Draw the Line

by Laurent Linn

  I’ve got a lot to unleash.

  FROM THE CHURCHYARD ACROSS THE street from the school, I have the perfect view of the whole student parking lot. I’m perched out of the way behind a little brick wall in front of the big church sign. This week it says, YUP, YOU GOT NOWHERE TO HIDE. APPLY FOR GOD’S LOVE INSIDE. So God automatically hates me and I have to apply to get love? Doesn’t seem quite worth it.

  Jedi deities don’t discriminate.

  I haven’t written a note yet to place behind the cafeteria Dumpster, but even from here it’s obvious it has to be the worst-possible place for delivering secret messages. This note writer is either an idiot or is truly setting me up. Maybe both. The Dumpster just happens to be right by the cafeteria side doors that open onto the biggest student lot, so it’s in plain sight this time of morning. Any time of day, really. But it’s a freakin’ pep rally day, so people are hanging out shoe polishing each other’s windshields.

  It also happens to be right next to Doug’s parking spot.

  Well, the Dumpster isn’t my main concern. I’m on a different mission. Something I need to know.

  So I hang back.

  While I wait, I unzip my backpack yet again—I can’t stop checking. The inside pouch holds a red Sharpie marker and a roll of clear tape. And safely tucked between my French folder and my algebra homework is the stack of papers I printed out this morning. I made about twenty-five copies of the same art, the last comic image I posted on my site last night: just Graphite’s eyes. Livid. Intense. But instead of Thug, these say Doug, we saw what you did. We know the truth. We’re watching YOU.

  So what if the we is only me? If I pull this off, that could change. How many others know the truth about what really happened at Boo but are too scared to speak up?

  Hopefully my plan will change that. Send a signal it’s all right to stand up and be heard. And really freak Doug out at the same time.

  I check something else, too. Still there, zipped in my jacket pocket. Doug’s keys.

  His dad drove him to school yesterday, but maybe he got another set of keys to his truck for today? The football guys don’t have official parking spaces, but no one else would dare park in that front-row end spot by the cafeteria doors.

  But it’s empty. No big red bubbamobile yet.

  A shiny black Beemer zips by and into the lot. Crap. Did she see me? Audrey parks kinda far away, so my view is slightly blocked. She’s not getting out. What’s she doing? Looks like . . . oh, applying makeup. Shocking. I haven’t heard a peep from her since two days ago in front of Trent’s house, when I basically told her where she could shove that pink folder. I still can’t believe she—

  Wait!

  Okay, here we go. Doug’s pickup rolls past and guns into the lot like a fiery tank. Windows are tinted, but it’s definitely his. The truck’s bigger than I remember.

  I freeze and hunch over. Looking down at my hand again, I pretend like I’m focused on my nonexistent phone, just in case. But dressed in my usual gray neutrals, I’m sure I blend in with the tan brick church wall and dead grass around me.

  He pulls right into “his” parking spot and cuts the engine, which is audible even all the way over here.

  The passenger door flings open and Bootlicker Buddy hops down. As Doug steps out of the driver’s side, the whole truck shifts. They’re both dressed in their red-and-white football crap, ready to be the superstars of the day.

  Well, Doug, you’ll get some attention, all right.

  They shut the doors. I hold my breath, keeping my eyes and ears on alert. Doug lifts his hand and with a bwoop-bwoop! locks the truck.

  He must have a backup set of keys and remote he just couldn’t use yesterday. Or could he get new locks that fast? Guess we’ll find out.

  They strut toward the main entrance and disappear around the corner.

  Like I’m in no hurry, I cross the road and walk through the lot, dodging the steady stream of arriving cars. I’m a couple rows away from Doug’s pickup. I look over at Audrey’s car, but from what I can make out, she’s still obsessed with her rearview mirror. She wouldn’t really notice me over here anyway.

  There’s no one near Doug’s truck. Just act normal, Adrian. Don’t freak.

  I duck between a narrow row of parked cars, fumbling with the key fob in my pocket. Morning sun blinding off the windshields. With my thumb I feel for the door lock button. I have to be sure to press the right—

  “Ahhh!” Oh, god! I grab my crotch. Pain shoots through me like electricity.

  I turn and limp away, quick. Can’t be trapped between cars.

  “Ohmygod! You okay?” asks whoever just opened his car door into my nuts.

  I know that voice. I look back and—

  Lev.

  Knees bent, I hop from one foot to the other. Shiiit! I gotta wait out the intense pain.

  “Sorry!” He leaps from the driver’s seat and gawks at me. “I didn’t see you! Honestly.”

  Snorting laughter bursts from inside the car. Kathleen.

  Lev shoots her a look. “Not funny.” He steps toward me. “I so didn’t notice you. Oh, my god, I’m sorry. Really bad timing, there.”

  “Ya think?” I grimace and gasp. Maybe I can stand up straight, the pain’s easing now. Oooh, no, not really. I just have to breathe into it.

  Now that I can kinda limp, I gotta get out of here.

  “Wait!” Lev says. “Don’t be mad. Didn’t mean to get you in the doodads.”

  Kathleen steps out from the passenger side, grinning at Lev and me both. “Doodads? I’m sorry, but guys are so weird.”

  “Understatement of the century, sister” comes from a few feet behind me.

  Audrey. She shakes her head, hikes her purse strap over her shoulder, and keeps walking. She doesn’t even glance at me.

  Dammit. Did she see the whole thing?

  “What’s up with your friend?” Lev says.

  “Don’t ask,” I say between deep breaths.

  Still eyeing me, he grabs his bag and shuts the door with a soft thwump. He drives a lemon-yellow Beetle—guess he doesn’t care about getting lots of attention.

  Kathleen pulls out a huge pile of poster board from the backseat and closes her door. “C’mon, Lev. We’ve got to drop off your extremely lightweight and not-at-all-insanely-heavy pep rally signs. All five million of them.”

  He locks his car, grabs the signs, and says to me, “They all right now?”

  “Huh?”

  “Ya know.” He makes a pained face and glances toward my crotch.

  My face burns. I nod and croak, “See ya,” and head in the opposite direction.

  From behind comes “Bye. And really sorry!”

  I limp to the edge of the lot and pretend to gaze around like I’m waiting for someone. There’s just a faint tingle now from the aftermath of throbbing pain between my legs.

  Audrey saw me get slammed by a car door in the “doodads” and Lev just asked about my banged-up balls! Can this day get any worse?

  Lev and Kathleen disappear around the corner. It’s close to the first bell and crowds are thinning out. And the pain has left my nuts at last.

  Okay, Adrian. Focus! Now’s the time.

  Doug’s pickup is just two rows away. Barely moving, I reach in my jacket pocket, feel the car fob lock button, and look away from the truck.

  Here goes.

  Bwoop!

  I jump. A muffled sound, but the locks definitely clicked open.

  It works.

  I hit it twice and bwoop-bwoop! Locked again.

  Check over my shoulder. No one noticed. I exhale.

  Hand shaking, I tuck the keys in my backpack.

  Hold on. Where exactly are those exterior security cameras McConnell talked about? I scan around. There’s one, sticking out from the front corner of the building. And another, right above the cafeteria doors. Crap.

  But maybe . . . I pretend to give up on whoever I’m waiting for and head through the lot toward Doug’s truck. Where he
parks, there’s a little awning covering the stairs leading to the cafeteria side doors. I pass his truck and casually look up. Yes! Both cameras are blocked by the awning.

  Thank you, Obi-Wan.

  One last look at his pickup. That’s weird. His vanity plate says INEBG. What the hell does that mean? Inebriated, but with a G? I Need Every . . . Beer . . . something? I don’t get it.

  The first bell rings, so I hustle along.

  Gotta stay sharp. Today I’m on a mission.

  Thankfully, Lev walks into first period late. “Setting up for the pep rally,” he tells Madame Pauline. He really is in every school group.

  She nods and keeps conjugating to us. I stare down at my book as he takes his seat behind me. How can I ever look at him again?

  A few minutes later the loudspeaker crackles. I sit back, waiting for some too-peppy babble to come spilling forth about Saber Cat spirit.

  “Teachers and students, please excuse this interruption.”

  My stomach flips. Assistant Principal McConnell.

  Madame Pauline sighs, leans on her desk, and crosses her arms.

  “Due to recent incidents, I must make this announcement. This is a reminder to all students that graffiti of any kind will not be tolerated. Vandalism to school property is a crime.”

  The stoner guy two seats away from me laughs. “Guess he finally had to go in a boys’ bathroom.”

  Madame Pauline shushes him.

  That voice booms again. “School property is for everyone to enjoy. You should treat it like your own home. Okay, hold up. Forget I said that, heh, heh.”

  Laughs all around.

  “You should treat it better. Now, back to work, and Go Saber Cats!!!”

  I catch Madame Pauline rolling her eyes. She quickly quiets everyone down and jumps back into the lesson.

  But it’s all I can do to not scream.

  All right, McConnell. Think you’ve dealt with the hate scrawled on my locker? Think that’s all you have to do to wash your hands of it? Fine.

  I’ve got my own message to spread.

  After class, we file through the hall leading to the gym for the pep rally and my insides do the dance they always have when approaching this torture chamber. I don’t give a crap how “character-building” gym class is supposed to be. My character isn’t constructed that way.

  I hang back and let people pass. Seems all the bubbas must be inside already since I don’t see any of them here. Veering off to the wall, I check my bag yet again. Sharpie, tape roll, and twenty-five pairs of Graphite’s eyes, all in their place.

  I scan the hallway—can’t let Trent or Audrey see me. We’ve always suffered through pep rallies together, sitting next to each other and making fun of, well, everything. Audrey’s especially good at that.

  But not today.

  No one’s watching me. Do I dare? Just a test?

  Putting my bag on the floor, I reach in, rip off a piece of tape, and prep one of my printouts inside my backpack. Casually looking around, pretending to scratch between my shoulder blades like I have an itch, I bring the paper behind me and stick it to the wall in a flash. I then lean back, covering the paper.

  I wait until there’s almost no one left in the hall and step away. Ambling along with the last stragglers, I check behind me. It makes me catch my breath. My art stands out from the wall like a gallery painting, demanding attention, just as I planned.

  This could work.

  I enter the gym, the air thick with talking and yelling and drums and cymbals. The blazing lights are on full wattage. It’s suffocating. Both sides of the bleachers are packed with every student, teacher, and whatever, all in red and white. Well, almost. The cluster of black-draped goth kids huddles off to one edge near the back. And here and there, a few small groups of unspirited people dare to wear other colors of the rainbow.

  I search for another kid in black. There. Trent is across the gym with Audrey, seated at the top of the bleachers, far away. Good.

  A teacher motions at us few kids standing by the doors. “C’mon. Everyone, take a seat!” she yells over the band as it kicks into high gear with a boom boom boom!

  I slip into a nearby second-row seat and perch on the very end.

  Crossing my arms, I slump down as much as I can to stay hidden behind the row in front of me.

  “Helllooooooooooo, Rock Hollow High!” the coach’s voice echoes.

  With his humongo beer belly, he’s holding court at the microphone at the other end of the gym. Lined up on each side of him are the bouncy bouncy cheerleaders holding up a huge paper banner scrawled with human-sized letters spelling GO SABER CATS! KILL! KILL! KILL!

  Obi-Wan, give me strength.

  I search the crowd. The security guard’s gotta be here. Yes. He’s sitting behind the coach with a grin across his bubba face. With a primo spot like that, he’s not going anywhere.

  The coach blathers on for way too long, his sentences punctuated by drums and horns from the band. Kids holler all around me and I’m surrounded by smells of sweat mixing with perfume.

  I need to get out of here but have to wait for just the right moment. This is taking too long.

  All these faces. How many of you are hiding secrets? Which one of you is writing those notes? I scan for Manuel Calderón. There are too many faces.

  “Are you ready?” the coach yells. “What? I can’t hear you!”

  “Yeeeeeees! WOOOOO!” scream the hordes of drones all around me.

  This insane call-and-response goes on and on.

  Then, “RHH, please welcome our champions. The Saber Cats!!!”

  I sit up as the force of the screams and the band practically blow out the sides of the building. Football players bust through the paper banner, then run onto the court one by one as the coach growls their names into the mic.

  The engulfing energy is like hysteria. I hug my arms around myself. What the hell am I thinking? Me and my stupid drawings against this?

  I channel my inner Jedi and close my eyes, let the noise pass through me.

  It can’t be only me who feels this way—it can’t. There’s no way I’m the only one sitting in these bleachers who’s had enough, who’s fed up, who feels like their only choices are either to hide who they are or be punished for simply stepping into the light.

  But where are they and why aren’t they saying something, doing something? Even my friends aren’t taking action. Audrey talks about it, but has she actually done anything? And Trent just harps on not rocking the damn boat. Even Kobe’s hiding at home.

  It has to be me.

  I have to do something. Have to.

  I inhale and open my eyes—the light seems harsher than before. Here comes Buddy through the ripped paper banner, frantically waving at the bleachers like he’s won some kind of prize. But he’s near the beginning with the other unimportant players.

  It doesn’t take long to get to the big guys. I slide to the edge of the bleacher seat and position myself.

  Here it comes.

  “Give it up for our giant of the gridiron, Doug Richter!”

  A pause, then Doug jogs out into the center of the court in full uniform armor. All around, people stand and hoot and howl. Barking out “Whuh!WhuhWhuh!Whuh!” like a bunch of gorillas in heat.

  Then it starts, and builds, and builds. “Doug, Doug, Doug, Doug . . .” Much louder, many more voices, but it’s the same chant I heard just before Doug smashed Kobe’s face.

  I slip off the edge of the seat and survey the scene one last time. All eyes are focused on their “warriors” right now.

  Pushing my back against the hard metal door, I open it and slip out.

  I don’t have much time.

  THE METAL DOOR CLICKS SHUT behind me, but the booms of the drums and the screams of the crowd are barely muffled.

  There’s no one out here in the hall.

  I go right to the water fountain and hang for a minute. Getting a quick drink is an easy enough excuse in case anyone follows me out.
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br />   No one does.

  I’ve mapped and timed my route over and over in my head. I have two main targets and only fifteen minutes max. The hall clock says 11:00 on the dot.

  Let’s go.

  I glance at the gym doors. Nothing. Time’s a-wasting. C’mon, Adrian, go!

  I dash down the hall and turn the corner. There’s no roaming security guard and no hall cameras, so relax. Hugging the wall, I walk as calmly as I can and turn down the first hallway. I don’t encounter a soul. I have to conquer my shaking hands and get to work. The sound of ripping tape off the plastic dispenser echoes around the hall tiles and lockers. I tape up three printouts. This is taking too long, but wow, that looks cool. Graphite’s eyes hanging across the lockers.

  It’s not Michelangelo in the Louvre, but I’m displaying my art again at last.

  Yes, Doug’s watching me. And now he’s gonna get a taste of what that’s like.

  Doug, we saw what you did. We know the truth. We’re watching YOU.

  Audrey’s gonna freak when she sees. Well, so the hell what? Trent’ll think it’s cool. Maybe.

  I peek around the corner but that hall is empty too, which is so freaky to see.

  Crap, 11:03!

  The cafeteria doors are wide open, so I make a beeline there, slip inside, and head to mission number one.

  I stop cold—people are talking. Where are they? I sneak along the wall. The voices are coming from within the kitchen, behind the serving counters. No one’s in view. But I have to slip past the counters to get to the parking lot side door. I can’t stop now. A last look all around and here I go, step by quiet step, slinking by like a shadow. I crouch down under the counters and practically crawl past. The talking doesn’t stop. No one saw.

  I make it to the doors—damn! Why didn’t I check this out first?

  EMERGENCY EXIT ONLY. ALARM WILL SOUND.

  Through the window I spot Doug’s pickup just at the bottom of the steps. So close!

  Wait, I’ve seen the smoker kids sneak out through these doors at lunch, right? Well, hell, here goes. I push the handle and . . . it opens. No alarm. Just the pulse of my heart trying to thump its way out of my ribs.