by Greg Logsted
“Cody?”
I look at Mrs. Smith.
“Yes?”
I think I missed something. Everybody’s staring at me.
“I asked you a question.”
“I’m sorry. Could you repeat the question?”
She seems aggravated. “I said, is your group ready for its presentation?”
I give Renee and Fiona a questioning look. The three of us are working on a slide show about the important role France played in gaining our independence.
Renee rolls her eyes and Fiona shakes her head. We could do it, but they just don’t want to. I’m not really in the mood, either.
I look at Mrs. Smith. She has her hand on her hip and a far-away expression like she’d rather be someplace else, maybe lying on a warm beach with her feet buried in the sand.
“I’m sorry. We’re not ready yet…. Soon.”
It looks like she’s about to say something to me, then changes her mind. She addresses the class instead. “Are there any other groups that are ready?”
No one raises a hand.
“Okay, fine. Everybody split up into your groups for the remainder of the class. But, people, tomorrow is D-Day. I mean it. Presentations begin, so you had better be prepared.”
The noise level drastically increases as everyone starts talking and moving desks together. I slide over to Renee and Fiona.
“I think we’re ready for our presentation. Fiona, did you get those slides you were talking about?”
She ignores me.
“Come on, guys, we’ve got to work on this. Renee, I said I was sorry. What more do you want?”
Her soft brown eyes change; they become cold and hard. “I want you to leave me alone. That’s what I want. Is that so difficult to understand?”
“Don’t be like that.” There’s a pleading quality to my voice I’ve never heard before. “Give me a chance to at least tell you my side of the story.”
“Cody, I don’t want to hear it.”
I sink down low in my desk and rest my chin on my crossed arms. I quietly watch the girls. Somehow they’ve made me disappear. It’s like they cast a spell and I just vanished. All the countless hours I’ve spent mastering martial arts are useless against this kind of a fight.
They’re talking about some TV show that was on last night. From their description it sounds totally absurd and like a complete waste of time.
Then the talk moves to how disappointed they were that the mice weren’t set free.
Renee gets all worked up about how cruel it is to keep all those mice in cages. She proclaims that “mice were meant to be free.”
I’ve been thinking a lot about this whole mice story and I just don’t buy it. Everyone keeps talking about the “hundreds” of mice that are in the science lab. I’ve never seen any mice in there, and as far as I know nobody has ever used a mouse for any kind of school experiment. We don’t have a college research lab; it’s junior high.
I lean forward. “I think it’s an urban legend.”
Renee looks over at me with a surprised expression, like I suddenly dropped out of the sky and landed next to her. “What’s an urban legend? What are you talking about?”
“This whole mice thing. I don’t believe it.”
“What’s not to believe?”
“I don’t believe that there are hundreds of mice in the science lab. Has anyone ever actually seen them?”
“I have.” We both look at Fiona. Her eyes are wide with excitement. “They’re in the science lab supply room. It looks like a scene out of a strange movie. Mr. Rizzo breeds them.”
I can feel myself frowning. “Why would a science teacher breed mice?”
Fiona’s getting more animated; this seems to be a topic she’s given a great deal of time and consideration. “My mother, who works part time in the guidance office, says a lot of the teachers think that Mr. Rizzo is nuts. They call him the Mice Man.”
“It still doesn’t make sense to me. Why would the school allow him to breed mice?”
“Story is, the old science teacher requested a dozen for a maze experiment and now Mr. Rizzo’s running a breeding and genetics experiment. There’s a chart on the wall in the back of the class.”
“I still don’t believe it.”
Renee lets out a long, exaggerated sigh. “What’s not to believe? Do you think Fiona’s lying?”
“I’m not saying that. I’m just saying that I don’t believe it.”
She mutters, “That figures. Why don’t you go see if you can beat the truth out of somebody?”
Then the two of them cast that spell again and I become invisible. They continue their conversation about the cruel crime against nature being allowed to happen right in our school without anyone doing anything about it.
I’ve had enough.
I ask Mrs. Smith if I can use the bathroom and sign myself out. The thing is, you should always have a plan. When you don’t have a plan everything becomes so much more involved. My dad used to say, “First with your head, then with your heart.” He meant plan first, then act. Wise advice.
It seemed so simple but I was dealing with an unknown element and that can always be troublesome. Someone once said, “Never underestimate your opponent.” That’s also wise advice, especially if you’re trying to put them into a bag. Which, may I add, is something that’s far easier said than done.
Mrs. Smith glares at me when I sign myself back into the room. I record my time as five minutes instead of the actual fifteen. I slip back into my chair and pretend I’m reading my history book. I keep my hands in my lap.
Renee’s looking at me oddly. “Where did you go?”
“Bathroom.”
“Took you long enough.”
I try to act casual. “Yeah, stomach, you know, must have been something I ate.”
“Are you bleeding?”
“What?”
“Your face, your cheek and chin.”
I reach up and touch my face. I look at my fingers; I am bleeding a little. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”
Renee’s eyes open wide. “My god! What happened to your hands?”
I look at them again. They’re full of little cuts and scratches. Why wouldn’t those little guys just stay in the bag and who would have thought they could move so incredibly fast?
Sharp little nails.
Sharp little teeth.
“Um, nothing. I just had a problem with…with the toilet-paper dispenser. It was broken and I tried to open it and…well.”
“You were fighting again. Weren’t you?”
“No! Really, I wasn’t.”
“Then how did you get so cut up?”
“I told you. Toilet-paper dispenser.”
She throws up her hands in exasperation. “What? Do I look like an idiot? Who gets attacked by a toilet-paper dispenser?”
The bell rings.
I quickly stand up and start gathering my books. “I wasn’t fighting.”
Renee’s packing her stuff, not even glancing in my direction. She mutters, “Whatever.”
We’re halfway out of class when we hear the first scream. It’s followed by many, many more. We all rush to the open door.
Out in the hall, there are little white mice…everywhere.
DRAWING PATTERNS IN THE DIRT
“So let me get this straight. You want to use my gym to teach your friends karate?”
I look Andy in the eye. I can’t tell if he’s actually mad or just giving me a hard time for the fun of it.
“Only if it’s okay with you.”
He stares off into the distance. I’m not sure why he’s giving so much thought to a simple yes or no question.
“Okay, here’s the deal: You can use the gym, but there are two conditions. Number one, everyone has to respect my gym, my house, and me.”
“Of course.”
“I don’t want my gym becoming party central. Understand?”
“Understood.”
“Number two, you and I
need to have a long, honest talk about what’s going on around here and what’s this big secret you’re carrying around about your past.”
Now it’s my turn to stare off into the distance. My dad told me the only person in this world I should trust is him. He taught me to hold my cards firmly against my chest, to never reveal anything, but then again, he also said I should always trust my gut.
Like it or not, Andy is caught up in whatever is going on around here and I’m going to have to tell him something. It’s possible I’m even going to need his help. My gut tells me it’s time to talk, but to be careful.
I decide to just plunge in. It’s like swimming: If you spend too much time dipping your toes in the water, you never get in. “Okay.”
“Okay what?”
“Okay, I’ll tell you about my past, but only if you promise not to tell anyone.”
He seems surprised. “I can agree to that. Let me get my sweatshirt. We can’t do it here. I’ll tell you why later.”
“What about my friends?”
“You brought your friends? They’re here now? You just assumed I would let them use my gym?”
“Um, yeah, I guess. Well, I didn’t bring them. They came over after detention.”
Andy rubs his eyes. He looks tired; maybe I woke him from a nap.
“Detention, huh? All of them had detention?”
“Yeah, but it was nothing serious—kind of my fault anyhow.”
He starts to yawn, moves his shoulders and stretches his back; it really does seem like he just woke up. “Have you even taught anyone karate before?”
“Um, no, but I was wondering…maybe, um, I guess I’ve got some ideas.”
He runs his hand through his hair and scratches the top of his head. “You’ve got some ideas? Maybe one of them was that I could help you?”
I smile. I try not to but it just tugs its way onto my face. “I was kinda hoping you could. That is, if you’re not too busy.”
For a moment it looks like he’s thinking about going back into the house and shutting the door in my face. We just stand there on his porch. Finally he starts to grin and shakes his head.
“What is it about you? You have this way of bending people…Okay, tell you what: I’ll give it a try. That’s all I’ll agree to. Why not? I haven’t had any luck finding a job. I’ve got to do something more than watching TV and sleeping or I’m going to go out of my mind.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet. I haven’t done anything. Come on. Let’s go meet your friends before I change my mind.”
We walk around the side of the house and find them standing by the driveway. They all have their hands buried deep in their pockets. Some are kicking the ground and they don’t seem to know what to do with their eyes.
Andy nods. “Hello, boys.”
They mutter, “Hello, sir.”
“Cody tells me he’d like to teach you karate in my personal gym. Is that right?”
They grunt “Uh-huh,” nod their heads, and continue to avoid eye contact. Everyone seems very uncomfortable. Just to have something to do, I pick a broken branch off the driveway and toss it into the woods.
“Cody?”
Andy’s looking at me with a strange expression. I’m not sure what I did wrong. “Yeah?”
“What happened to your hands?”
I glance at them. They actually look worse than they did this afternoon. The scratch marks are red and swollen. “Nothing.”
I can hear the guys starting to snicker.
“No, really, what happened to your hands?”
“Um, I was playing football and I accidentally ran into a rosebush.”
Pogo Stick mumbles, “More like a hall full of mice.”
They all start to snort and giggle, desperately trying not to laugh out loud.
I pretend I didn’t hear anything. How did they know it was me?
I don’t think Andy appreciates inside jokes. He seems annoyed. His voice rises and there’s a sharp edge to it. “It doesn’t matter what happened, all that matters is that you do something about it. You don’t want that to get all infected, do you? When you get inside put some peroxide on it. Got it?”
“Okay.”
He raises his chin at me. “Now, why don’t you introduce your friends?”
“Um, sure, let’s see, the tall guy, with the tape on his nose? That’s Billy, but everyone calls him Pogo Stick. That’s John, there’s Jay and Rob—everyone calls him Bop, no one knows why—those two are the Gomez brothers, Jose and Carlos, and over there, under the basketball net, that’s Frank.”
Andy clears his throat and gives everyone a weak smile. He seems a little nervous but I’m not sure why. “Nice to meet you. I’m not good with names so you might have to remind me later. Although, I think I’ll remember Pogo Stick and Bop. I’m sure Cody already told you but my name’s Andy.”
They all mutter hello.
“Let me show you the gym.”
We follow him around to the back of the house. I watch Pogo Stick and John exchange glances. John smiles and pulls his hand up into his sleeve and acts like he’s missing an arm.
Without turning around Andy says, “Guys, I lost an arm, not my eyes.”
John’s hand shoots down his sleeve and the smile disappears from his face. Pogo Stick grows serious and looks straight ahead. I’m about to laugh but manage to control myself.
The back door opens and we follow Andy into his basement. I watch the others for their reaction and I’m not surprised. From the outside it looks like just another normal house with just another basement, but once you walk through that door you cross into someplace special.
This time it’s Frank who voices the thoughts of the group. “This place is so cool.”
Andy seems pleased by their reactions. “Like I told Cody, you guys are welcome to use the gym as long as you treat it with respect. Think you can do that?”
They all nod.
“I’ve also agreed to help Cody teach self-defense techniques. I’m a trained instructor for the Army Rangers. I’ve served in Afghanistan and Iraq. If you guys are serious and willing to work hard I’ll get you into the best shape of your life.”
I’m surprised at how much effort everyone put into everything. I had expected Pogo Stick and the guys to give up after fifteen minutes but they all stuck with it. Especially Frank. I thought he’d be the first to quit, but the guy just kept plodding along.
In the beginning I tried to teach them but it didn’t take the guys long to realize that Andy’s a far better teacher than I am. It just seems to come natural for him. By the end of the class he was barking out orders to everyone and they pushed themselves really hard to please him. I think seeing what he could do with only one arm inspired them to give it their all. I even found myself pushing harder than normal.
One thing I did notice right away. They’re going to need a whole lot of practice. Right now, I have serious doubts they’d be able to defend themselves against a Girl Scout troop.
It was a while before everyone left. No one seemed to want to go. A couple of the parents even had to come inside to get the guys. Pogo Stick’s mother came in still wearing her uniform. I thought she was a nurse but Pogo said she’s a dental hygienist. Bop’s dad stayed the longest; he huddled in the corner talking to Andy.
Frank was the last to leave. He gave me a thumbs-up and a smile when he walked out the door. I’m glad he came. He joked a lot and added something to the group with his determination.
“Want one?” Andy’s standing with a couple of cold water bottles in his hand.
“Sure.” I take one, unscrew the cap, and guzzle half the bottle. I guess I was thirsty.
“I think it’s time we had that talk.”
I stare at my reflection in the mirror, T-shirt wet with sweat, water bottle in hand. I was prepared to tell him everything but now I’m wondering if that’s the right thing to do. What if it somehow makes everything worse?
It’s almost as if he rea
ds my mind. “Don’t worry. I just want to know what you’ve got me caught up in. What we talk about stays between you and me. I give you my word on that.”
I blow out a long breath of air. I think about the man in black again. The way he glides through the woods, that huge gun he carries, the metal box. I’m tired of the constant paranoia, and why doesn’t my dad call me? I feel like I’m floating in the middle of the ocean with nothing in sight. I’m sick of having to deal with all of this by myself. I need help.
I keep my eyes on my reflection. “If you want to talk, I’ll talk, but you have to understand, it’s tough for me.”
A small degree of anger slips into his voice. “I get that, but it’s important for you to understand that I have to know what’s going on around here. Someone’s checking up on one of us. One of us might be in a great deal of danger. For our own protection we have to first figure out who.”
It never occurred to me that this might have something to do with Andy and nothing about me. But it could. That would explain why he hasn’t tried to involve the police or someone else. Maybe Andy’s got a secret he’s hiding, too.
“Okay, let’s talk. What do you want to know?”
He stands and slips his sweatshirt over his head. “Not here. Let’s go for a slow jog. We can talk while we run. Got to be careful.”
We walk to the end of the driveway and take off down the street at a slow, even pace. At first, the sight of Andy jogging looks really strange to me. With only one arm there’s no even flow; it’s like watching a one-winged bird somehow fly.
When we’re about a half a mile from the house I say, “So what do you want to know?”
“I guess for starters: Where do you come from? Where did you used to live?”
“All over.”
“All over the country?”
“Not so much this country, mainly all over the world.”
He glances at me. “Where in the world?”