Stu Truly

by Dan Richards

  At 11:00, I excused myself to use the restroom. Actually, at 11:00, everyone taking part in the sit-in asked permission to go to the restroom. We had agreed that this was the simplest plan since we were spread out across enough classes to avoid suspicion, although it was not nearly as cool as Ben’s idea of bungee jumping out the windows.

  I retrieved my backpack from my locker, then headed to the boys’ room to put my father’s plan into action.

  “STU!”

  Ben ran up from behind and clapped me on the back. “Are you joining us?”

  I held the backpack away from his wandering eyes. “Yeah, I guess so.”

  “That’s so great! Wouldn’t be a protest without you.”

  Ben fell into step beside me. “Maybe they’ll bring in fire hoses and spray us. Or police dogs. Or use pepper spray.”

  Ben had a way of making even the safest things sound dangerous.

  “Yeah, I’m sure the police have been waiting for a group of protesting middle schoolers so they can get out their riot gear.”

  “Do you think?”

  “No.”

  The grin on Ben’s face drooped. “Maybe they’ll at least have their batons out.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  He kicked at the floor. “Can’t a guy dream?”

  I shuddered to think what went on inside his brain while he slept.

  We arrived at the boys’ room. “Hey, I gotta take care of business.” I turned my back before Ben could offer to escort me inside. “See you at the cafeteria.”

  The swarm of butterflies from Monday returned. They seemed to have brought family. A giant butterfly reunion was taking place inside my stomach. I pulled the rack of ribs costume from my backpack. Only it didn’t look like a rack of ribs anymore. I suddenly wondered if anyone would get it. What if they thought I was a walking pile of poop? Against my better judgment, I put on the costume anyway.

  The real moment of truth waited. Either I’d be greeted with open arms or turned away with a cold shoulder. I looked in the mirror. One thing was for sure. I wouldn’t go unnoticed. Taking a last deep breath, I stepped out into the hallway.

  “Dude, that is awesome!”

  I should have known Ben would be waiting for me.

  “I wondered what was taking you so long.” He eyed me up and down again. “Dude, you the man. Or should I say tater tot?”

  We hurried toward the cafeteria.

  “You’re going to be a hit.”

  “I don’t know about that.”

  Ben eyed me again. “Believe me, you the man.”

  Everyone else was already inside the cafeteria setting up. When Ben and I entered, all eyes turned. I heard a collective gasp. And then a chorus of whoops and hollers.

  “Dude!” Tyler yelled. “You are one hot baked potato!”

  Kirsten ran over and patted my melted butter hat. “How did you think of this?” she exclaimed.

  “I had a little help.”

  “It’s AMAZING!”

  Okay, maybe my dad was a genius.

  Someone handed me a sign that read Vegetarians Deserve Lunch, Too!!! The sign looked good next to the Vegetarians Unite pin boldly hanging from my potato skin.

  A man with a camera approached. “Now that’s a picture waiting to be taken.”

  “He’s from the newspaper,” Kirsten whispered.

  The man gathered everyone around me and then stepped back to get us all in the picture. “Where’s the girl that instigated all this?” he asked.

  Kirsten pulled Becca front and center next to me. “Here she is.”

  “Great,” the man said, motioning us to get closer together. “Now everyone lean in around them.”

  I whispered to Becca, “If you’d rather, I won’t take part.”

  She punched the spongy bulge of my baked potato suit. “And miss seeing you walking around like this?”

  She had a point.

  The photographer counted down, “Three . . . two . . . one,” then snapped a photo. “Perfect. That is perfect.”

  Kids began streaming into the cafeteria for lunch.

  “Places, everyone!” Becca yelled.

  The group flew into action, blocking the lunch line with their signs held high.

  Becca lifted a megaphone to her lips. “Vegetarians...” she called out.

  “Deserve to eat,” we answered back.

  “Vegetarians . . .” she called again.

  “Deserve to eat,” we responded.

  One of the cooks stepped out of the kitchen. “What is going on here?” she demanded.

  “We’re protesting the lack of vegetarian entrée options,” Becca explained.

  The cook looked over at me. “What’s that? Your mascot?”

  Kirsten stepped next to Becca. “Yep. He’s our little baked potato boy.”

  The cook eyed me again. “Oh, I thought he was a day-old wheat roll.”

  If you’re a cook and you can’t tell the difference between a baked potato and a wheat roll, you’re probably in the wrong job. Seriously.

  I pointed to the green pieces of pipe cleaner sprinkled across the top of my potato skin. “They’re chives, ma’am.”

  That brought a snort from her. “How did I miss that?” She turned her attention back to Becca. “I hate to spoil your fun, but you’re blocking the line. If you guys don’t move out of the way, I’ll have to go get the principal.”

  Becca gave her a winning smile. “Yes, we’re hoping for that.”

  The cook shook her head and headed toward the office. “Who’d a thunk the day would come when kids started protesting for more vegetables? What is the world coming to?”

  A few minutes later, Principal Stevens entered, followed by the cook.

  “This is what I was telling you about,” said the cook.

  “I see,” said Principal Stevens.

  “Vegetarians . . .” Becca called out on the megaphone.

  “DESERVE TO EAT!” we yelled back.

  Principal Stevens approached our group. She eyed Becca’s megaphone, then my costume. Then took time to read all the signs we were holding. “This is quite an event you’ve organized,” she said at last.

  Becca faced her. “We think there should be vegetarian entrée options at lunch,” she explained.

  The Principal checked out the reader board. It read the same as always: Hamburger or chicken strips with french fries. “I see.” Her attention returned to our group. “And did you get permission in advance to hold a protest in the lunchroom?”

  Becca’s face went ashen. “Permission?”

  “Especially if anyone left class early to participate.”

  “It wouldn’t be a protest if we got permission,” Ben blurted.

  “Well, actually that’s not true,” Principal Stevens said to Ben. “At this school, we expect you to get permission before hosting a protest. Especially one that prevents other students not participating from being able to buy lunch.”

  I looked around. A line of kids stood, waiting for us to move out of the way.

  “But—but,” Becca said, “we’re trying to change the system.”

  “I appreciate that,” the principal replied. “But you’re doing so at the expense of others not part of your cause. They have rights, too.”

  “But they get lunch every day,” Becca responded. “Vegetarians can never buy lunch.”

  Principal Stevens pondered. “I understand your point. Let’s continue this conversation in my office, shall we?”

  “But we’re not done protesting,” Becca said.

  “Hmm . . . tell me, what was the goal of this protest?”

  Becca thought for a moment. “Well, we wanted to bring attention to the problem.”

  “And you’ve succeeded. If you’ll come to my office, perhaps we can do even better than that.”

  Becca turned to the rest of us. “What do you think?”

  Heads nodded. Signs lowered.

  “You did it,” Kirsten whispered.

  Befor
e I could stop myself, I said, “I’m coming with you.”

  “Thank you,” Becca replied.

  When we got to the main office, Principal Stevens motioned to a couple chairs outside her door. “Please wait here. I need a few minutes.”

  She entered her office and closed the door behind her.

  I tried to squeeze into a chair, but the bulge of my baked potato refused to fit between the arm rests.

  “I guess I’ll stand,” I said, popping back up.

  Becca stood next to me while we waited. The zombie warlord in my chest reminded me this was a perfect opportunity to get a few things off my chest. “Uh, uh, I wanted to, uh, to say I was—” I stuttered like a professional stutterer.

  Becca put a hand on her hip. “You don’t need to apologize for anything, Stu.” She avoided my eyes completely. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “No, really,” I said. “It does matter. I lied to you about being vegetarian. I’m not. I was really stupid. I’m sorry.”

  Becca turned toward me. “Why did you tell me you were a vegetarian?”

  Why? The blush on my face could have heated a small gymnasium. “Well, I—sometimes you just—the thing is—I think you’re—you know—”

  Her hand brushed against mine. “You’re funny,” she said.

  “Really?” If there was ever a time I didn’t feel funny, it was now.

  Becca gave me a nudge. “Yeah, especially when you’re embarrassed.”

  “Then I must be hilarious right now.”

  She studied the blushing face mounted on a baked potato body. “You have no idea.”

  I bumped her in return.

  “You know,” she continued, “it’s okay if we’re not the same.”

  I nodded. “I like killing zombies.”

  “Ooh.” Her lips puckered with distaste. “I like playing soccer.”

  “Really? I like soccer.”

  She gave me a puzzled look. “Seriously? Or are you just saying that?”

  Now why would she wonder that? “No, really. Ben and I have been on the same team since we were little.”

  “Figures. You two do everything together.”

  “Pretty much.”

  We stared out the window at a single cloud floating by. For a moment, time stood still.

  A trace of a smile curved Becca’s lips. “You know, you might be more vegetarian than you think.”

  The bacon I had eaten for breakfast jumped to mind. “Maybe. I did eat a piece of kale this week.”

  “More than that,” she said. “You like cheese, don’t you?”

  “Well, yeah, of course.”

  “Did you know cheese is vegetarian?”

  “Say what?”

  She giggled. “Cheese is vegetarian. So are nuts.”

  “I love nuts. My best friend is one.”

  She giggled again. “Oreos are vegetarian. So is pudding. Even marshmallows sometimes.”

  Whoa. My view of vegetarianism was being turned on its head.

  “We should have a vegetarian party,” she suggested. “With s’mores.”

  I found myself clapping my hands like Ben. Thank God he wasn’t there to witness it.

  “That’s a great idea! We have a fire pit in our backyard. I’ll ask my parents.”

  The door to Principal Stevens’s office opened. “You can come in now,” she said.

  Becca and I stood before Principal Stevens’s desk, me looking big, round, and buttery, and her looking, well—like she always does.

  Principal Stevens handed us a stack of pink slips. “First things first. I’ll let you pass those around.”

  I looked down at the slips in my hand. Each had a name of someone involved in the sit-in. Each said the same thing: One week’s detention. I groaned.

  “Principal Stevens,” Becca implored. “I’m the one that organized the whole thing. Please don’t punish everyone.”

  “I’m okay being punished,” I added. There were worse things than spending a week after school in detention with Becca.

  Principal Stevens gave us her don’t-push-me smile. “I appreciate the thought, but the reality is that every one of you cut class. And everyone will have to pay the price. However,” she continued, “during this afternoon’s detention, I’ve invited Ms. Halliday, the head cook, to meet with you. I just got off the phone with her. She’s open to working with you on a solution to provide more vegetarian entrée options.”

  Becca’s jaw dropped. “Really? That’s awesome!”

  “For next time, arrange with me before holding any more protests. Okay?”

  We both nodded.

  Becca looked ready to burst on our way back to class.

  “Can you believe that?” she kept repeating.

  “Yeah, you did it.”

  She beamed at me. “We all did it. Together.”

  My backpack was waiting for me at my locker. “I’m going to change before going back to class.”

  “Thanks for coming with me,” Becca said.

  “Yeah,” I replied, sticking my hand out.

  She took my hand and giggled. “Thank you, sir.”

  The absurdity of shaking hands set my cheeks burning again. “Thank you,” I squeaked. My father’s words returned to mind. He hadn’t been joking. I really was destined to do stupid things around girls for the rest of my life. I took my backpack and headed for the boys’ room to change. At the doorway, I turned. Becca was still standing next to my locker. As if on cue, we both waved goodbye.

  My walk home that afternoon was an absolute pleasure. Along the way, I counted four baby ducks and helped a little girl back on her bike. I also waved to an elderly man while humming “Happy Birthday” for absolutely no reason. Some things just can’t be helped.

  After I got home, I finished my homework in record time. Ben came over after dinner and we finished level twenty-eight of Death Intruders 4. And I introduced him to my new favorite vegetarian dessert: s’mores.

  “This vegetarian stuff is for real,” he said between gooey mouthfuls.

  For a kid with an oversized head and a thirst for chasing zombies with chain saws, he could be downright poetic.

  “My mom found vegetarian marshmallows,” I said, licking marshmallow cream off my lips. “So it really is for real.”

  Monday lunch came like any other lunch except for a few small changes. Ben, Tyler, Ryan, and I sat together like always. Except that we were now sharing a table with Kirsten, Becca, Gretchen, Annie, and about four hundred other people who had become our closest friends. And the crazy thing was that I didn’t mind any of them. Even Jackson. He waved from the far end, surrounded by roughly half the girls in the school. Best of all, my baked potato costume was a thing of the past.

  “Hey, look,” Ben said, holding up the front page of the Sunday paper. “It’s what’s for dinner.”

  Almost a thing of the past. The photo on the front page featured me in my baked potato costume surrounded by the rest of the protestors. The caption read Vegetarian protest leads to school lunch menu changes.

  I took a bite of the grilled cheese sandwich on my tray. The sign over the lunch line read Today’s specials: hamburger or grilled cheese. “Yep, it’s all about the vegetarian.”

  Ben swiped my milk and took a swig. An empty carton landed back on my tray. “Yep, all about the vegetarian,” he agreed.

  One of these days, I’m gonna stuff that kid into a milk carton. If only I can get his head to fit.

  Kirsten gave Becca a high five. “We’re real change makers.”

  “Amen,” Ben added. “Anyone got change? I want to get a juice from the vending machine.”

  Becca leaned over and held out a bag of peas.

  “Want a Joe’s Smokin’ Pea?” she asked.

  “No, thank you,” I replied.

  She gave me her best hurt-puppy-dog look. “Really? Not even one?”

  Puppies are the worst. I took a pea and popped it in my mouth. Mother of all peas. How could anyone eat those things? I gulped it down, f
ollowed by Ben’s juice. “Those are the worst things ever. I’d rather suck on Ben’s socks.”

  “And I’m not even wearing socks,” Ben added.

  That brought a groan from the crowd.

  Becca and I exchanged smiles. It felt good to be myself. Almost as good as it would feel to finish level thirty of Death Intruders 4. Ben and I were planning to do that after school. Right after detention, of course.

  The bell rang. A collective sigh rose from the table as we packed up to go.

  “Don’t forget you’re all invited to my house Friday night for a bonfire and s’mores,” I called out to the group. “And not just any s’mores: vegetarian s’mores.”

  “Wouldn’t miss it,” Ben called back.

  Becca joined the rest in giving me a thumbs-up.

  On our way to class, I pondered if I had to choose one moment to relive over and over for eternity, which moment would I choose? The day Ben and I met? Eh. My last birthday party? Probably not. Riding on my father’s parade float? No. I looked over at Becca, giggling at some joke Ben had just made. I don’t know. Maybe I’d choose this moment.

  Becca bumped my arm. “See you later.”

  “See you.”

  Yeah, I guess today’s lunch would be all right. I clapped Ben on the shoulder. Or maybe tomorrow’s. Or maybe even Friday’s bonfire. What could be better than an eternity filled with s’mores? Ben gave me a peace sign and disappeared into his next class.

  Who knew what the future held? I pulled my hood back. Guess I’d find out soon enough.

  Acknowledgments

  Writing a story AND making it funny is like adding an extra twist to a high dive. The effort is bound to bring gasps from the crowd, either in awe or alarm. Thankfully, my plunge from platform to pool occurred with the help of an amazing supporting cast. I’d like to take a moment and thank them.

  First, thanks to the town of Sequim for giving me the small-town space I needed to stumble my way out of boyhood, even if the journey is still a work in progress. BTW, the Irrigation Festival and parade are for real: irrigationfestival.com. Make your reservations early.

  Where would I be without my amazing agent, Ammi-Joan Paquette? Probably flipping burgers at this very moment. Mmm . . . burgers . . . Anyway, Joan was foolhardy enough to stand by me when no one else found my writing the least bit interesting. She alone kept the faith and kept reminding me to stop sniveling and keep writing. Thank you, Joan!