Bringing Down the Mouse

by Ben Mezrich

  It had happened nearly five days before the start of the last summer break: Jeremy had been rushing to beat the morning bell, and with legs as long and awkward as his, rushing was never a good idea. To this day, it still wasn’t clear whether somebody had tripped him, or whether he’d stumbled over one of his own feet. What was clear, however, was that when he’d hit the ground, Jeremy’s backpack had come open, spreading its contents all over the front hall of the school. Not books, not pencils or pens or any other sort of school supply. Diapers. At least a dozen, with brightly colored flowers speckled across their fronts, sliding mercilessly across the tiled floor. Nobody cared that Jeremy had a rapidly growing five-week-old baby sister at home, or that his sleep-deprived mother had accidentally packed newly purchased diapers instead of notebooks in Jeremy’s bag; all that mattered was that a new nickname had been born. From that moment on, Jeremy Draper had become Diapers.

  The eighth grader with the soccer ball dribbled by, and once again the coast looked clear. After a nod from Jeremy, Charlie started forward, inching out of the relative safety provided by the yellow garbage can.

  From the long corridor of aluminum lockers, Charlie moved into the brightly lit, semicircular front atrium, which was dominated by the glass revolving doors. Five minutes to the opening bell, the doors were pretty much pinwheels of glass, spitting students into the school’s main building in a steady metronome of motion. When the school had been built back in the seventies, it had seemed as good a design as any.

  Like most modern interpretations of things that were very old, the Nagassack front entrance didn’t make a lot of sense. The revolving door, fluorescent lights, and space-age windows made the place look like one of the high-tech firms out on Route 128. Meanwhile, the wooden rafters, paneled walls, and intensely wild brush that ringed most of the campus made you feel as if you were standing in the foyer of some sort of hunting cabin. Skulking toward the vending machine, Charlie wouldn’t have been surprised to have seen moose antlers jutting out from the nearest wall.

  Almost there, Charlie mouthed to himself as he covered the last few yards. His sneakers were almost soundless against the tiled floor. He could feel Jeremy’s eyes on him from his secure position back by the lockers. A few more steps. Charlie could almost make out his reflection in the front glass of the vending machine, and a burst of anticipation moved through him. The machine was more than simply a depository for some bizarre, phenomenally healthy form of snack food. At Nagassack, the vending machine was an anchor in the chaotic, ever-changing flux of life. Only two weeks into sixth grade, the quest for Yum Yum Chippers had become an integral part of Charlie’s routine.

  He tiptoed the last few feet to the machine. Glancing around to make sure he was still unnoticed, he dug a hand into his back pocket, counting out the proper number of coins. His jeans were loose, which made finding the right coins significantly easier. In point of fact, all his clothes were loose; he was positively swimming in his collared long-sleeve shirt, and his socks were balled up around his ankles. Like his best friend, Jeremy, Charlie had always been too skinny. Up until very recently, that hadn’t mattered. Charlie wasn’t exactly sure when kids had started to notice how different other kids could be, but things seemed to be getting progressively worse. Not Lord of the Flies, fight-to-the-death-on-a-jungle-island worse, but bad enough.

  He retrieved the coins from his pocket and quickly shoved them into the slot halfway up the vending machine. Then he hit the correct button with his palm, and watched as the corkscrew mechanism behind the glass slowly twisted the Yum Yum Chippers toward the front. “Hurry up, hurry up, hurry up.” And then finally, the chips plummeted the few feet to the base of the machine. With a motion like a striking snake, Charlie’s right arm shot out and into the machine’s retrieval bin, and his fingers closed on the smooth, crinkly surface of the Yum Yum Chippers bag. Grinning, Charlie turned back toward Jeremy and the safety of the lockers.

  “Well, look what we have here. My favorite little buddy with my favorite snack.”

  Charlie exhaled as he looked up into the oblong, doughy face of Dylan Wigglesworth. He could hear Liam Anthony and Dusty Bickle cackling from somewhere behind their leader, but he couldn’t see past the mountainous giant’s hulking form.

  “Dylan, doesn’t this get old after a while?”

  Charlie tried to sound tough, but inside, he was mostly liquid. It was true, this had been going on for quite a while now; after all, he, Dylan, and most of his class at Nagassack had been going to school together since kindergarten. In the beginning, they had all been roughly the same size, and Dylan had simply been a run-of-the-mill jerk, making fun of Charlie and pretty much everyone else, just for the sheer pleasure of it. But as their physical geometry changed, and Dylan grew and grew and grew, the tenor of their relationship had also changed. Dylan had morphed into an out-and-out bully. If you didn’t play baseball, you were a fair target. And since Charlie had never hit or caught a ball and had basically avoided any kind of object thrown in his general direction since he was about three years old, he was extremely high on Dylan’s list.

  “Okay, Numbers,” Dylan grunted. “You know the drill. Hand over the chips.”

  Charlie could feel other eyes on him, and not just Liam’s and Dusty’s. A small crowd had materialized in the front entrance, as it always seemed to do when something like this happened. Charlie knew that Jeremy was somewhere in that crowd, probably quivering with the urge to do something. Charlie also knew that Jeremy wouldn’t dare.

  If this had been some after-school special, or a movie aimed at middle-school kids, this would have been the moment when Charlie Lewis would have become a “man.” He’d have said something witty, tossed the chips into the air, then given Dylan the thrashing of a lifetime. Or perhaps he would’ve said something charming, maybe talk about their shared childhood, and the two of them would have hugged, friends once more.

  Instead, Charlie lowered his eyes as he held the bag of chips out in front of him. Dylan grunted again, disdain written across his face. To him, Charlie was nobody, nothing, just another nerd or geek or dork. He wasn’t even Charlie Lewis, he was Numbers. Just some kid who was good at math but couldn’t catch a baseball.

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

  Dylan roughly grabbed the bag out of Charlie’s hand, then showed it to Liam and Dusty behind him.

  “Looks like breakfast is on Numbers,” he said, laughing. The others joined in, along with some of the watching crowd.

  Charlie sighed. He was about to slink away, when a flash of motion came from Dylan’s left, and the scene suddenly froze like it was painted on a pane of glass.

  Dylan’s eyes went wide as he watched a hand reach out and grab the bag of chips right out of his pincerlike grip. Both he and Charlie turned at the same time to see two kids who had suddenly materialized, as if out of thin air, right next to them. It took Charlie a full beat to recognize the kid standing closest to them, who was now holding the Yum Yum Chippers in his extended right hand. The kid was wearing a faded leather flight jacket and stylish black jeans, and had a wide grin on his angular face.

  “Looks like we got a situation here,” he said through his grin. “One bag of chips, two hungry sixth graders. A real cluster jam of supply and demand. So how are we going to work this out?”

  Charlie could tell that Dylan was just as flabbergasted as he was; Dylan’s mouth was wide open, his lower lips starting to quiver. The watching crowd had gone silent as well.

  Everyone at Nagassack knew who Finn Carter was—at least everyone had heard of the seventh grader, even if many had hardly ever seen him in person. He was one of those kids who Charlie had heard whispers about for as long as he could remember. Crazy smart, a boy genius who had been bumped up in classes since the third grade; but nobody would have ever called Finn Carter a nerd. Athletic, handsome, taller than average, with limbs as chiseled and taut as his prominent cheekbones and triangle chin. Finn had been captain of the Nagassack swim team for thre
e years in a row and had been widely considered the best swimmer in Eastern Massachusetts since winning a state championship in fifth grade. Just last year, Finn had taken his team all the way to the national finals, himself the front-runner in four different swimming styles. The team was set to take victory at the meet. And then something happened. The final day of competition, the morning of the main team relay that would have secured Nagassack the gold medal and its first national victory in school history, and Finn hadn’t showed up. It had been one heck of scandal at the time. Nobody had been quite sure what had happened. Finn had never spoken about it, never given an excuse, never given any sort of apology. Finn had simply not shown up.

  And that’s where most of the whispers about Finn Carter had ended. Finn had been like a ghost at Nagassack from that moment on, a kid you just didn’t see in the hall or pass on your way to class. In fact, this was the first time that Charlie had seen the seventh grader up close. Dark hair in jaunty waves, falling down over his tan forehead. Ski slope cheekbones, and that knife-sharp, angled chin. Eyes the shape of almonds. Up close, Finn looked kind of like an anime character from a Japanese manga. Finn was an enigma in black jeans and a distressed leather flight jacket.

  “What do you think, Magic,” Finn continued, this time over his left shoulder, to the other kid standing behind him. “Should I get all Solomon in the situation, cut the bag in half and let the chips fall where they may? Or does might make right?”

  Charlie looked past Finn, to the fireplug of a kid standing a few feet behind him. Finn was a mystery, a kid you just didn’t see day-to-day at Nagassack; but Michael Buster, the Magic Bus, or usually just Magic, was someone you simply couldn’t miss. Another seventh grader like Finn, Magic was also a standout personality at the school, but for very different reasons. Magic was a notorious class clown, a bit of a loudmouth, and sometimes even a bad seed. Even though Magic was short for his age, he was built like a battering ram, with a flat cube of a head and legs like tree stumps, and he wore a daily uniform of brightly colored tie-dyed shirts, always paired with cargo shorts. He’d been sent home for ignoring the school’s dress code so many times that teachers had finally just given up. Along the way, Magic had racked up more detention hours than anyone else in the history of Nagassack. Magic had received his nickname during one such Saturday morning spent in school-ordained captivity, using the opportunity to try out a routine he had learned online—something involving a pair of chameleons borrowed from the science room and a top hat with a secret compartment sewn into the lining. Of course, the trick had gone horribly wrong; to this day, the lizards were thought to be living somewhere in the rafters of the school. And Magic had earned himself three more weeks of detention along with his brand-new nom de plume.

  At the moment, Magic was grinning almost as widely as his friend Finn while he stepped forward, poking a stumpy finger into Dylan’s chest.

  “We could wrestle for it. I’m not sure I’m in this one’s weight class, but I’m willing to make a go of it.”

  There was sweat beading on Dylan’s upper lip. Charlie could see that his nemesis was more than a little bit put off by the presence of the two older kids. Even though Dylan was bigger than both of them, and he had his two buddies behind him, the two seventh graders were an imposing sight. Magic was thickly built and, more important, didn’t seem to care about getting in trouble. And Finn was a mystery. At the moment, there was a frightening spark in those almond eyes. Something was going on here that Charlie did not understand. And if Charlie didn’t understand it, Dylan certainly would be beyond lost.

  “Keep the chips,” Dylan finally growled. He stepped away from Magic’s finger, then gave Charlie a final look. “We’ll talk again later, Numbers.”

  With that, Dylan turned and stalked away. Liam and Dusty follow dutifully behind. Eventually, the crowd of onlookers disbursed. Charlie wanted to leave too. Really, he wanted to turn and run as fast as he could, but the two seventh graders were still standing in front of him. So he just stood there, waiting.

  When the crowd was mostly gone, Finn showed him an amiable smile.

  “Here you go, champ,” Finn said. “But you really should be more careful about what you put into your body.”

  He tossed the bag of chips to Charlie. It hit Charlie in the chest, and he made a grab for it, but of course the bag fell right through his fingers. As he bent down to pick it up, he noticed Finn’s military-style boots, and Magic’s flip-flops. Another Saturday detention waiting to happen.

  “Uh, thanks.”

  Charlie straightened back up, clearing his throat as he tried to think of what to say. It was a bizarre situation, the two seventh graders acting like Good Samaritans in a place that was pretty short on random acts of kindness. Charlie glanced past them and caught sight of Jeremy. Jeremy was shooting him a look that was easy to read: Get the heck out of there, man, before something else happens! But Charlie was frozen in place.

  “Don’t let that jerk get you down,” Finn responded, still smiling. “Guys like him spend their lives trying to prove something. Guys like us, well, we don’t have anything to prove.”

  Charlie raised his eyebrows. Guys like us? Up until this moment, he would never have imagined that Finn would even know who he was. And even if the older kid somehow recognized Charlie from some school photo album, what could they possibly have in common?

  “Well,” Charlie murmured. “I certainly appreciate the help. I’m just glad you happened to be walking by.”

  “With a name like Numbers, you can’t possibly believe in coincidences, can you?”

  Charlie’s mouth opened, but he didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t sure what Finn meant by the question. He glanced up at the clock fixed into one of the wooden rafters near the ceiling, saw that it was barely a minute before the morning bell, but he still felt rooted in place.

  “Numbers isn’t really my name.”

  “We know who you are, Charlie. And we know why they call you that. We’re just here, making conversation.”

  And suddenly, at that moment, the shrill sound of the morning bell reverberated through the front atrium. A shiver moved down Charlie’s spine, not entirely due to the metallic vibration from the bell. The situation was getting stranger by the second. Charlie cast another look at Jeremy, saw his friend waving his spindly arms, gesturing that they were going to be late. Maybe Finn and Magic didn’t care about getting detentions, but Charlie had never been in trouble in his life.

  “Okay, then. We should be on our way to class. Thanks again, and I guess I owe you guys.”

  “If you really mean that,” Finn said, sliding his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket, “there is a way you could pay us back.”

  “It’s just a bag of potato chips,” Charlie started, but Finn laughed. Magic reached out and gave Charlie’s shoulder a friendly squeeze.

  “Relax, kid,” Magic said. “We’re not here to give you a hard time. We just want to invite you to join us on a little excursion this Saturday.”

  “I assume you’re free?” Finn added, arching an eyebrow.

  The morning bell went silent, the metallic sound still echoing in Charlie’s ears.

  “This Saturday?” he asked. “I mean, I’ve got a lot of homework, and I think my parents might have something planned—”

  “I totally understand,” Finn interrupted, shrugging amiably. “But if you change your mind, or somehow find some free time—the Sherwood Halloween Fair. Ever heard of it?”

  Charlie blinked. Of course he had heard of the Sherwood Halloween Fair. The annual fall carnival was one of the highlights of the season. Although it was a weak little sibling to the larger carnivals in places like Salem or Concord, the Sherwood Fair was less than twenty minutes from Nagassack, and certainly worth the brief car trip and the five-dollar entrance fee.

  “Sure,” Charlie said. “What about it?”

  Finn smiled again—then suddenly turned and headed toward the revolving glass door that led out of the school,
Magic right behind him. Two minutes after the morning bell, classes already probably starting, and the two seventh graders were heading outside.

  “If you finish your homework,” Finn responded as he entered the glass revolving door, “meet us at Sherwood, and you’ll find out. By the midway games, say two p.m.”

  With that, in a swirl of glass and distressed leather, Finn was gone. Magic gave Charlie a final wave, then followed his mysterious friend into the revolving door.

  “Enjoy your chips, Charlie.”

  Charlie watched Magic’s flip-flops as they vanished within a whirl of motion. Alone by the vending machine, he could barely feel the bag of chips against his palm. He shook his head, then quickly rejoined Jeremy by the lockers.

  “What was that all about?” Jeremy asked as they started toward their first-period class.

  “I have no idea,” Charlie answered truthfully.

  But deep down, Charlie was more than a little curious. He thought about what Finn had said, about there being no such things as coincidences. If Finn and Magic hadn’t run into him by the vending machine randomly, well, the whole scene didn’t make much sense.

  “We’re going to be late,” Jeremy grumbled, propelling himself forward on his giraffelike legs.

  Charlie followed two steps behind, still lost in thought.

  He couldn’t shake the feeling. Something big was about to happen.

  3

  GREEN.

  A lush and brilliant interlocking tapestry of green, flashing by at close to thirty mph. Charlie felt himself disappearing into that deep well of color as he pressed his face against the cold glass window. Ten days after Labor Day and the trees had not yet begun to change, but the colors seemed all the more intense because they were now so temporary. A few more weeks and the green would give way to an entirely different palette, reds and yellows and browns, nature’s fireworks painted in strokes of leaf and daggers of bark.