by Greg Logsted
For once the sight of the Yankees-capped, unsmiling bus driver who wears a road map for a face is a welcome one. She swings open the door and the others wait for me to enter. As I walk up the stairs, the noise level of the bus dims with each step I take.
I stand at the head of the aisle looking for an open seat. Everyone seems to be staring at me and I don’t think it’s because of my clothes.
A guy in the fourth row yells, “Ready…aim…suit!”
He laughs at his own joke until a girl behind him leans forward and whispers into his ear. The smile on his face is instantly replaced with alarm.
Someone I’ve never seen before in the back of the bus stands and shouts, “Hey, Cody! Back here, I saved you a seat!”
I’m more curious than anything else. I see a few other empty seats, but who is this big kid with the black leather jacket and multiple facial piercings? Why is he so desperate for me to sit with him?
There are two really good-looking girls sitting in the seat next to him, waving. “Yeah, Cody! Sit with us!”
I walk to the back of the bus. The guy with the leather jacket extends his hand. I go to shake it but he starts with some kind of bizarre handshake I don’t understand, grabbing, punching, and pointing. My dad told me that a handshake is the measure of a man. This is more like synchronized swimming; I’m not sure what it’s supposed to measure.
In the end we revert to the conventional handshake I’m familiar with.
“Cody, good to see you again. I’d like to introduce you to the girls. This here is Amber, and that’s Nicki.”
Both girls smile and call out together, “Hey, Cody.”
He grabs my arm. “Come on, sit down, sit down.”
I’m pulled down next to him and he moves in close. The smell of leather, cigarettes, and his foul breath is overpowering. He speaks in a dull, steady voice like some kind of cave-dwelling creature. “The girls, they really wanted to meet you. I told them not to worry, I’d introduce you. I always keep my word.”
“Do I know you?”
He laughs—it sounds like nuts and bolts being shaken in a can—and gives me a light punch on the shoulder. “Duh, I’m in your Spanish class.”
“You are?”
“Yeah, of course, I sit in the back row by the door. Actually, I haven’t been to class in a while but I was there for your first day. You know, when you got kicked out.”
I study his face; he looks like he could be sixteen. Did he stay back a few times? I think I’ve seen him around school but I’m not sure. “I’m sorry. I don’t remember your name.”
“It’s Troy, Troy Sampson. Everybody knows who I am. Ask around.” He lowers his voice. “If you ever want anything, I mean anything at all, I’m your man.”
I stare at the back of the seat in front of me trying to figure out what “anything” in a junior high school could mean. I’ve come across guys like Troy all over the world. Every town and city has a Troy. Sometimes they can be useful, but more often than not they’re magnets for trouble who should be avoided.
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
He smiles. “Do that. I don’t disappoint. Now how about meeting the girls?”
“Um, sure.”
He puts his arm around my shoulder and gives me a little shake. “Oh, one more thing. I really like this suit. I mean it’s totally you, totally cool. What a great statement. It’s very…American Gangster. I loved that movie.”
“Thanks…um, I guess.”
Troy winks, then switches seats with the girls. They squeeze in next to me. Both of them talk really fast. They’re very attractive but equally annoying; it’s like mixing sugar and salt. All things considered, I think I’d rather be left alone. Besides, all they really want to talk about is the fight. I don’t want to talk about it.
The ride takes forever. I really hate this bus.
School, with its mirrored front doors and kids scurrying around like very loud, backpack-clad cockroaches, is a welcome sight. I’m not sure how much longer I could have lasted with Amber and Nicki. How could a conversation with two beautiful girls prove to be so mind-numbingly painful? I seriously considered launching myself out that emergency exit door on a number of occasions.
Troy and the girls walk with me to the school. I try to act like we all just happen to be walking in the same direction but they keep talking to me, asking questions and laughing like we’re sharing the world’s biggest joke together.
When we march into school the first person I see is Frank Flynn. He’s leaning against a wall. His huge bulk makes him look like he’s sinking into it.
We make eye contact and he quickly signals me to join him. I nod back my agreement.
I turn to Troy. “Hey, I’ve got to talk to someone. See you later.”
He seems both surprised and disappointed. “Um, sure. No problem. I’m always around. Remember what I said about if you ever need anything.”
“Yeah, um, I’ll remember.”
His fist is between us. Hovering in the air, waiting for me to start the mystical handshake of the self-proclaimed cool kids. I’ve had enough. I briefly consider a quick roundhouse to his chin instead but dismiss the idea, although it’s not without merit.
I grab his fist and pump it up and down a few times before dismissing him. If he senses my annoyance, he doesn’t let on.
Amber and Nicki smile, give me little girl waves and a singsong, “Bye-bye, Cody!”
Nicki blows me a kiss before the two girls link arms and glide down the hall together. They seem magnetic—all the guys turn and watch them walk by.
I’ve been wondering what my mother was like when she was my age. I’m sure she wasn’t like that. Maybe she was quiet and kept to herself. I really don’t know. I’ll have to ask Jenny.
I walk over to Frank. “What’s up?”
“What are you doing with Troy Sampson?”
“You know him?”
He shakes his head in disgust. “I don’t know him. I just know of him. Everyone does. Troy is trouble. Last year he shoved my head in a toilet. I think he’s shoved everyone’s head in a toilet. He’s not someone you want to be friends with.”
“He’s not my friend.”
“That’s not what it looked like to me. You guys seemed real chummy.”
I can feel a smile tugging its way onto my face. “Did you say chummy?”
He stops leaning on the wall and stands up straight. “Well, you know what I mean, you looked friendly. Listen, all I’m saying is watch out, he’s the Tony Soprano of our school.”
“Who’s Tony Soprano?”
“You know, of The Sopranos.”
“What are the sopranos?”
His eyes open wide. “Haven’t you ever heard of the show, The Sopranos?”
“Sorry, I don’t watch television.”
“Well, that’s just…well, it’s just weird. Who doesn’t watch TV?”
“I guess I don’t.”
“Well, the point is, watch out for Troy, he’s trouble.”
I pat him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, Frank. I don’t like the guy. I don’t even like his two girlfriends.”
“You mean Amber and Nicki?”
“Yeah.”
Frank looks up and down the hall before covering his mouth and leaning forward. His voice is so low I can barely hear it. “Rumor has it they’ll do absolutely anything he tells them to do.”
“I guess that’s…interesting to know.”
Frank starts to laugh. His whole body shakes. “That’s one way to put it, ‘interesting to know.’”
He stops laughing and gets serious. “Cody, I have to tell you something.”
“Sure, what’s the matter?”
His gaze falls to the floor. “It’s about yesterday.”
“What about it?”
“Um, I just wanted to apologize.”
“Hey, you didn’t do anything wrong. It was the other guys who were being jerks.”
He stops looking at the floor and looks me in
the eye. “Yeah, they were jerks but I should have done something to help. I’m sorry.”
“Hey, don’t worry about it.”
“It’s just that the whole thing kinda freaked me out. I’ve never seen anything like that before. It all happened so fast. I thought they were all…well, you know what I thought.”
“Like I said, don’t worry about it. Okay?”
“Okay…Thanks.”
He steps backward and gives me an appraising look. “So, now that I got that out of the way, tell me something—what’s up with the suit?”
“Nothing. I just feel more comfortable in suits.”
“Yeah, well, I feel more comfortable in my pajamas and slippers but you don’t see me wearing them to school.”
I start to laugh, picturing Frank walking around the halls in his pajamas. “I grew up with my dad. I’ve always worn a suit. When I dress like I’ve been dressing here in school, to me it feels like I’m wearing my pajamas in public.”
“What did you wear at your other schools?”
I’ve got to be more careful. This is why it doesn’t pay to talk about yourself. After a while you slip out from under the cover you’ve created. You start slowly revealing more and more about the real you. My dad used to say, “Don’t talk; walk.” It meant don’t get close to anyone.
I clear my throat. “Um, at my other schools we always had to wear uniforms.”
“Uniforms. Oh, man, I’d really hate that, but a uniform’s not the same as a suit.”
I smile. “It’s practically the same.”
“I guess. Hey, you wanna head up to the science labs? I know these two guys; they’re going to let all the lab mice run free in the halls before school starts. I have this crazy idea that it’s going to be like the running of the bulls, only with mice. It could be fun to watch.”
I think about the possibilities. I don’t have to think very long. “Sounds great. Let’s go.”
The walk through the now-familiar halls is completely different than any other day at school. Suddenly everyone seems to know who I am. In a way I have become “Mr. Hollywood.” As we move along, elbows are being jabbed into the sides of friends, chins are being raised in my direction, conversations stop, and whispering begins.
Some people like this kind of attention. I don’t. Neither would my dad. I’m sure he’d be disappointed. When we said good-bye at the airport he gave me a big hug and said, “Remember, don’t do anything to draw attention to yourself, just blend in. Become the invisible boy.”
Frank and I pass by the large mirror that asks ARE YOU LOOKING AT AN HONOR STUDENT? I admire the cut of my suit, the silk tie, the polished Italian shoes. Honor student? Hardly, but a vast improvement over the girls’ gym uniform I was recently forced to wear.
I run right into Renee. When I say run into, I don’t mean I see her in the hall. I mean I’m too busy admiring myself in the mirror to watch where I’m going.
Her books crash to the floor and she makes a strange yipping sound, like when you accidentally step on a dog’s tail. We both reach down to pick up the books at the same time and we really slam our heads together. Renee holds her head and leans against a row of lockers. Her eyes fill with tears.
I quickly move to her side. I understand how she feels. I’m feeling out of it myself. There are little black spots distorting my vision, dancing in front of my eyes like a swarm of gnats. I feel like I’m moving in slow motion. The last time I felt like this was when I was learning how to use a pair of nunchucks and I accidentally slammed one against my forehead. I had a huge knot on my head for two weeks.
“Renee, Renee, I’m sorry, are you okay?”
She’s shaking her head and blinking her eyes. “That really hurt!”
“I know. I guess we both have hard heads.”
She stares at me for a while. I can see the focus slowly coming back into her eyes. In a low voice she says, “You know something?”
I lean forward. “What?”
“You’re such an idiot.”
I feel like buildings are crashing down inside my chest. I try my best to smile but it’s really hard. “If it’s any consolation, I feel like an idiot.”
There’s a small crowd gathering around us. I hear someone ask, “What happened?” Then the clear, loud reply: “That guy Cody just beat up some girl.”
I turn in their direction and hold up my hands. “No, no…that’s not what happened, really. I didn’t hit her. I swear. It was a mistake, an accident. We hit our heads together picking up her books.”
The crowd looks skeptical. Then a voice in the back says, “He’s lying. I saw the whole thing. He just went crazy and threw her against the lockers.”
“No, I didn’t, really! It was an accident.”
I move toward the crowd to plead my case and they quickly back away from me. I can see that they don’t believe me. I also see the fear and mistrust in their eyes. I’ve become some kind of horrible monster, like Frankenstein’s creature.
I give up and move back to Renee’s side. “How’s the head? You okay?”
She seems more irritated than hurt. “What’s wrong with you? I mean it. I heard about your fight yesterday. Do you like hurting people? Did you enjoy hurting me?”
“No, of course not! I said I was sorry. I really meant it. It was an accident. You must know that.”
She gives me an icy glare. “I’m a vegetarian. I bet you didn’t know that.”
“What’s that got to do with anything?”
“I’m not surprised you don’t get it. I don’t eat meat because I think it’s cruel. What makes you think I’d want to be seen with someone who goes around hurting people for the fun of it?”
“I don’t hurt people for the fun—”
She holds up her hand. “Cody, I don’t want to hear it! Don’t talk to me. Where are my books? I just want to get out of here before you kick me in the head or something.”
“Please, Renee, don’t be like this…. Um, what about France?”
“Forget France…just give me my books.”
Frank hands her the books and she takes off down the hall, her heels angrily tapping away on the tile floor. I watch her walk and wonder the whole time if I should try to stop her or just let her go.
When she rounds the corner Frank says, “You should have stopped her.”
“You really think so?”
He starts to laugh. “No way. Are you crazy? She would have killed you. I don’t know anything about girls, but I know when someone’s mad. And she was really mad. I think you should give her some time to cool down.”
“I guess…maybe you’re right.”
He gives me a long, appraising look. “Oh, I get it. You like her, don’t you?”
I can feel my cheeks reddening. Why do they keep doing that? “Well, I guess, maybe, kind of.”
He keeps looking at me and nods his head. I’m embarrassed that I parted with this information. He doesn’t seem to know what to do with it. We stand together in silence. I glance again at the mirror. I somehow look smaller, even with my suit.
Frank points his chin down the hallway. “Um, you wanna see if we can still catch the running of the mice?”
URBAN LEGEND
In the end the mice never ran free. The science lab hall filled with students, not mice. It seems like everyone in the school heard the rumor and came upstairs hoping to catch the rodent rampage.
I’ve noticed there’s always one crazy rumor or another floating around this school. If half the things happened that were rumored to happen, this would be one of the oddest places on earth. I can only imagine what they’re saying about me.
I should have known nothing was going to happen with the mice. Freeing them would have involved picking a lock or stealing a key. I doubt anyone around here is capable of performing such a simplistic feat.
When the crowd grows restless I briefly consider just doing it myself but decide it’s not worth the risk. I’ve become the center of attention. It would be tough to sneak ar
ound picking locks with everyone staring at me.
The school will just have to find some comfort in the fact that I’m the grand consolation prize. If it’s not going to be overrun by rodents at least it’s got me, Cody the Psychopath, to hold its attention.
I plow through the remainder of the morning feeling like a large poisonous snake. Everybody flashes me the same nervous smile and flinches if I move my hands too quickly. When I walk down the crowded halls they part in front of me. Laughter stops when I get close to it. Classrooms grow quiet when I pass into them.
Even teachers treat me differently. They stand as far away from me as possible, avoid eye contact, and no longer debate my points. If I have to hear one more teacher say, “That’s very interesting, I’ll have to give it further thought,” I seriously think my head’s going to explode.
I imagine that would really give this school something to talk about. I’d be Cody the Exploding-Headed Boy.
Throughout the morning I look constantly for Renee. I want to apologize for the hall incident and try to explain what really happened in the locker room. I think if I can just get her to listen to me, everything will be all right.
I don’t see her until history class. She must be avoiding me; the school’s large, but not that large. When I walk into the room I smile and try to get her attention, but she turns away and continues talking to her friend Fiona.
Everyone grows quiet, just like they have in all my other classes.
I take my seat and reach out and touch her shoulder. I whisper, “Hey, Renee, I’m sorry about this morning.”
She doesn’t look at me, she just mutters, “Whatever.”
My voice grows a little louder. “I want to tell you what happened, you know, about the fight.”
She sighs. “I don’t want to talk about fights, and I thought I made it clear that I don’t want to talk to you, either.”
“Just let me explain what happened.”
Her hand rises, signaling me to stop talking. “No. I don’t want to hear it. Seriously.”
I sink back into my seat and just let the class slip by. It’s nothing new, just the same old history, with Mrs. Smith’s strange twists. I watch Renee without being completely obvious. I don’t want her to think I’m an obsessive freak or anything. She watches the teacher and doodles in her notebook. They’re good doodles, too—cartoon figures, castles, flowing landscapes. I wonder if she paints. I bet she could paint a beautiful painting. Now that would be something worth hanging on one of my empty bedroom walls.