On that note, we got busy. I grabbed my poster. There were a few minor details I wanted to address before it would be finished. Looking at it made me wonder if all this good news meant we’d missed the storm I’d been expecting. Or was it about to begin? I couldn’t seem to shake that funny feeling.
Dear God,
I should be happy for Mr. and Mrs. Terupt. I am. But their wonderful baby news has given me something else to worry about. I’ve seen pregnancies on the farm end in a mother’s death and with stillborns. I pray that everything goes smoothly for Mr. and Mrs. Terupt.
I’m also a bit on edge about this campaign party. When Lexie and Peter are in charge of something, you never know what to expect.
All this fretting can’t be good for me. Grandma nearly died last spring because of all her stressing, but I can’t seem to help it. Maybe you can give me a hand with that? Thank you.
Amen.
Campaign Days were the thing I was most excited about. I so looked forward to my afternoons in Mr. Terupt’s classroom each week. We all did. But now it was over. It was late November. Election Day was right around the corner, and Mr. Terupt had told us he wouldn’t be able to meet with us next week, which came as a shock at first, but after learning that he and his wife were expecting their first child and had an appointment, it was understandable. That big announcement had everyone distracted for the remainder of the afternoon. The rest of our time was spent with groups either gushing over Mrs. Terupt and her baby on board or discussing details about a party that had all of a sudden been scheduled. Me? It felt good to hear Peter’s excitement when I told him I’d attend his party, but all I could wrap my brain around was the fact that this was it.
“I can’t believe it,” I said. “Campaign Days are over.”
“These afternoons have been my favorite, too, Luke,” Mr. Terupt said. “You guys have done a great job of sticking together. Being around you makes me very happy. Just remember, though, there might also come a time when you need to stand up for yourself.”
I thought about that for a minute, and then Peter added his two cents. “All good things come to an end, Lukester.”
I nodded. He was probably right about that, but I was still secretly wishing for another project to come along so we could stick together.
LUKE’S SEVENTH-GRADE SURVIVAL GUIDE
TIP #7: Be careful what you wish for.
Miss Catalina had snacks for us, but, like, I brought the party—and the knockout hors d’oeuvres that Vincent whipped up for us. Peter’s house was sick, but we spent the whole night hanging out in his brother’s room. The girls and I played foosball while Luke and Jeffrey and Peter battled at video games. When we got bored with that, we started jamming different tunes and playing DJ. The boys couldn’t dance or sing to save their lives, so I had to show them how it was done.
After a while all that partying and going crazy made us thirsty. Danielle had been guzzling water all night long, but now the rest of us wanted some. Luke must’ve been out of his mind, ’cause he grabbed one of the soda bottles and chugged it like nothing I’d ever seen. He tipped his head back and downed it—the whole thing! Then two seconds later he let out a belch that was worthy of a Boy Scout badge.
“Whoa! Lukester!” Peter yelled. “Attaboy.”
“Oh my goodness!” Jessica cried, her eyes wide.
She wanted to be grossed out, but she couldn’t keep from laughing. None of us could. Luke had us on the floor, cracking up. That’s how we landed on the carpet with an empty two-liter bottle between us.
I didn’t even hesitate. Like, bringing the party means providing the fun and games—the excitement. There are some things that will never get old. Those things are classics, and this game was a classic.
I gripped the bottle and gave it a spin. Round and round it went. Then I did it again, and by that point I had everyone sitting still and paying attention. The laughing stopped. Things went from funny to serious in a heartbeat. The looks on their faces were priceless.
“Let’s see who’s first,” I said, giving the bottle another spin. All breathing stopped. Round and round the bottle went until it landed, pointing at Jeffrey. “And who’s the lucky girl?” I gave the bottle a final spin. Round and round it went until it stopped on Jessica. “Two minutes in the closet,” I announced.
“What?!” Jessica said, sounding alarmed.
“I thought they had to kiss,” Peter said.
“No, that’s so last year. It’s two minutes in the closet,” I said. “That’s more mysterious.” I pulled Jessica over, and Peter nudged Jeffrey along. We pushed them inside, and then I shut the door and locked it. There was no escaping until I decided to let them out. I loved being in charge. I was going to make a fabulous president. “Start the timer,” I said. “And turn up the music.”
It was meant to be fun.
This was all bad from the start. I had vowed not to get involved in Peter’s bright ideas, and I knew better than to go along with Lexie’s brilliant games, yet here I was, inside a dark closet with Jessica. Somehow, no matter what I intended, I got roped into this stuff. I had saved Peter’s butt at camp, but this closet stuff was a lot more complicated than a wedgie.
I knew we weren’t supposed to be whispering in there, but I couldn’t even see Jessica.
“Lexie’s such a troublemaker,” I said.
“I know.”
“I can’t believe she’s got us locked in here. I’m not going to try anything, Jessica.”
“I don’t want you to. Anna likes you.”
“Really?”
“Yes. And if you can’t tell that, then you’re a dope.”
All of our breathing and talking was making me hot. I could feel my face turning red, and it wasn’t because of what Jessica had just said. “It’s like a sauna in here.”
“I know.”
“Do you think they can hear us?”
“No, Lexie’s got the music turned up to add to the ‘mystery.’ ”
We were quiet for a moment, and then I asked her something else. “Have you ever told anybody about Michael?”
“Never,” she said.
“Then can I ask you something else without you telling?”
“Okay.”
The closet door flew open. Two minutes was up.
Dear Journal,
When Jeffrey and I stumbled out of the heat and darkness of that closet, the first thing I saw was Anna’s face. That’s when I knew this was bad. Then I looked for Luke, but he was already walking out of the room. That’s when I knew it was really bad. I thought of my mother and felt like my father. It was awful. Just awful.
I feel so guilty. Everything changed in that moment, just like it did on that terrible day back in fifth grade when Mr. Terupt had his accident, only this time it was all of us who were hit by the devastating snowball. It was like whatever trust we’d built over the last two years was suddenly gone.
Full of remorse,
Jessica
P.S. What difference would an invitation make now?
They came out of the closet all red in the face, acting like some big secret had just happened in there. My heart was broken, and nothing I’d learned last year volunteering with Jeffrey at the Center for Love and Care was going to help it heal.
Wasn’t it funny? All this time I’d wanted Jeffrey to make me feel like he cared by using his words, but he didn’t have to say anything to make me feel terrible.
I didn’t need my compass. I knew where I was headed. I didn’t belong here. These weren’t my friends. This wasn’t how friends treated each other—stomping on each other’s feelings without even giving it a second thought. Taking what you thought you had and throwing it away like it was nothing. Being downright cold-hearted.
I called Mom. It was time to go home.
LUKE’S SEVENTH-GRADE SURVIVAL GUIDE
TIP #8: Seventh graders are like chameleons. They’re always changing, but give them time, and they’ll show their true colors. Don’t let your gua
rd down.
I was ready to leave. Lexie’s closet game wasn’t a good idea. As soon as Jeffrey and Jessica came out all red in the face, you could see people’s feelings getting hurt. But Lexie was having too much fun to notice.
“Oooh,” she teased them. “Naughty-naughty.” Then she gave the bottle another spin without even hesitating. It stopped on Peter.
I got up to get Anna. It was time to go.
I had walked a couple steps around the circle when Lexie gave the bottle another spin. It stopped on me! I should’ve stayed put. I would’ve been safe. She grabbed me by the hand and pulled me over to the closet. Then she shoved me inside with Peter. The door closed and locked.
“Two minutes,” she called out. Then I heard them crank up the music.
It all happened so fast. I couldn’t believe it. Please forgive me. Please forgive me, I prayed. And then I lost it. I had to get out. I needed to go to the bathroom. I didn’t feel good. God was mad at me. I started rocking back and forth.
“Danielle, are you okay?” Peter asked.
I was tired of people asking me that. I felt sick. I grabbed the doorknob and gave it a violent twist.
“Danielle?”
“I need to get out of here.”
“We’ll be out in just a minute,” Peter said.
I could hear in his voice that he was only trying to calm me down, but there wasn’t anything he could’ve said or done to make that happen. I snapped. “Get me outta here!” I yanked at the doorknob again, but it was no use. I fell back in a heap, hot and exhausted. I needed something to drink.
“Danielle?” Peter whispered.
I didn’t say anything.
Peter leaned across the darkness and wrapped his arms around me in a hug. He was only trying to help, but once again his timing was absolutely terrible, because that’s when the closet door flew open. I had to shield my eyes from the burst of light, but once my pupils readjusted I could see very clearly that Lexie wasn’t giggling and carrying on anymore. It was game over.
I walked out of the closet, damp with sweat. My shirt was all twisted and partially untucked. It didn’t fit right anyway. It was too big. I felt out of sorts. I headed straight for Anna. “It’s time for us to go.”
“Yeah, it is,” she said, her voice cracking. “Hope you’ve had your fun like everyone else.”
Her words hurt me more than anything that night.
Dear God,
I’m sorry if I’ve disappointed you. I just don’t know what to do. Peter really is a great friend. But if I stick up for him, then everyone will think I’m only doing it because I’m trying to hide the truth about what really happened in the closet. What kind of friend does that make me? Anna’s upset with me, and I don’t know why, and I can’t talk to Mom or Grandma about these things. I’m all alone. I need your help. Please.
Amen.
I’m all for pranks and joking around, but we had crossed the line. Lexie could dress up and hide things and make things look bigger or brighter or create any number of disguises, but she couldn’t hide her anger when I stepped out of that closet. Her face was redder than mine, and if anyone else was looking, they would’ve noticed Danielle was white as a ghost. Something was wrong with her. But we didn’t try to find out what because none of us were talking. The party was over. Our friendships were over.
I’d promised Mr. T we’d stick together, but instead, we’d fallen apart. We weren’t just a bunch of kids in grade school anymore. We were messing around with real feelings. We had all crossed the line. And I didn’t know if we’d ever make it back to the other side.
I should’ve gone to boarding school.
Thanks to that dumb campaign party, I suddenly found a reason to like school and my schedule. Why? Because it kept me from seeing Jeffrey and Jessica and the rest of them. I didn’t have to face my former “friends.” I’m not sure I could’ve stomached it. At least I knew what to expect with the kids in my classes. They didn’t like me. Fine. At least their behavior was consistent.
Besides my classmates, the other thing I knew I could count on was Zack and his pack of hyenas. Without fail, they’d be there to knock my books and folders to the floor. But in this case, consistency was getting old. Little did they know, Mr. Terupt had given me permission to fight back when he went ahead and said, “There might also come a time when you need to stand up for yourself.” That time had arrived. I put my brain to masterminding a plan that would teach Zack a lesson—once and for all.
I thought about executing a sneak attack. Doing something to his locker that would’ve got him good, like gluing it shut or squirting a concoction of ketchup and mustard inside it. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that wouldn’t solve my problem. Zack never would’ve suspected me as the culprit, which meant he would’ve continued hammering my books to the floor. He needed to know it was me getting the best of him. I needed him to fear me. That was the only way I would ever get him to leave me alone. But how was I going to make that happen? Was it even possible?
I thought back to last year, when I studied the different methods and techniques employed by organisms throughout the animal kingdom who were attempting to attract mates. In the same way, I knew I could research and find effective hunting and capturing methods. I was the predator, and Zack was my prey. The hyena isn’t the king of the jungle. That title belongs to the lion.
I envisioned myself lying low, stalking my hyena, and then pouncing on him for the kill—or, in my case, the prank—but those daydreams always ended with Zack getting up and eating me. Lions form prides and hunt in numbers. I was on my own, and Zack had the pack. As I researched, it became clear—I didn’t need to be a lion. I needed to be an assassin bug.
I discovered that there are several different types of assassin bugs, but my personal favorite was the one that preys on web-building spiders. The assassin bug uses its forelegs to pluck the silk threads of the spider’s web, thereby mimicking the behavior of a trapped insect. This attracts the spider and lures it out of hiding to survey its next meal. As soon as the fooled spider is within striking distance, the assassin bug makes the kill.
—
It was on the day of the long-awaited and highly anticipated student government speeches that I decided to execute my plan. I was both nervous and excited. Not because of that dumb election stuff—I no longer cared about that—but because the time to teach Zack a lesson had finally arrived.
On my way to first period, I held my pile of books out in front of me, in complete disregard of LUKE’S SEVENTH-GRADE SURVIVAL GUIDE TIPS #2 and #3, baiting the dumb spider. After class I did it again. And after second and third and fourth period. But there was no sign of Zack and his hyenas anywhere. I worried that my plan wasn’t going to work if he made me wait much longer. It was all about timing.
Then, like a dim-witted spider, Zack came in for his infamous attack after sixth period. I was on such high alert that I actually saw him coming. For a second, I considered yanking my books out of the way, causing him to whiff in the same way Lucy always manages to do to Charlie Brown, but I resisted the temptation and held my ground. This was going to be even better.
Like always, Zack’s right hand came down hard and fast, perfectly connecting with my books—and the special paper I had resting on top. Like always, my papers and folders crashed to the floor, and the surrounding bodies stopped and turned to see what had happened. Same as always, the crowded hall filled with laughter. It was oh-so-funny to see wimpy old me get his books dumped. But then things took a turn from the usual course of events.
Zack started waving his hand around, yelling and freaking out. “What’d you do, you little dork?” He grabbed at the paper with his other hand. He couldn’t get it off. He tore at it. Then came the foul odor. “What’s going on?” His pack of hyenas backed away, plugging their noses.
You see, I had remembered from camp how sticky pine sap could be. Not only had I smeared a nice coat of it on the top of that piece of paper, but I had als
o used it to attach several leaves of skunk cabbage to the underside. This plant gets its name because, once its leaves are broken, they release a very pungent odor, like that of a skunk. I knew Zack would rip and tear at the paper once it was glued to his hand, thus opening the leaves and releasing the foul odor. And that’s just what happened.
“Way to go, Zack!” somebody from the crowd called.
“Zack, you stink!” someone else chimed in.
The idiot tried rubbing his hands against his shirt and pant legs. He was in a panic, desperate to get the paper off, but the only thing he accomplished was spreading the pine sap and skunk scent to his clothes. Even his buddies started laughing, which put him over the edge. He reached out and grabbed the nearest one by the back of the neck, and—you guessed it—that kid’s hair stuck to Zack’s hand. When Zack finally released his grip he ripped the hairs right out of that kid’s head. The whole spectacle was ridiculous. They looked like fools. It was better than I had imagined.
And then Zack snapped.
I saw him look over at me with red in his eyes. Of course, I knew this was a possibility, so I was ready. That’s the Boy Scout motto: Be prepared! He stomped toward me. But then he came to an abrupt halt.
“Good thinking,” a voice behind me said.
I turned and saw that it was Mr. Brobur. When I spun back around, Zack was already storming off, pushing his way through the ring of onlookers. He’d been defeated, outsmarted, and he knew it. Slowly, the crowd dispersed.
“What is your phenotype, Luke Bennett?” Mr. Brobur said. “And what is it that determines one’s phenotype?” He paused. “With courage like that, perhaps you should join our wrestling team.”
For the first time I noticed Mr. Brobur’s ears weren’t just a bit hairy, they were gnarly, too. He had a condition known as cauliflower ear, a true mark of the wrestler. “Mr. Brobur, are you one of the coaches?” I asked.
Saving Mr. Terupt Page 8