He pulls the foreign object out of his flesh. There are pieces of broken containers all over his belongings. Those bastards have gotten into his locker again. He picks his bag up with his fingertips and slings it over his shoulder, keeping his injured hand clenched shut.
Eighth grade sucks.
Murmuring in the classroom. Jimmy can hear snippets of sentences, fragments of ideas.
“Of course, we have to build an app for it,” Bryce says. “If you can’t run it from your phone, what good is it?”
“I still think your initial bot design is too clunky. I mean, yeah, it needs to function like a battle robot, but it can’t look like one if we’re going to pitch to a company,” Trevor says.
Other kids chatter amongst themselves. Biggest science fair ever this year, they say. A fifteen-thousand-dollar prize, they say. The winner also spends week at a start-up in Portland. Besides being passionate about math and technology, The Academy is fanatical about fund-raising.
“Jimmy,” the teacher asks, “are you entering the science fair this year?”
“I guess,” Jimmy says.
The entire class laughs. The students turn to gawk at Jimmy, his clumsy hands, his frightened face.
“Well, what are you going to make?” Mr. Scarecrow asks.
“Volcano,” Jimmy says.
Mr. Scarecrow slaps his open palms on his thighs, his eyes growing wide with amusement. “A volcano? A volcano! Oh, that’s quaint! That is just delightful! A third grader can make a volcano, Jimmy. Don’t you think you should aim a little higher?”
Mr. Scarecrow turns to Trevor and Bryce. “What are you two making this year?”
“A robot that kills insects in kitchens at night while people are sleeping,” Bryce says. “Roaches, silverfish, ants, whatever. And you’ll be able to control it from your phone. It will even give you a body count in the morning of how many bugs it killed.”
“That sounds amazing!” Mr. Scarecrow says, clasping his hands together like an aunt at a bake sale. “I can always count on the Science Club to make the most wonderful things.”
He turns back to Jimmy. “And you’re making a volcano. Well, keep reaching for the stars, Jimmy. I’m sure you’ll be in the running for the grand prize.”
The class laughs again. Poor Jimmy. Silly Jimmy.
“How’s your hand, Jimmy?” Trevor asks.
Jimmy looks down and stares through his desk, trying to push himself through the spaces in between the matter, willing himself to disappear into inner space. When the bell rings, Jimmy runs out of the classroom, accidentally bumping into a couple of girls. He ignores their flustered complaints, booking it down the hallway, until he bursts through the front doors of the building into the sunlight. Constantly looking over his shoulder, Jimmy runs all the way home.
The house is empty. Mother is probably at the mall or the liquor store. Maybe there is a liquor store at the mall. That would be perfect. There is a poster on Jimmy’s wall, a picture of a bright red sports car. It was one of the last things his father gave him. He carefully undoes the tape from the top right corner, then does the same with the bottom right.
Behind the poster, the wall is cracked and damaged. Jimmy chooses a clear spot. Sets his focus. The first punch shatters the white paint. It doesn’t matter. Jimmy thinks about Trevor. He thinks about Bryce. He keeps punching the wall until knuckle blood is smeared against the drywall. This isn’t some emo bullshit for Jimmy. He is not attempting to feel pain to remind himself that he is life. He does this so that he does not beat the living shit out of Trevor. Bryce. Mr. Scarecrow. He stops just short of fracturing the bones in his hands. Then he puts the poster back up on the wall, covering the evidence of his rage.
He shakes his hand, making sure his fingers still wiggle as they should. One deep breath. Hold. Exhale. He is calmer now, and he is glad of that not only for himself, but for everyone else. He feels like a gigantic prehistoric monster, wading back into the sea, after destroying a large metropolitan area, settled underneath the foam.
“Of course, I’ll take you shopping, Jimmy!” His mother is ecstatic. “I’ve been looking online, and I found a gorgeous yellow button-up shirt you would look so good in!”
“I don’t need clothes, Ma,” Jimmy says.
His mother’s excitement level drops. “Well, what do you need then?”
Jimmy stares downwards. No matter who Jimmy speaks to, he always talks to the floor. “School stuff,” he mumbles. “Science fair.”
“Oh, the science fair!” Jimmy’s mother is excited again, fully engaged. “Oh, that’s wonderful! I’m so glad you’re participating! My little genius. Tell me where we need to go!”
Jimmy shrugs. “A few places, I guess.”
“Let me grab my things and we’ll get in the car! Oooh, a shopping day with my boy. Aren’t I the luckiest mother in the world! Where are we going first?”
“Groceries.”
Jimmy hasn’t actively listened to his mother for two years. He’s not even sure she’s a person. She drifts around the house like a nosy ghost, moaning and opening and closing the refrigerator door. She yammers about things he doesn’t care about, people he doesn’t know. He nervously keeps checking his list of things he needs. He hopes her questions will be few.
In the store, his mother looks at the items in his cart. “So much flour, Jimmy. Are you making science bread?” She thinks this is hilarious, laughing until she snorts.
“Volcano,” Jimmy says. He grabs some vegetable oil. A couple of two-liters. Some corn chips for later. Some other things.
“Do you have your shopper’s card?” the checker asks. His mother fumbles with her keyring until she finds the right one.
“My boy is making science bread,” his mother tells the cashier, and starts laughing all over again. The cashier is not amused. Nor is Jimmy, who stares at the rack of candy bars as if they were the most interesting things in the world.
The bagger nestles everything up and places the bags in the cart.
The science fair is set up in the library, one of the smallest rooms at The Academy. There are more computer terminals than books, and little natural light. It is an odd architectural statement for a school to make, reducing a visit to the library to a trip to the dungeon.
Tables are set up, flanked by tri-folded poster board featuring information about each experiment. Nervous students stand with their projects, muttering their prepared statements under their breath. The whole room smells of data and fear.
Jimmy has his speech memorized and ready. He practiced it all weekend, pacing across the basement floor, saying it over and over to himself, like Luca Brasi preparing to meet the Don on the day of his daughter’s wedding. Mr. Scarecrow is on his way, and Jimmy will be ready.
In between the solar batteries, terrariums, and homemade robots wanders the teacher. Mr. Scarecrow’s face is expressionless, giving students no indication of success or failure. He makes notes on a clipboard without looking down, meticulous blind scrawls on a yellow legal pad.
Bryce and Trevor are wearing tuxedos, because they are assholes. Their robot insect killer makes spastic movements, unpredictable forward lurches, simulated attacks on non-existent bugs. They argue among themselves quietly over functionality and the jankiness of their phone app.
Jimmy stands perfectly still behind his table. He is ready to perform. He wonders if he will have a real chance to win. He is pretty sure he will not.
“Jimmy, tell me about your project,” Mr. Scarecrow says.
Now is the time. Jimmy straightens his posture and begins. “Hello. My name is Jimmy Langston, and this is my science fair project. As you can see, it is a volcano.”
“That’s it?” Mr. Scarecrow asks. “Volcano?”
“The volcano is the perfect medium for a scientific experiment because it acts as a giant test tube,” Jimmy says.
“I’m going to just stop you right there, Jimmy,” Mr. Scarecrow says. “This is childish.”
“It’s science,”
Jimmy says.
“This is a third-grade level, public school project,” Mr. Scarecrow says. “Bringing it to The Academy, especially to the Science Fair, is shameful.”
Mr. Scarecrow writes on his legal pad before turning on the ball of his foot and heading towards the Science Club table. All the air has left Jimmy’s body. Everything is muffled. He thinks of the monster under the ocean, storming towards shore.
Jimmy feels eyes on him, the stares of his classmates. Mr. Scarecrow is chatting with the Science Club. Jimmy can’t hear what they’re saying, but he knows they are talking about him. Mr. Scarecrow is a totally different person around Bryce and Trevor. His arms move. He smiles. Bryce and Trevor change from Alpha to Beta in his presence. Mr. Scarecrow laughs as he writes, walking away with an air of decision. Jimmy’s eyes follow the teacher as he leaves the library. The door closes with a resounding clack.
“Let’s take a look at that volcano, Jimmy,” says Trevor, walking towards Jimmy’s table with Bryce. Then, everyone is. All the students abandon their exhibits and head towards Jimmy. Trevor stands directly in front of Jimmy while the other students gather around him. With Mr. Scarecrow out of the room, there is nothing to stop the mob.
“You make me sick, Jimmy,” Trevor says. “Ever since you slithered into The Academy, you’ve been like a zit on the face of everything.”
“I didn’t do anything to you,” Jimmy says.
“You wrecked our experiment in chemistry lab,” Bryce says. “I lost two points off my grade in that class because of you.”
“I hate the way you eat,” says a girl in the back. “I can’t stand watching you in the lunchroom. I can’t stand hearing you.”
“You walk like someone put a stick in your butt, Jimmy,” says a kid right next to him. “Who put a stick in your ass, Jimmy?”
“Nice shoes,” Trevor says. “Nice pants. Oh, nice shirt. Does your mother shop for your clothing online? You look like a clearance sale shit on you.”
Jimmy stares straight ahead. Part of him knew this day would come. He had practiced it in his mind. He would remain stoic. He would let their insults bounce off him like pea gravel, ineffective and ridiculous. Sticks and stones. Rubber and glue. A hero. A quiet monster.
“You don’t belong here,” Trevor says. “Get back to public school.”
Bryce steps in front of Trevor and leans in, touching the tip of his nose to Jimmy’s face. Bryce’s breath smells like peanut butter. The staring contest lasts for a few seconds, neither participant blinking.
“How are your grades, Jimmy?” Bryce asks. Before Jimmy can react, Bryce picks up Jimmy’s volcano and drops it onto the floor. Bryce steps on it. The volcano cracks like bad plaster. The tiny model trees Jimmy had placed around the base of the volcano skitter across the floor. Trevor’s foot comes down on the weakened dome next, pulverizing part of the side into powder.
With the sweet smell of destruction in the air, all the other students lunge towards Jimmy’s volcano, attacking it like an effigy.
“Stop it!” Jimmy cries. He bolts around to the front of his table, bends down, tries to move what is left of his creation out of the way. The other kids are relentless. They crunch Jimmy’s hands and grind them into the floor. Tread marks are visible on the back of his hand. He feels Trevor’s deck shoes in his ribs, short sharp kicks, over and over. Trevor grunts with every attack.
Shoes are covered in white and brown specks, flour paste and dark acrylic paint. It was as if they had discovered an evil artifact and needed to destroy it before the plague destroyed the village. They stamp and stomp until there is nothing left of Jimmy’s work, the volcano reduced to something like ash. There is so much laughing.
After the volcano is demolished, all the students return to their own exhibits without saying a word, leaving Jimmy on the floor, wheezing and surveying the damage. As if on cue, Mr. Scarecrow comes back into the library. He takes a second to survey the room, then strides with purpose to Jimmy’s table.
“It looks like your exhibit has suffered some damage, Jimbo,” he says.
“They killed it!” Jimmy says.
“Who did?” Mr. Scarecrow asks.
Jimmy gestures frantically. “Trevor! Bryce! Everyone! All of them!”
Mr. Scarecrow clucks his tongue. “Jimmy, do you expect me to believe that all these fine students and good young people gathered around specifically to destroy your science project?”
Jimmy looks around at all the faces, feigning innocence, hiding the truth, keeping the future in mind.
“But that’s what happened,” Jimmy says. “I’m not lying.”
“I think what happened is you bumped the table and your project fell,” Mr. Scarecrow says. “I think you probably dropped it three or four times trying to pick it up, because of your clumsy, flappy hands. And the fact that you would try to blame other people for your mistake is unconscionable. How dare you! I’m afraid you’re out of the Science Fair, Jimmy. We’ll talk about your grade later. Right now, I think it’s best that you take your project and leave.”
“But…” But it’s pointless. Jimmy knows this. They wanted to humiliate him and embarrass him. They wanted him to feel like a fool. Worst of all is the realization that they were all in on it. Even people he didn’t know had joined in the plan. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair.
They wait. Mr. Scarecrow and the others watch Jimmy clean up the mess. They glare as he picks up his tri-fold informational poster board. They snicker as he picks up the platform where his volcano used to live, now cracked and covered with footprints and betrayal. They watch him leave and, as he suspected they would, they laugh when the library door closes. The sound echoes faintly through the empty hallway as Jimmy begins his long walk home.
***
When Bryce and Trevor walk into chemistry class the following Monday, the class erupts into applause. Both boys grin, putting on their best “aw, shucks” faces, and shuffle to their desks. Mr. Scarecrow claps for a moment, then motions for the class to settle down.
“Yes, yes,” he says. “We’re all quite proud of Trevor and Bryce for bringing the Science Fair first place trophy home. It’s back there on top of the file cabinet, if any of you would like to see it.”
“Don’t touch it,” Trevor says. “Just look at it.”
“All right, everyone sit down,” Mr. Scarecrow says. “Let’s get started on this new unit, in which we are going to learn all about covalent and ionic bonds. Please turn in your books to page—"
Mr. Scarecrow is interrupted by the creaking of the door. All heads turn to see who has arrived. Tardiness usually elicits a series of tongue clicks and hisses. It takes a moment for the children to recognize Jimmy. He is wearing a hoodie over a pair of white disposable coveralls. Jimmy’s face is covered with a purple respirator. It makes him look like a giant bug.
In Jimmy’s hands is a new volcano, crafted over the weekend, resting atop a thick piece of plywood. He sets his project down on Mr. Scarecrow’s desk. He walks back out to the hallway and brings in two gallon jugs filled with unidentified liquids. He closes the door. The classroom hivemind is confused, not sure whether to run or laugh.
Mr. Scarecrow shakes his head, “Jimmy,” he says. “Jimmy, what are you doing?”
“Hello,” Jimmy begins. “My name is Jimmy Langston, and this is my science fair project.”
“No, no, no,” Mr. Scarecrow says in protest. “Jimmy, the science fair is over. You lost. You cannot get those points back.”
Jimmy stands stock-still in front of the class. Ignoring Mr. Scarecrow’s interruption, Jimmy begins again.
“Hello, my name is Jimmy Langston, and this is my science fair project.”
“Look, Jimmy,” Mr. Scarecrow says, “I can appreciate what you’re attempting to do, but the time for that has passed.” He moves towards Jimmy, arms outstretched, ready to escort him from the classroom.
“Don’t touch me,” Jimmy says. The monster in his head begins to stir.
“You need to le
ave,” Mr. Scarecrow says, placing his hand on Jimmy’s shoulder. Jimmy smacks it away and raises his hand in front of Mr. Scarecrow’s.
“Don’t you fucking touch me,” Jimmy said. The vulgarity shocks Mr. Scarecrow into immobility and silence.
“Hello. My name is Jimmy Langston, and this is my science fair project. As you can see, it is a volcano.” Jimmy makes a game show host hand gesture towards the volcano, fingers together, thumb tucked into his palm.
The kids in the class shift uncomfortably. Trevor is visibly furious, glaring at Jimmy, mumbling under his breath. Jimmy ignores him. After all, he has a project to demonstrate.
“The volcano is the perfect medium for a scientific experiment because it acts as a giant test tube,” Jimmy says. He has it memorized. He knows every point. “After all, what is a volcanic eruption but a giant chemical reaction?” Jimmy pauses for laughter and agreement. There is none.
“Hey, are you really going to let him do this?” Bryce asks.
Mr. Scarecrow straightens his tie. “It doesn’t matter. Let him finish. We’ll deal with him after.”
Jimmy turns to the blackboard, picks up a piece of chalk and begins writing. “This is the first item I will add to the volcano,” he says. When he has finished writing, he bends down and grabs one of the gallon jugs. With a flourish, he twists off the cap and pours the liquid into the volcano.
Jimmy tosses the empty jug towards Trevor, who ducks out of the way. It is a diversionary tactic. While Trevor is complaining about almost being hit, Jimmy dumps the contents of the second jug into the volcano. His own breathing is loud and intense inside the filtration mask. He goes back to the chalkboard. As he completes the chemical equation on the board, he can hear a couple of kids start to cough.
He addresses the class, extending his arm towards the chalkboard. “As you can see, I have combined two chemicals inside this volcano.”
The equation reads: N2Clo + 2HCl Cl2 + H2O + NaCl.
Jimmy continues speaking in a monotone, the robot by rote voice he adopted while learning his speech. “As you can see,” he says, “I have added one gallon of sodium hypochlorate to the volcano, along with one gallon of hydrochloric acid.”
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