was Sydney Carton.

  “This is an excellent book,” Ethan finished reading. “It teaches you about the French Revolution, which took place in the seventeen-nineties in the country of France. It is a good book if you like history or violence or exciting suspense. It is a love story, too, so some girls might like it. All in all, it is an excellent book.”

  Ethan started toward his seat. Relief mingled with pride. It was over now, the book and the report. If length counted for anything, he should get an A plus. His report hadn’t been as long and flowery as Lizzie’s, but it had been more interesting and informative than Julius’s. Maybe he’d even get an A for the trimester. If Ethan were the one giving out grades, anyone who read a book with 422 pages would get an A for the year.

  But when he looked back at Ms. Leeds, he saw that she had stopped smiling. “Very nice,” she said automatically. “Ethan, would you stay for a moment after class? There’s something I need to ask you. All right, where were we? Timothy Williams, you’re next.”

  As the rest of the kids droned on, the class became more and more fidgety. That was another problem with going last: It was hard to talk when everybody was passing notes and doodling on their book covers. Ethan wondered what Ms. Leeds wanted to say to him. Maybe she wanted to apologize to him for all those times they had gone in the usual order. Or for acting last time as if he were retarded for picking a short book.

  The bell rang before Daniel Brotman and David Barnett had their turns. David was doing his best to look disappointed.

  “First thing tomorrow, boys,” Ms. Leeds told them.

  Ethan put his notebook in his backpack and waited to see what Ms. Leeds had to say. Julius walked past him out to the hall without a word. Ethan wished he didn’t know what Julius was thinking. But he did. Some vice president of Losers, Inc., you are.

  “Hey, Julius, wait for me. I’ll only be a minute,” Ethan called after him.

  Ethan didn’t know if Julius would wait or not, but then he saw his friend slide down to the floor just outside Ms. Leeds’s door.

  “Ethan.” Ms. Leeds spoke stiffly. “I don’t quite know how to say this to you. But I would rather you read the shortest possible book, as Julius did, rather than rely on plot summaries to pretend you read something you didn’t read.”

  Ethan stared at her. “But I did read A Tale of Two Cities.”

  “Did you, Ethan?” Ms. Leeds’s smile was horrible now. “Am I supposed to believe that one of my sixth-grade students read over four hundred pages in two weeks? A boy whose last book was on a third-grade reading level?”

  “Lizzie reads long books.” What else could Ethan say? He had no proof that he had read the book. Was he supposed to have made a videotape of all the dozens of hours he had spent reading it?

  “Lizzie is an avid reader. Anyone can tell from the real passion in Lizzie’s book reports that she lives in the worlds of the books she reads. Ethan, I am not going to penalize you this time. I know many students crib their reports from book jackets. But this was so blatant that I had to give you at least a warning.”

  “But I did read it,” Ethan repeated stubbornly. He had a sudden, painful thought. He was willing to bet anything he owned that when Peter had read The Yearling for his book report in sixth grade, Ms. Leeds hadn’t accused him of pretending to have read it. He had another entry for Life Isn’t Fair, after all.

  “I wish I could believe you,” Ms. Leeds said. “All right, Ethan, you may go.”

  So much for Ethan’s A plus. So much for reverse alphabetical order. So much for trying not to be a loser.

  Suddenly Julius was by his side, pale, his eyes blinking the way they did whenever he was upset about something. “Ethan did read the book,” Julius almost shouted. “The whole stinking book. I saw him. We all saw him. Go ask Ms. Dworkin what Ethan’s been reading every day in study hall. Go ask your precious Lizzie. She saw him reading it last week. I told him he didn’t have to read the whole thing, but he did. He read every single stinking page. All 422 of them.”

  Ethan didn’t say anything. He had been all right a minute ago—furious, disgusted, sick to his stomach, but all right. Now he was afraid he might cry.

  Julius had spoken with such angry intensity that no one could think he was lying to save his friend.

  “I’m sorry, Ethan,” Ms. Leeds said softly. She looked as if she was going to cry. The whole thing was becoming more embarrassing by the minute. “I shouldn’t have doubted you. It was just that— Please accept my apology.”

  Ethan turned to go. It didn’t matter, anyway.

  Out in the hall, he and Julius hurried on to social studies without speaking. Then, as they reached the classroom, Ethan made himself mutter, “Thanks.”

  Julius looked away. “I hope it was worth it,” he said in a low voice. “Getting to go first. Reading the longest book. Telling everybody how wonderful it was. Do you know who you remind me of these days?”

  Ethan didn’t answer. He knew it wasn’t Peter.

  It was the Lizard.

  Nine

  Friday would be Valentine’s Day. Ethan spent the rest of the week dreading its arrival. In elementary school, Valentine’s Day had been no big deal. Everybody gave valentines to everybody else because all the mothers made sure they did. There was a party at school, with pink-frosted cupcakes and red punch. Ethan threw away his valentines as soon as he got home, first taking off any candy that was glued to them. Then he ate the candy. End of Valentine’s Day.

  Ethan didn’t know what to expect from Valentine’s Day in middle school. There wouldn’t be a party this year. He knew that much. But this year there would be Lizzie. Ethan had never before had someone in love with him on Valentine’s Day. The day was bound to call forth from her some loveress-like impulses.

  And this year there was Grace. Ethan had never before been in love on Valentine’s Day, either. Should he give her a valentine? It seemed to him that it would make a mockery out of his feelings to buy her one of those dumb, icky-sweet valentines in the card aisle at King Soopers—as if what he felt for her could be captured by a Hallmark card. But was Julius going to give her a valentine? If Julius did, then Ethan wanted to give her something. Maybe he could make her a valentine. That would have a little more meaning, at least, than buying one.

  Thursday night he wandered into the family ro
om. His father was watching a basketball game on cable with headphones, and his mother was reading a mystery novel.

  “Um, Mom? You don’t have any construction paper, do you?”

  “It’s in my crafts closet,” she said. “Reams of it. What color do you need?”

  Ethan didn’t answer.

  In the crafts closet he found a whole packet of red construction paper and took one sheet, hurrying to his room with it so that Peter wouldn’t see. Then he had to go back downstairs to borrow the kitchen scissors. But just as he was about to cut the paper into a big red heart, he realized that he couldn’t go through with it. He put the scissors back in the kitchen drawer and hid the red construction paper in the mess of papers on his desk. What he felt for Ms. Gunderson couldn’t be put into a homemade valentine, either.

  * * *

  Friday morning came too soon. “Good morning! Happy Valentine’s Day!” Ms. Romero read over the P.A. system at the start of homeroom. The principal’s cheery words gave Ethan a sensation of nameless dread in the pit of his stomach. If his life were a horror movie, this was where the creepy music would begin to play.

  On his way to science class, Ethan saw Marcia. She was wearing red heart-shaped earrings and a sweater with pink hearts embroidered on it. She had a sheaf of small white envelopes in her hand, obviously valentines. Ethan couldn’t tell if they were all for her or from her—or all snatched away from somebody else.

  “Ethan,” she said when she saw him just outside the science room. She sorted through her pile of envelopes. “I have a valentine for you.”

  Ethan took it. Better a valentine from Marcia than a valentine from Lizzie.

  “Guess what?” Marcia said, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “She sent it in. Lizzie sent in a poem for the contest. My cousin called me from Washington last night to tell me that it came in the mail yesterday.”

  “What kind of poem?” Ethan meant: Was it a poem about him?

  “It wasn’t a love poem. It was about birds. I think it was called ‘Snow Bird.’ Not that it matters. It’s going to win first prize anyway.” Marcia laughed snidely.

  Ethan gave a sort of laugh to echo hers, then went on into science class. But the more he thought about Lizzie’s actually entering the contest, actually putting her poem so hopefully into the mail, the worse he felt. Nobody deserved to be laughed at for having a dream.

  Ms. Gunderson wasn’t wearing any special Valentine’s Day clothes, but her hair was down. Maybe Ethan should have made her a valentine, after all. He wouldn’t have had to sign his name to it, or anything. He just wanted to give her something. Like a single long-stemmed red rose. Why that idea popped into his head, Ethan didn’t know. It would just be so perfect for her to glance down at her desk and find it lying there. She’d look up then, surprised, and her eyes would search the room, and when they fell on Ethan, he’d look away …

  Ethan glanced down at his own desk. A folded sheet of paper lay there, with “To Ethan” written on it. It must be from Lizzie. When she had passed him in the hall on the way to class, she had looked even more intense and strange than usual, if that were possible. Her hair had seemed even redder and more electric.

  Quickly Ethan stuck the paper, unread, into his backpack, next to Marcia’s unopened valentine. Who had seen Lizzie deliver it? Alex? Marcia? Grace Gunderson?

  Julius slipped into his seat next to Ethan. He leaned toward Ethan’s desk and whispered, “I bought her a valentine. A real Hallmark valentine. It cost two-fifty.”

  “Did you give it to her yet?”

  “I left it in her mailbox in the office. There were eleven other valentines there.” Eleven dull blows at Ethan’s heart. “I counted them. And two boxes of candy. One Whitman’s and one Russell Stover.”

  More than ever, Ethan wished he had a rose to give her. His would have been the only rose.

  “Good morning,” Ms. Gunderson said. If Ethan had been blind, he would have loved her for her voice alone. “Today we are going to begin a series of experiments using the bunsen burners on the lab tables at the back of the room. Mr. O’Keefe has told me that this will be the first time you have used the bunsen burners this year, so I want to talk to you for a minute about bunsen burner safety.”

  The class moved to the lab tables. Ethan and Julius grabbed a lab table together in the back row. Marcia got stuck with Lizzie, right in front of them.

  “When we use a bunsen burner, we always wear plastic safety goggles,” Ms. Gunderson said. She picked up a pair and put them on. Everyone else did, too. No one giggled at how anyone else looked in their goggles, because Ms. Gunderson looked so grave and beautiful in hers.

  “We always use wooden safety matches to light the burners,” Ms. Gunderson said. She held up a box of wooden matches. “First you strike the match, and then you turn on the gas.” She struck one, held it to the burner, and carefully turned on the gas. A bright flame appeared. In front of Ethan, Lizzie gave a small gasp, as if she had never seen fire before.

  Ms. Gunderson extinguished her burner, then lit it again. “Does everyone understand the procedure?” she asked. “All right, I’d like each of you, one at a time, to light your burner for me, so I can check you on this.”

  Ethan heard Lizzie say to Marcia, “I can’t. I’ve never lit a match before. I can’t.”

  Marcia said, “Anybody can light a match.”

  When Ethan’s turn came, he lit his burner smoothly. He wished Ms. Gunderson had asked him to do something more impressive, like walking barefoot over hot coals. Julius dropped the first match he lit. He gave a forced laugh, which came out more like a squeak. But he managed to light the burner on his second try.

  Marcia lit her burner. Then it was Lizzie’s turn. Lizzie’s hand shook as she struck her match. Nothing happened. She struck it again. This time it burst into flame.

  As everyone watched, Lizzie stood, paralyzed, staring at the burning match between her thumb and forefinger, making no move to turn on the gas.

  “Lizzie, turn on the gas for your burner,” Ms. Gunderson said quietly.

  “Turn it on, stupid,” Marcia hissed.

  Lizzie didn’t move. The flame on the match burned closer to her fingers. Still she stood there, motionless.

  Ethan couldn’t take it anymore. He leaned over and blew out the match. Lizzie burst into hysterical tears.

  “It’s all right, Lizzie,” Ms. Gunderson said. She sounded shaken herself. Probably nothing in her teacher training at the university had prepared her for Lizzie. “When we do our experiments, your lab partner can light your burner. David, you’re next. Remember, match first, then gas.”

  Lizzie was still crying.

  “What a spaz,” Marcia said to anyone who was listening.

  Ethan felt a sudden, unexpected pang of pity for Lizzie.

  The rest of the bunsen burners were lit without any mishaps. Ms. Gunderson explained more safety procedures. Then the class period was finally over.

  “Ethan,” Ms. Gunderson called out over the ringing of the bell, “please stay for a minute.”

  This time Ethan didn’t ask Julius to wait for him. But Julius did. Ethan tried to pretend that Julius wasn’t there, lurking outside the science-room door. He turned to Ms. Gunderson. No one from the next class had come in yet. The two of them were alone.

  “Ethan, that was quick thinking on your part,” Ms. Gunderson said. “I have to admit that I wasn’t expecting anyone to react quite as Lizzie did.”

  Ethan tried to shrug nonchalantly, but he could feel an idiotic grin spreading across his face.

  “Lizzie is an unusual girl,” Ms. Gunderson went on. “I know that some of the members of our class haven’t been particularly kind to her. Thank you, Ethan, for not being one of them.”

  Ms. Gunderson smiled at him. Ethan smiled back. Other students began coming in. The moment was over.

  Ethan met Julius outside in the hall.

  “Well?” Julius said.

  Ethan didn’t know if Julius had h
eard the conversation or not. Ms. Gunderson’s voice was always so soft and low.

  “She just wanted to ask me about one answer I put down on yesterday’s homework,” Ethan lied. It was better than telling the truth: She was just praising me for being a hero.

  But Ethan knew he had deserved only the first part of Ms. Gunderson’s praise, not the second. He wasn’t being particularly kind to Lizzie. He was as deeply involved in the contest scam as anyone. Even more deeply. He was the one who had told her about it in the first place.

  Right then, halfway to art class, Ethan made a solemn vow: He would tell Lizzie the truth about the contest. He would tell her today.

  * * *

  During art class, while he was supposed to be sketching a still life of a bowl of bananas, Ethan made himself open Marcia’s valentine and Lizzie’s note. Marcia’s valentine was a regular, elementary-school-type valentine, with a foil-covered chocolate heart stuck to it. Ethan ate the chocolate right away. He needed to keep up his strength.

  Then he unfolded the slip of paper Lizzie had left on his desk. Sure enough, it was a poem.

  For Ethan

  Today is the day we speak our love,

  So I will speak my love for you.

  It is yours, if you should want

  A love that is forever true.

  It is yours, if you should want

  A love that burns with endless flame,

  A love that will outlast the hills,

  And all of earthly glory and fame.

  At the bottom in tiny print she signed her initials: E.A. Lizzie was short for Elizabeth.

  Ethan took a deep breath after he finished reading. It certainly didn’t make him look forward to sitting next to its author for Peer-Assisted Learning in another twenty minutes. He made a mental entry in Life Isn’t Fair: A Proof.

  Friday, February 14. Lizzie Archer gave Ethan Winfield a valentine. Lizzie Archer, who cannot even light a match, loves Ethan Winfield with a love that burns with endless flame.

  Did Lizzie really like him that much? She hardly knew him. Of course, you could say that he hardly knew Grace Gunderson, but he liked her that much. He felt as if his love for her would be forever true. It would burn with endless flame. It would outlast the hills. And while, as the vice president of Losers, Inc., Ethan wasn’t expecting much in the way of earthly glory and fame, whatever he got of it he’d give to her.