B005N8ZFUO EBOK

by Lubar, David

  CHEATER ON THE PHONE AFTER LUNCH

  Cheater: Hi. I can’t talk long. Class starts in a minute. I just wanted to say hello.

  Mrs. Woo: Are you studying hard?

  Cheater: Yes, Mom.

  Mrs. Woo: Your father and I will pick you up this weekend.

  Cheater: Great. Hey, guess what. I met a new kid.

  Mrs. Woo: Is he a nice boy?

  Cheater: Yeah. Well, sort of. I think he’s okay. He likes to kid me, but he’s not mean. At least, not too mean. He seems pretty smart, too. Not as smart as I am, of course, but he isn’t a dummy.

  Mrs. Woo: Well, just be careful who you associate with.

  Cheater: I will.

  Mrs. Woo: How are you doing with your tests?

  Cheater: I have to go. I need to get a good spot for science. Bye.

  FUN WITH SCIENCE

  Mr. Briggs was waiting for us when we walked into science class. Today he was wearing a Harvard sweatshirt with his jeans. “Hey, a new face,” he said. “Come on in. Welcome. Glad to have you.” He smiled, and it almost looked like he meant it.

  Torchie had already plunked down on the carpet next to Cheater. He took a piece of paper from his notebook and put it on the rug. I guess it was an assignment from last week. I was about to sit next to Torchie when I noticed the paper was on fire.

  I guess Mr. Briggs noticed, too. He walked over and calmly stomped the paper, smothering the flame. Then he held out his hand. “Come on, give me the matches.”

  Torchie shook his head. “I don’t have no matches.” He reached into his jeans and pulled his pockets inside out. A bunch of change went flying to the floor, along with a half dozen lighters.

  Mr. Briggs bent over and scooped up the lighters. “Philip, if you keep denying that you have a problem, you’ll never make any progress.”

  “But I don’t have no problem,” Torchie said as he gathered his coins.

  Mr. Briggs shook his head, then said, “I’m not going to force you to face reality. Only you can make that decision. But you might want to think about the evidence.” He walked to the front of the room and started the lesson.

  Torchie was right—Mr. Briggs was a pretty good teacher. And he didn’t get in my face with all that new-kid garbage. But learning stuff, or not learning stuff, was never my problem. I didn’t have any trouble with science or math or English—I just had trouble keeping my mouth shut sometimes. It wasn’t really fair. Lots of other kids mouthed off, but I always seemed to get in the most trouble for it. My sister mouthed off sometimes, but she didn’t get in trouble. Maybe it was because she was a girl. Mom always stood up for her. And Dad never got mad at her. But I didn’t hold it against her. She was the only one in the family who didn’t treat me like some kind of giant disappointment.

  So science class was fine. Mr. Briggs pulled equipment out of the closet while he talked. I noticed that there wasn’t a whole lot of stuff—just a couple microscopes, some test tubes, and a small pile of assorted junk. He showed us several experiments we could do with ropes and pulleys, then let us play around on our own. The time went pretty quickly—except for one of the runts who had the misfortune to experience thirty seconds of pure terror. I think his name was Squibly, or something like that. Bloodbath wrapped a rope around Squibly’s throat and kind of lifted him up in the air, but he let go before Mr. Briggs noticed. I realized that Bloodbath was sort of like a human version of a stealth bomber—he could slip in, cause pain, and slip away without detection.

  As I was leaving at the end of class, Mr. Briggs called me over to his desk. “Martin, could I talk with you for a minute?”

  “Sure.” I had no idea what he wanted. But he was a teacher, so he had the power to talk with me until my ears bled, if that’s what made him happy.

  “I’ve been looking over your records, and I’m a bit confused. Most of the students are here because they’ve had extremely serious problems in other schools. The entries in your file aren’t very specific.” He stopped talking and watched me.

  I knew that trick. He was waiting for me to start talking. The really good interviewers on TV do the same thing. They ask a question, then they just stop talking and wait. Even after they get an answer, they wait for more. Most people can’t stand silence, so they blab all their secrets away. I really wasn’t in the mood to spill my life’s story, so I just smiled and shrugged.

  Sure enough, he couldn’t stand the silence, either. “Well, I just wanted you to know that I’m here if you ever have any problems. Okay?”

  “Okeydokey,” I said. “Can I go now?”

  “Yes. But remember, I’m here to help you.” He leaned forward and gave me a warm smile.

  I took a step away. “Actually, I’ll bet you’re here because you couldn’t get a job at some big fancy college or some important chemical company.” I walked off. Halfway across the room, I started to feel like a real rat. Mr. Briggs had been nice to me, and the way I’d acted, I might as well have just kicked him in the crotch. I turned around so I could say I was sorry. But he was staring out the window like his mind was a million miles away.

  I sprinted down the hall and caught up with Torchie, who was just catching up with Cheater. I wondered why Cheater hadn’t rushed ahead for seats. Then I noticed Bloodbath strolling along farther up the hall. I guess Cheater didn’t want to risk running past him.

  “He hits me every time I get near him,” Cheater said, following my gaze down the hall.

  “I’m not surprised.” I’d suspected Bloodbath might have a couple of favorite punching bags.

  “What did Briggs want?” Torchie asked.

  “He wanted to let me know that I’m not really such a bad person. It was quite a relief to hear that. Guess I can pack my things and go home now.”

  “Really?” Cheater asked. “That’s great.” He grinned. Then his smile faded. “But you just got here. How come you get to leave? It’s not fair.”

  I shook my head. This kid was amazing. He’d believe anything. He was just too easy.

  “Wait. I get it,” Cheater said. “You were kidding.”

  “Can’t fool you,” I told him. I looked at my schedule. “History’s next. What’s it like?”

  Torchie grinned. Cheater grinned.

  “What?” I asked.

  “You’ll see,” Torchie said.

  YOU’RE HISTORY

  “Let’s just say Ms. Crenshaw is big on class participation,” Cheater told me.

  I found out what he meant the moment I walked into the room. The teacher was right inside the doorway handing out costumes. “Hi, you must be the new boy,” she said, shoving a white and fluffy bundle into my hands. “This is a voluntary class. Anyone who doesn’t want to attend can choose to go to a traditional lecture with Mr. Ludovico across the hall.”

  I looked at my lump of fluff. It was a white wig. All I could manage to say was, “Huh?”

  “You get to be Thomas Jefferson today,” Ms. Crenshaw said, smiling like she’d just told me I’d won the lottery.

  She handed another wig to Torchie. “You’re George Washington,” she said. A puff of powder drifted between his hands. Then Ms. Crenshaw thrust a folded piece of cloth toward Flinch, who grimaced and pulled away at first, but finally took it from her.

  “Not Martha again,” Flinch said, letting the dress flop open between his fists. “Please, I hate being Martha. I was Martha twice last week. Can’t I be Ben Franklin?”

  Ms. Crenshaw just kept smiling and said, “Now, that’s not a very helpful attitude. Every role is important. There are no small parts. I’m sure you don’t want to let the others down, do you?”

  Flinch looked around. “Hey, would any of you feel let down if I didn’t play Martha Washington?”

  The poor kid. Once we saw how much he didn’t want to play the part, there was no way we were going to help him get out of it.

  “We’re counting on you, Martha,” Cheater said.

  Lucky, who had just walked in, said, “Every country needs a mother.
It’s your duty, Flinch.”

  Others joined in. Flinch never had a chance. A kid might help another kid who fell into a river, and a kid might help another kid search for a lost baseball, but there isn’t a kid I’ve met who will help another kid out of a humiliating situation. We just aren’t built that way.

  So I put on the wig and tried to act like Thomas Jefferson, not that I had a clue how to really do that. It was pretty much a wasted hour. We all walked around and talked about the Revolution. I’m pretty sure I didn’t learn anything, except that wigs are uncomfortable.

  I noticed that the tough kids who’d been in my other classes weren’t in history. Ms. Crenshaw had said that there was a choice. I guess the thugs had decided they didn’t want to wear costumes and wigs. As far as I was concerned, that was one good reason to stick with this class, no matter how crazy it seemed. All we had to do was walk around and make sure we used the vocabulary words the teacher had put on the blackboard. No trouble at all.

  Toward the end of the period, Ms. Crenshaw asked us to sit down so we could discuss what we’d learned. I was just relaxing in my chair when someone shouted at me.

  “Shut up! Just shut up!”

  I looked over to my right. It was Lucky. He was glaring at me. But it was real spooky. I would have bet a thousand dollars that even though his eyes were pointed in my direction, he didn’t see me.

  A hand tapped my shoulder. “Don’t worry about it,” Torchie said. “He does that sometimes.”

  Nobody else seemed worried about it. I turned away from Lucky. Sure enough, a minute later, when I glanced back, he seemed okay.

  At the end of the period, as I was handing in my wig, Ms. Crenshaw patted me on the arm and said, “Well, Martin, did you enjoy our little class?”

  All I had to do was nod and say yes. That would have been fine. Three letters, one syllable, and I’d be out of there. Instead, I said, “You must really have a desperate desire to be in the theater.” I shook my head. “This sure ain’t Broadway. But it’s as close as you’ll ever get.”

  She looked like she wanted to hit me. Through gritted teeth, she said, “You don’t have to participate. You can attend the lecture instead. Would you like to do that?”

  I shook my head. “No thanks.”

  She continued to glare at me. It seemed I’d gotten another teacher to leave my fan club. That wasn’t fair. I hadn’t really said anything all that bad. At this rate, I’d need to start using pencil and paper to keep track of who hated me. Though with my luck, Torchie would set my list on fire.

  “Does Lucky do that a lot?” I asked Torchie when we left the room. Torchie shrugged. “Not that much. You’ll get used to it. He’s really a good guy. Just make sure you don’t make any comments about things being missing when he’s around. He’s really sensitive about that ‘cause he’s always getting in trouble for stealing stuff.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” I glanced back into the room. Lucky was in the corner, reaching into the wastebasket. I couldn’t tell whether he was putting something in or taking something out. I guess it didn’t matter either way.

  “Anyone ever get out of here?” I asked Torchie as we walked down the hall.

  “Kids drop out when they get old enough,” he said. “Or they get arrested and go to jail. That’s only happened a couple of times, when there were real bad fights. Principal Davis doesn’t like to call the cops. You can graduate, of course. But that’s no good, because then you have to go to the alternative high school down in Danville. And that place is ten times worse than here.”

  “No, I mean does anyone ever get back to regular school?”

  “There’s the review,” Torchie said.

  “What review?” I asked.

  “Didn’t you read your handbook?”

  I thought about the charred paper in my wastebasket. I guess I couldn’t blame Torchie. Even if he hadn’t set it on fire, I’d already tossed the handbook out. “Tell me about it.”

  “They get together at the end of your first month and discuss whether you should stay. After that, you’re here for good.”

  “They?” I asked.

  “Your teachers,” Torchie said. “The ones who see you in class. It’s not really fair. There were four fires the day I had my review. They blamed me. For all four! Can you believe that? I heard it was the quickest review in the history of the school.”

  I was only half listening to Torchie. My mind was replaying my first meeting with each of my teachers. So far, I’d pretty much guaranteed they’d hate me. One month. Maybe if I just kept my mouth shut and did my work, I’d have a chance.

  There was only one class left for the day. I promised myself, no matter what, I wouldn’t make another teacher angry. It turned out to be a difficult promise to try to keep.

  GOING NOWHERE

  I guess every teacher had his own idea of how to teach a class at Edgeview. Mr. Briggs obviously belonged to the crowd that thought a teacher should be a buddy and a pal. Ms. Crenshaw was really into getting the class involved. Mr. Parsons was one of those teachers who experimented with all sorts of methods. Miss Nomad seemed to think a smile and a cheerful attitude would work wonders.

  Mr. Langhorn, the geography teacher, had a more traditional approach. Mr. Langhorn depended on discipline from start to finish. Strict discipline. As he stomped into the room, I sensed a change in everyone’s mood. They had that pathetic look that a dog gets when it expects a whack on the snout with a rolled-up newspaper. Mr. Langhorn stood at his desk and glared at us for a moment. He wore his hair in a crew cut and it almost looked like he ironed his suits. I had the feeling he spent a good chunk of each day polishing his shoes.

  Even though everyone was reasonably quiet, Mr. Langhorn began class by shouting, “Quiet! No more talking!” His voice was hoarse, like it had suffered from a lifetime of yelling. Little bits of spit sprayed from his mouth. I was happy the seats Cheater had grabbed for us weren’t in the front row. Being close to Mr. Langhorn for a whole class would probably be a lot like taking a warm shower.

  For the next hour, he filled us with geography facts. Anytime anybody fidgeted a little or whispered, Mr. Langhorn shouted. I remembered him yelling, shouting, ranting, raving, and snarling. I remembered him pointing at kids and demanding silence. I remembered him calling us all sorts of names. But I didn’t remember a single fact he told us about geography—not one ocean or river or capital. I knew he talked about geography. When he wasn’t yelling, he was teaching us about some country—I think it was in South America. But as hard as I tried, at the end of the period I couldn’t recall a single fact he’d mentioned.

  That wouldn’t have been a big problem, except that as the class was ending, Mr. Langhorn strutted from desk to desk, firing questions at us. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one who’d failed to absorb the lesson. Nobody came up with answers. This definitely didn’t please him. By the time he got to me, he was not a happy teacher.

  “You,” he snapped, bending over until his face was just inches from mine. He smelled like stale tobacco and sugar-free gum. “Tell me one thing you’ve learned today.”

  I looked around the room, hoping for a clue. The walls were lined with travel posters. There were beautiful pictures of exotic places—Portugal, Singapore, New Guinea.

  “Are you an idiot?” Mr. Langhorn asked. He grabbed my jaw and yanked my head back toward him. “Don’t look around the room. Look at me when I’m talking to you. Did I just waste my time? Can’t you give me one simple fact?” He let his hand drop from my face.

  “Here’s a fact,” I yelled. “You’ve never been to any of these places. You just talk about them.” It was a shot in the dark. I mean, most people don’t get to travel a lot. I’d never been anywhere. For all I knew, maybe Mr. Langhorn had flown all over the world. But it was like Torchie’s picture of Mars. You don’t fill a room with posters of places you’ve been. You fill it with dreams. Still, as the words I’d just shouted echoed in my mind, I figured it wasn’t something that would
get me in much trouble.

  Wrong again.

  Mr. Langhorn got redder. He leaned closer and grabbed the edges of my desk. I expected him to pick up the desk and break it across his knee. Apparently, I’d hit on the truth, and it didn’t make him happy. He stared at me for another minute. The bell rang. He stood up and backed away. “Class dismissed,” he snarled.

  I got up slowly. I still expected him to hit me or twist my head off. But I got out through the doorway in one piece.

  “Martin, wait up.”

  I turned toward Mr. Briggs, who was jogging down the hallway.

  “See you upstairs,” Torchie said. He headed off. Cheater went the other way down the hall. I guess he was going to the library.

  “Yeah?” I asked Mr. Briggs when he reached me.

  “What you said before. Maybe part of that is true.” He shrugged. “Maybe it’s all true. But what I said was true, too. I am here if you need someone to talk to. Okay?”

  “Sure.” I backed up a step. Just because he understood physics and chemistry didn’t mean he had any chance of understanding me. “Is that all?”

  “That’s all.”

  I made my escape and headed off toward the stairs. One thing at Edgeview was no different from any other school I’d been to—I had homework. Not a lot, but I had some math problems to do and some reading for English. From what I’d seen, at least half the kids didn’t bother doing their homework, but I figured it would help kill some time. I decided to go back to the room and get started on it.

  As I reached the top of the stairs, a door down the hall flew open with a bang. Nobody came out of the room. I glanced inside as I passed the open doorway. That kid Trash, the one I’d asked about in the cafeteria, was in the room, sitting at a desk, hunched over with a pencil in his hand.