How to Win at High School

by Owen Matthews

  Cameron shakes his head. “Can’t do it, man. Sorry.”

  Then he turns back to the computer screen.

  Adam watches him for a minute. Finally, Cameron turns back around. Looks at Adam.

  “Did you really start calling yourself Pizza Man?” he says.

  284.

  “Craaaaaap,” Wayne says. “We don’t have any help?”

  “We have me,” Adam tells him. “I’m back in the game. I’ll take on the extra workload. I’ll be fine.”

  “We’re still behind,” Devon says. “There’s too much work for three people. We’re dying, man.”

  “Just do what you can,” Adam says. “I’ll handle the leftovers, okay?”

  Wayne looks at Devon. They both sigh. “Yeah, Adam,” Wayne says. “Okay.”

  285.

  Thursday after school—

  (after Cardigan’s)

  —Adam calls Sam. Bails on the hockey game.

  (You knew it was coming.)

  “I’m just swamped,” Adam tells him. “I forgot about this geography project. Can’t you just take someone else?”

  Sam doesn’t answer for a minute. “Adam, I’m at the bus loop,” he says finally. “Who am I supposed to take?”

  “I’ll make it up to you,” Adam says. “I swear.”

  “The season’s almost over,” Sam says. “And this is the Leafs, Adam.”

  Adam looks around. Closes his eyes. Wishes this phone call would just end.

  Then he has an idea.

  “I’ll throw you a party,” Adam says. “The biggest you’ve ever seen. I’ll bring every girl I can find. It’ll be better than any stupid hockey game, I swear to god.

  “You’re going to love it,” Adam says.

  “I promise,” Adam says.

  Sam is silent a long time. “You’re really not coming?”

  Adam shakes his head. “I’m sorry,” he says.

  “Fuck,” Sam says.

  286.

  And that’s how Adam finds himself locked in his room Thursday night, a huge stack of homework jobs sitting between his present state—

  (stress)

  (chaos)

  (flux)

  (madness)

  —and Ms. Garvey’s geography project

  (due tomorrow).

  At this point, it’s midnight. Mrs. Stewart has English projects due tomorrow and half the damn school’s paying Adam to finish them. And he’s nowhere near done.

  (And he’s exhausted.)

  (Sorry, Ms. Garvey. Guess I’m taking the zero on that geography thing.)

  Adam decides he’s cool with the zero. He’s fine with the zero. What’s one zero, anyway? He’ll clear five hundred bucks, easy, with the work he’s putting in. Nobody pays him for his own grades.

  He’ll work out the last of these English assignments and use the money to throw Sam the biggest party ever—

  (maybe even find him a girlfriend)

  —and show Sam that his little brother has attained the god status that should have been Sam’s destiny. Show Sam his little brother’s living on some Tony Montana shit now. He’s not a loser anymore.

  (#victorylap)

  Except then Adam moves a stack of assignments and unearths the career guide Bonnie Dubois gave him. And he thinks about how eager she was to help him.

  (How pleased the vice principal was with his grades.)

  (How excited Victoria was when she talked about college.)

  Shit, Adam thinks. He picks up the phone.

  “I need something to keep me focused,” he tells Brian. “I have, like, a million projects tonight. Can you help?”

  287.

  Brian shows up an hour and a half later. “Ritalin,” he says, handing Adam a pill bottle. “Only thing I could score at this hour.”

  He holds up a plastic 7-Eleven bag. “And some Red Bull. Because sleep is overrated.”

  “You’re a lifesaver,” Adam tells him. “How much?”

  “Thirty bucks.” Brian looks at him. “You sure you’re all right?”

  “I’m good,” Adam tells him, handing Brian the cash. “Just got a ton of crap on my plate, but what else is new, right?”

  “Yeah,” Brian says. “Right.”

  288.

  Sleep is overrated.

  Adam pops some Ritalin, downs a Red Bull, and grinds out the English assignments by about four thirty in the morning. Spends the rest of the night writing about tectonic plates. Finishes around dawn, reads it over. Figures, it’s not bad.

  Figures, it might even be coherent.

  Steph stares at Adam over breakfast. “What the hell happened to you?”

  “Big project,” he tells her. “Long night.”

  “You look like a corpse,” she says. Then she frowns. “Wait. Weren’t you supposed to go to that hockey game with Sam last night?”

  “I had to reschedule,” Adam tells her. “I’m going to throw him a party instead. The hotel at the casino, next weekend. Tell your friends.”

  Steph stares. “Seriously?”

  Adam shrugs.

  “Wow.” Steph sighs. “I hope it’s all worth it, Adam.”

  Adam yawns. “It’s everything I ever wanted.”

  289.

  Adam gets the English assignments back to their owners first thing in the morning. Gets paid, too—

  (at this point, he has a shoe box full of cash in his locker, stacks of twenties. He hasn’t hit a bank in a while.)

  —then he hands the geography assignment in. Ms. Garvey looks at him funny. “Everything okay, Adam?”

  “Of course,” Adam tells her.

  “This isn’t like you,” Garvey says. “You’re usually so conscientious.”

  “I’m just busy, miss,” Adam tells her.

  She doesn’t believe him, he can tell. “Anything you want to talk about?”

  “I’m fine,” Adam tells her. “Really.”

  She kind of waffles there, doesn’t really know what to say. What can she say? He handed in the assignment, didn’t he? Even if he looks—

  (and feels)

  —like he’s been hit by a truck, he’s still rolling. And now he can go home and sleep.

  Except:

  Then Adam walks into economics and Mr. Soulyuk is handing out the midterm.

  (Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit.)

  “Hope everyone had a chance to study,” Soulyuk’s saying. “I didn’t exactly make this an easy one.”

  290.

  So, you know, that sucks.

  The midterm looks like it’s written in Swahili.

  Not that Adam can really focus anyway.

  Too much Red Bull.

  Not enough sleep.

  He’s.

  Screwed.

  291.

  Something has to change.

  This isn’t working, Adam thinks—

  (as he stumbles out of the economics midterm fully aware he just bombed)

  (feeling like he’s just been hit by a bomb).

  Something has to change.

  292.

  But what, though?

  The partying?

  The girls?

  The popularity?

  The pills?

  None of it is conducive to getting homework done, sure. None of it is going to get Adam those honor-roll grades. None of it’s getting him into college.

  But this was never about college.

  It was never about grades.

  It was about partying. And girls. And popularity.

  Nothing has to change, Adam thinks.

  (All I really need is Ritalin. Red Bull. And another employee.)

  293.

  Brian hooks up the Ritalin.

  Adam can score Red Bull on his own.

  The new employee?

  Has to be George Dubois.

  He’s Bonnie Dubois’s kid, but he’s the only candidate Adam can find. And Adam needs help. Now.

  George is sitting at his locker when Adam finds him. He’s reading a music magazin
e. “Want a job?” Adam asks him.

  George’s eyes go wide. “The homework thing, really?”

  “So you know about it,” Adam says.

  “Everyone knows about it,” George says. “It’s the coolest thing ever.”

  “It’s pretty rad,” Adam says. “You want in?”

  George grins. “Hell yes.”

  “You’d have to start right away.”

  “Just give me the work,” George says.

  “And you have to keep your mouth shut,” Adam says. “Don’t tell anyone. Especially don’t tell your mom.”

  “I won’t tell anyone,” George says. “I won’t let you down.”

  “Good,” Adam says. “Meet me at Cardigan’s after school.”

  He shakes George’s hand.

  Wonders:

  How long before I start to regret this?

  294.

  Adam gives George Lisa’s old beat. Physics with a side of sophomore.

  “Awesome,” George says. “I love physics.”

  Adam slaps him on the back. “Go make me proud, buddy.”

  Wayne lingers after George is gone. “You sure this is cool, man?” he asks Adam. “You know his mom is—”

  “You got any better ideas?” Adam says. “He’s pumped to be part of the team. And he’s ready to work. This is good for us, trust me.”

  Wayne thinks about it. “I just hope this doesn’t blow up in our faces.”

  Wayne looks skeptical. But Wayne defers to Adam anyway. And just as Wayne is about to reluctantly agree to the George Dubois thing, Wayne and Adam see Brian’s Sunfire pull into the Cardigan’s lot. Watch Brian climb out.

  Brian looks scared.

  Brian looks hurt.

  Brian’s bleeding.

  295.

  “Jesus Christ,” Adam says. “What the hell happened to you?”

  Brian leans against the hood of his car, kind of hunched over, holding his right arm. He has a black eye. A bloody nose. He’s been tuned up.

  “Jamal,” Brian says.

  296.

  “I was dropping off some supply,” Brian tells Adam and Wayne—

  (who is kind of lingering wide-eyed in the background, shifting his weight and looking altogether terrified)

  —“A couple of sophomores, Tammy and Ryan,” Brian says. “They’re throwing a kegger or something. You know?”

  “Sure,” Adam says.

  “Jamal was there,” Brian says. “When I walked back to my car. He had his homeboy with him, some big, ugly dude.”

  “Uh-huh,” Adam says.

  Brian spits blood. “They pretty much just kicked the shit out of me, man. Took the rest of my pills, my money, everything. Told me if I knew what was good I would give up the pill game. Shit, man.”

  Adam nods. “Shit.”

  “What are we going to do?” Brian says.

  Adam looks at him. Brian looks at him back, blood dripping from his nose.

  Brian looks stressed.

  Adam pulls out his wallet. Peels off some money. “That should cover you,” he says, “for what they robbed.”

  Brian holds up his hands. Tries to shake off the money. Adam presses it into his hand and Brian gives up and takes it. “Fine,” he says, shoving the cash into his pocket. “But what are we going to do?”

  “You want revenge?” Adam says.

  Brian looks at him. “No, man,” he says. “I don’t want to start a war with some Lebanese gangster. I just want to know if enough is enough.”

  Adam looks around the parking lot. “Enough is never enough,” he says.

  Brian sighs. “So you still want to deal. After all of this.”

  “We’ll watch our backs,” Adam tells him. “We’ll be careful. You don’t want to go back to Pizza Hut, do you?”

  “At this point,” Brian says, “I don’t even care.”

  297.

  But Brian sticks around.

  “Take a break,” Adam tells him. “Go behind the scenes for a while. Let me handle the product. Just drive.”

  Brian closes his eyes. “Shit, man.”

  “I need you,” Adam tells him. “I can’t do this by myself.”

  “You need my car,” Brian says.

  “I need you,” Adam tells him. “You’ve been here from the start. Don’t walk away now.”

  Wayne steps up from the background. “I have a car,” he tells Adam. “Well, my mom has a car. If you need it.”

  Brian looks at Wayne. Sighs again. “Fuck it,” he says. “I can still drive, I guess.”

  298.

  The pills keep selling. Brian drives and divides the pills. Adam sells them. Splits the share with Brian—

  (Fifty-fifty, which is kind of wack now that Brian isn’t actually selling. But he did take a beating, so maybe he earned it.)

  —and handles the homework side of things. Speaking of which, George Dubois is an absolute champ. Works hard. Works smart—

  (throws in the odd typo and grammatical error, hits the target grade without getting too fancy).

  (The kid gets it.)

  “This is the coolest thing ever,” he tells Adam. “Pizza Man. I thought you were an urban legend or something.”

  “Not a legend,” Adam tells him. “I’m me.”

  “You slept with Janie Ng and Leanne Grayson,” George says. “You hooked Wayne Tristovsky up with Sara freaking Bryant. You’re the Pizza Man. You’re like a god or something.”

  “That’s the idea,” Adam tells him.

  “I just always wanted to be a part of your team,” George says. “I’m so glad you picked me, with my mom being who she is and all.”

  “Yeah, well,” Adam says, “we’re lucky to have you. Keep working hard and there’s no limit where you can go. I’m living proof.”

  A cream-colored Lexus with big chrome rims drives past on the street in front of Cardigan’s.

  (Drives

  slow)

  Adam shakes his head clear. “Living proof,” he tells George.

  299.

  A cream-colored Lexus with big chrome rims.

  Jamal’s car.

  300.

  Maybe it’s paranoia. Maybe it’s real. Adam starts seeing that cream Lexus more and more.

  Usually, it’s drifting by in traffic, in the corner of Adam’s eye. Usually, he turns to look for it and it’s gone.

  Sometimes, though, it’s there. Sometimes he sees it idling at the stoplight at the end of Nixon’s lush green front lawn. Sometimes it drives past as Adam walks home from school.

  Sometimes, he looks out the window during geography class and that big Lexus is parked across the street.

  Sometimes, Jamal’s out there, leaning on the hood, staring up at the school with a gleaming white grin on his face, searching the windows like he can find Adam’s face in the glass.

  Sometimes, Adam gets scared.

  301.

  But not always.

  Most of the time, Adam convinces himself he’s seeing things. Convinces himself he can hide from Jamal.

  He walks home on back roads. Sneaks out of school. Sometimes he has Wayne handle the meetings at Cardigan’s, just so he can fly under the radar.

  “Christ, man,” Brian says as Adam slips into his Sunfire a couple blocks from school. “How is this even worth it anymore?”

  Adam has the nicest watch in the school—

  (TAG Heuer)

  —financed by the pills they’ve been selling. He’s dating—

  (sleeping with)

  —Alexis Van Deusen, the head cheerleader, now. She’s a senior.

  Adam’s saving up for a car.

  “Hell yes it’s worth it,” Adam tells Brian.

  Adam can afford to be scared.

  302.

  Adam comes home from Tommy’s one day with literally a million pills in his backpack.

  (Not literally.)

  Brian drops him off outside his house and Adam takes his overflowing backpack from the trunk of the Sunfire and walks up the drive and
. . .

  Victoria’s there.

  303.

  She still takes Adam’s breath away.

  She’s standing by the side door like she’s been waiting for a while. She’s not smiling. She looks nervous. Adam takes one look at her, and he figures out the whole story.

  (She finally broke up with Chad.)

  (She totally wants you.)

  (She finally realized she wants to be with a god.)

  Adam can’t keep from smiling. He tries to sound casual. “Hey,” he tells Victoria. “You want to come inside?”

  304.

  Adam lets Victoria into the house—

  (His dad’s gone out somewhere, thank god.)

  (Adam’s not really up for that level of mortification right now.)

  Shows her the shitty kitchen and the shitty living room, the shitty computer and the shitty TV. Offers her a glass of shitty tap water. Victoria shakes it off. Looks around.

  “So this is where you live,” she says.

  Adam nods. “Uh-huh.”

  “It’s not so bad,” she says. “You don’t have to be so ashamed of it.”

  Adam looks around. Shrugs. It’s a shitty little house and they both know it. It’s no place for a god.

  “I won’t be here too much longer,” Adam tells her. “Anyway, what’s up? What can I do for you?”

  Victoria fiddles with some cutlery on the kitchen table. Worries a place mat with her fingers. She can’t look at Adam. Time passes. The question lingers.

  Adam takes a couple steps toward Victoria. Moves in to wrap his arms around her, to kiss her. He’s a god now. He’s confident.

  (Maybe she wants to sleep with him, even.)

  “It’s okay,” he tells her. “You don’t have to be embarrassed. I’m just glad you came back.”