by Jeff Strand
They did relax the restriction on our incoming mail, which wasn’t much of a consolation for me since I never received any. And though I can’t prove it, I’m pretty sure that the cafeteria food was made slightly worse on our behalf.
Peter, Jeremy, and I did manage to entertain ourselves by joking about our plight, and we occasionally risked unimaginable punishment by breaking out an unlawful deck of cards like people drinking alcohol during prohibition, but for the most part it was a pretty miserable existence.
Though we were instructed not to interact with him, I’d see Darren each day in the cafeteria and in class. He’d almost always avoid my glance, but every once in a while, when he knew nobody else was watching, he’d smile.
It was the kind of smile that made me think it would be worth getting expelled and going to prison just for the opportunity to nail him to the ground with rusty spikes and punch him in the face over and over until every tooth was shattered.
I hadn’t ever thought that I was capable of hate, real hate, but there it was.
Ten long weeks after the incident, I sat in Mr. Wolfe’s classroom, taking a harder than usual but not unmanageable test. Though it may have created a joyless existence, all of this extra studying did mean that it was pretty hard not to ace a test.
“What is this?” Mr. Wolfe demanded, loud enough to make me flinch.
I looked over at him, as did the other boys in the class. Mr. Wolfe hovered over Peter, holding a piece of paper, looking furious.
“That’s not mine!” Peter insisted.
“It was on the floor in front of your chair. You’re the only one who could’ve used it.”
“But I didn’t know it was there!”
“Stand up,” said Mr. Wolfe. As Peter did so, Mr. Wolfe grabbed his test paper and crumpled it up. “Come outside with me. The rest of you, eyes on your own paper! I mean it!”
Mr. Wolfe led Peter out of the room and shut the door behind them.
I glanced over at Jeremy. He gave me a confused shrug. When I looked over at Darren, he was staring intently at his test, brow furrowed in concentration, cheek clenched as if trying not to laugh.
For what it was worth, Mr. Wolfe gave Peter a chance to prove his innocence. Peter’s answers on the test matched those on the stolen answer key, but of course correct answers were no solid evidence that he’d been cheating. So while Peter sat in an empty classroom by himself, Mr. Wolfe quickly wrote up a new test.
Peter, who was stressed-out, flustered, and terrified, got a C-.
That weekend, we helped him pack his things.
Peter had not officially been kicked out of school, but his parents decided that another approach was needed to straighten their son out. Peter didn’t know where he was headed, but he’d been assured by his angry parents that “the vacation was over.”
“I didn’t cheat,” said Peter as he put his clothes into his suitcase.
“Why would you cheat? We have to study eighty-five hours a day!” Jeremy took Peter’s books off the shelf, slamming each one onto his desk. “Darren did it!”
There was no doubt in my mind that Darren was responsible, but we had no way of proving it, and to even try to bring that idea to anybody’s attention probably would’ve gotten us in still more trouble.
“I’m gonna miss you guys,” Peter said. “I probably won’t have any friends where I’m going.”
“Yeah, you will,” I insisted. “You’ll have lots of friends.”
Peter shook his head. “I bet I won’t.” He reached for one of the pushpins on the pug poster, then hesitated. “You guys can keep the poster if you want. If you like it.”
“Okay,” I said. The room wouldn’t be the same without the pug poster. “You need to sign it for us.”
“Sign it?”
“Yeah. Sign ‘Peter was here’ on it. That’d be kind of cool.”
Peter grinned, found a black magic marker, and scrawled his name on the bottom corner of the poster.
“What you should do is carve your name into the wall with a knife,” said Jeremy. “It’s not like you can get into any more trouble.”
“Nah.”
“Then carve your name into Darren’s face with a knife.”
Peter shook his head. “That wouldn’t be right.”
“What do you mean, it wouldn’t be right?”
“It should be your name. It has more letters.”
We all laughed, and then we helped Peter finish packing. His parents picked him up that evening, and I watched through the window as they walked across the front lawn, away from Dorm B and Branford Academy.
Before they were out of sight, Peter’s father smacked him so hard across the back of the head that I winced.
Jeremy and I were separated after that. I moved into a room with four other boys who were none too happy to have an extra person in their already cramped living quarters. They weren’t outwardly hostile, but they were clearly resentful of this intrusion, and they certainly made no attempts to offer their friendship. Of course, it didn’t help that I remained on probation and thus wasn’t allowed to be part of their free-time activities. I don’t even remember their names.
I talked to Jeremy every day in the cafeteria and learned that he’d ended up with a slightly more sociable group of guys. “Not anywhere near as cool as you and Peter,” he assured me with a sad smile.
I did notice that as the days passed, Jeremy seemed more cheerful, more animated. Maybe he just needed a change of scenery.
Me, I wanted our old room back. I wasn’t even allowed to put up the pug poster.
The term continued with an excruciating lack of haste. With two weeks left, it was hard to believe that I wasn’t thirty-five years old, but no, I was still twelve. Well, thirteen, but my birthday had passed with so little fanfare (a card from an aunt that I almost but couldn’t quite remember) that I didn’t really even think about officially becoming a teenager.
I sat in the library, studying at a table by myself. I heard somebody sit down at the next table but didn’t bother looking up to see who it was until I heard Darren clear his throat.
He wasn’t trying to attract my attention. At least, he didn’t seem to be. He was scribbling in his journal (that most foul and wretched of journals!), apparently unaware of my presence. I stared at him, hoping that the power of my gaze would cook his brain so that it bubbled and boiled and leaked out of his ears, but it didn’t seem to be working.
Finally he looked up. “What are you staring at?” he asked.
“Nothing much.”
“You’re not supposed to come near me.”
“I was here first.”
Darren shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck. “You know, my neck still hurts sometimes.”
“Like I care.”
“It could be permanent damage.”
“Like I care.”
“You should care. If I’d broken my neck you’d be in jail right now.”
“I’d rather be in jail and have you dead.”
“I’ll tell Mr. Sevin you said that.”
“Go ahead. Write it in your journal.”
Darren sighed. “You know, it’s not you that I’m mad at.”
“Oh yeah? Peter didn’t do anything to you. Why’d you fake that he was cheating?”
“What makes you think I did that?”
“I don’t think. I know.”
“You don’t know anything.”
I gave him the finger and returned to my studying. At least I pretended that I was studying. In truth, I was terrified that Darren would in fact run to tell Mr. Sevin about my “I’d rather be in jail and have you dead” comment. I wasn’t sure what Mr. Sevin could do to me with only two weeks left in the term, but it would be ghastly.
A couple of minutes later, Darren got up. I thought he was leaving, but instead he sat down next to me.
“You’re not supposed to come near me, either,” I told him.
“Nobody ever said that.”
“Well, go aw
ay.”
“Peter deserved to get kicked out.”
“He didn’t get kicked out. His parents pulled him out.”
“Still, he deserved it. He hardly ever talked to me.”
“I never saw you talk to him, either. And you didn’t talk to me when I first got here. Peter and Jeremy did, but you didn’t.”
“I took you to the strip club.”
“That was later.”
“I haven’t been back since…since that thing happened. We should go sometime.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Was Darren actually suggesting we go out for a social event? Was he trying to become friends?
“I can’t go anywhere. I’m on probation because you’re a liar.”
“You could sneak out.”
“If I’m going to take the chance of getting in that much trouble, it’s sure not going to be to hang around with you.”
Darren bit his lip, and for a second I almost thought he was going to cry. My sympathy for him would have been minimal. Instead he smiled. “You’re such a jerk.”
“Better a jerk than a liar.”
“I’m trying to be nice.”
“You want to be nice to me? Go tell Mr. Sevin that you made everything up. Tell him that you made up stuff to put in your diary, and that you moved Peter’s dog, and that you stole a copy of the test and stuck it where Peter got blamed for it, and that you’re a total liar!”
“I didn’t do any of that.”
“Get away from my table.”
“It’s not your table.”
“I’ll tell somebody that you’re bugging me.”
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll go.” Then he leaned closer to me and spoke in a whisper. “I’m trying to make up. But if you want me to be mean, I can be mean. I can be meaner than anybody you’ve ever known. I’ll fuck up your whole life, Alex.”
“You already have.”
“I’ll do it worse.”
God, if only I’d had a tape recorder! Though with my luck, Darren would’ve gotten a hold of it and cleverly reedited the conversation so that it sounded like I was threatening him.
I just wanted him to go away and let me study in peace. But at the same time, I definitely didn’t want him to go away and start brainstorming plans to enact further revenge on me. He’d already proven that he was capable of making good on his threat.
“Okay, fine,” I said. “How do you want to make up?”
“Maybe I don’t.”
“Then go away,” I said. I sure wasn’t going to beg. “You can’t do anything to me.”
Aw, crap, I thought, immediately feeling sick to my stomach and wishing I hadn’t said that. The last thing I needed to do was taunt him.
“You think I can’t?”
“Maybe you can. But maybe you’ll get caught this time.”
He smiled. “I don’t get caught.”
“That’s what Jack the Ripper said.”
“Jack the Ripper never got caught.”
“Then that’s what…” I trailed off, trying to think of a suitable villain who had, in fact, been caught.
“The Joker?” Darren suggested.
“Shut up.”
“You should be nice to me.”
“I was nice to you.”
Darren nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah, you were. I wish you hadn’t let Jeremy and Peter do that to me. I wouldn’t have come after you. Just them.”
I wasn’t completely sure what he meant by that. Would he have done something to them even if the whole hangman fiasco hadn’t happened? Or was he just not thinking clearly about what he was saying? I decided that I didn’t really want clarification and said nothing.
“Did it bother you waiting?” he asked.
“For what?”
“For you to be next.”
“What?”
He glanced over his shoulder to be sure that we were still alone. “You know, waiting to be next. Like Peter. I could’ve done that to you, too, you know.”
The way Darren spoke, I got the impression that he’d been dying to confess his crime. No, not confess…gloat. It probably made him absolutely nuts not to be able to safely say anything, to confirm for certain what we already knew. His frustration at not being able to share his wicked deeds was probably only matched by…well, by being the victim of his wicked deeds and not being able to do a thing about it.
“Maybe I’m smarter than Peter,” I said, quietly.
“Of course you are. That’s what would’ve made it fun.”
Fun. I would’ve gladly postponed the future loss of my virginity by ten years for the right to grab him by the hair and smash his face into the desk.
“So did it bother you waiting for me to get back at you?” Darren asked.
I couldn’t see any reason not to be honest. “Yeah.”
“It was probably worse than if I’d just done something right away, wasn’t it?”
“Maybe.”
“Yeah, it was. Like when you’re a little kid and you break something, and your mom catches you right away and you get spanked and grounded. That’s bad to a little kid, but it’s worse when your mom doesn’t catch you, and you keep waiting for her to find out who did it. It’s probably worse even if you never get caught.”
“Then go tell Mr. Sevin what you did.”
Darren grinned. “I didn’t mean for me.”
“Are you here to make up or just to bug me?”
“We could make up.”
“Fine. We’re made up. Now I have to study.”
“Do you want to know how I got the test?”
I perked up at this. Would he really tell me? If he gave away his secret, he might also give away something that could point directly at him as the culprit. Sure, I only had two weeks of probation left, but still, to finally be able to prove my innocence…or, more specifically, Darren’s guilt…
“Yeah, I do.”
“Meet me outside of your building at midnight.”
I shook my head. “I’ll get caught.”
“No you won’t.”
“Yes, I will. I’ve got four roommates.”
“Would they say anything?”
“Of course they would. They don’t want to get in trouble for something I did. They don’t even like me.”
Darren considered that. “That’s too bad.”
“So tell me now.”
“Nope.”
“Fine.”
“If you really want to know, you’ll be outside at midnight. You’ll find a way.”
“What makes you think that I could possibly care enough about the stupid test to get in that much trouble over it?”
“How about this? Be out there at midnight or I’m coming after you next.”
“Screw you.”
“I’ll get you bad.”
“Go to hell.”
“I hope I do go to hell. Maybe I’ll see Peter’s dog there. Or maybe just its head.”
I said nothing further. I wasn’t going to let him goad me into doing something I’d deeply regret. Without a word, I looked back down at my book and resumed studying. Pretended to study, anyway.
“Alex…?”
I ignored him. I also tried to ignore the sweat trickling down my back.
“I’m talking to you.”
I said nothing.
He sat there for a full two minutes (two minutes that seemed like a thousand), staring at me, waiting for me to become so uncomfortable that I’d be forced to acknowledge him.
I didn’t give in.
“You are so dead,” he said, pushing back his seat, standing up, and casually walking away.
Chapter Nine
“That’s incredible,” said Jeremy.
“I know.”
“I mean…I just…I can’t even believe it.” Jeremy took another bite of his lasagna. “Did they fire the chef or something? This is delicious!”
“Maybe Darren got him,” I said. It was the best lasagna I’d ever had. And to be perfectly honest, I didn
’t even like lasagna all that much, but this was enough to turn me into a fan. I’d had so many awful meals in the Branford Academy dining hall that I’d almost reached the point where I truly believed that food, as an entity in itself, sucked.
We ate dinner in silence for a few minutes, enjoying the bliss of food that wasn’t complete crap.
I’d told Jeremy about my conversation with Darren. He was, quite predictably, pissed off. We’d tried to brainstorm plans of action, but there didn’t seem to be much we could do. Unlike mine, Jeremy’s new room had a window that faced the front of the building, so he assured me that he’d be on watch at midnight. If Darren did in fact show up outside, Jeremy would quickly see to it that he was busted.
But though Darren had gotten cocky enough to come out and admit that he’d been responsible for Peter’s removal, we didn’t think he’d be dumb enough to just stand outside the building waiting for me, especially because I’d indicated that I wouldn’t be coming. And if he was out there, he’d probably have some sort of sneaky plan up his sleeve. We weren’t quite sure what it could be, but we weren’t willing to rule anything out.
For about a tenth of a second we considered going to Mr. Sevin and telling him about the library conversation, but that didn’t seem like a good idea. Darren was a much more convincing liar than I was a truth-teller.
Instead, Jeremy and I settled for a vague plan of being incredibly vigilant. If Darren was going to try something, well, we’d make sure we were alert at all times. No journals protruding from book bags were going to get me this time.
Though it seemed unlikely that Darren would confess his crimes a second time, Jeremy and I decided that we needed to carry around tape recorders. Those handheld ones that we could fit in our pockets. Unfortunately, since we were stuck on the school grounds and were unaware of any tape recorders available on campus, there really wasn’t much we could do. So we were screwed in that regard, but we did vow to be vigilant.
I lay awake that night, listening as 75 percent of my roommates snored hard enough to make the bedsheets flutter (which was a 25 percent improvement over the usual situation). I wondered if Darren really was out there, waiting for me to meet him at midnight. If he was, what would he do when I didn’t show up?