Sully Messed Up

by Stephanie Simpson McLellan

  “Your inner Kermit, Dude,” said Morsixx. “You’re not going to solve your problems by hiding.”

  Sully disagreed. He pushed through the door of the school office and scanned the halls quickly from left to right, before galloping off without another word.

  CHAPTER 11

  The detention was a stroke of luck. Not that Sully had been discreet in ditching Morsixx, but this saved him doing it twice in one day. Of course, it meant he’d missed the bus home, but as he started out on foot, he realized this was way safer anyway. If he walked instead of busing it, he could evade everyone’s attention entirely. Besides, he figured he could use the time to think.

  The two-mile walk took Sully through Fairy Lake, an expansive park in the center of town. He cut across the south end through the boardwalk that followed the train tracks.

  Hours of web searches hadn’t coughed up any explanation for the state of his face. While it was distressing, at least no one else could see what he saw, and he had almost got used to looking at himself.

  But now it had all changed again. Out of sight of other people, he let his fingers explore the new configuration. His insides tumbled and turned as if they were rearranging, too, and heavy pressure sat vice-like at the top of his chest.

  He veered along the path through the playground that would ultimately dump him onto True Street. A woman shuffled toward him with an enormous black purse slung over her shoulder. A weird sense of déjà vu swept over Sully and he almost stopped, when he noticed that the woman was making strange faces at him. First she’d rub her eyes and then stare at him, and then rub her eyes again and stare again. It was almost like a game of peekaboo, except really creepy.

  Sully tugged his cap low over his face and ran past her. He sprinted a hundred yards before he stopped, breathing hard, and peeked behind him to see if she was still there.

  She wasn’t.

  He slowed his breathing and tried to think clearly. All his googling had been regarding his face as a whole, but maybe he was approaching it all wrong. Nobody else could see what he saw. Maybe his face wasn’t really rearranged at all. Maybe he was just having vision problems.

  No, that’s stupid, he thought. He could actually feel his nose in its new location on the tip of his chin. Besides, if it was his vision that was the problem, then everything would look weird, but the only thing that was messed up was his face.

  “Whoa.” Sully said this thought aloud. “Except that house.”

  True Street was hardly a street at all, considering it contained only a single house. A duplex squatted in the middle of the short block that faced the lake.

  The two sides of the house were mirror opposites. At least they used to be. Sully hadn’t walked here in a while, and the two sides were definitely more opposite than mirror now.

  The stucco exterior on the left side emanated a tasteful pale yellow. The tidy black door demurely inspected the recently manicured, golf-green lawn. This side of the house said please and thank you and spoke in whispers.

  Someone new must have moved into the right side, which shouted and lunged at the street. A seamless progression of purples vaulted the stucco walls, building from a soft mauve at the bottom to a garish, in-your-face violet at the top. The chimney bricks, painted alternately in bright shades of pink and orange, boasted a bold checkerboard motif, while the window frames provided a neon green accent.

  That strange déjà vu feeling came over Sully again. Something about the purple stabbed him with remembered anxiety, as if it were the ugly bus ride on the first day of high school all over again.

  It wasn’t just the house that was strange. The wild and overgrown lawn, freckled with scruffy patches of thistle and ragweed, plotted escape from the snake-rail fence that corralled it. Affixed to the fence with twist ties and ribbon, possibly playing double duty to save the fence from collapsing, a parade of plastic figurines posed in random groupings.

  Maybe there’s something wrong with my eyes, after all, he thought. He certainly didn’t remember the house looking like this.

  Tearing his eyes from the obscenity of it all, he noticed a little Charlie Brown figurine on the fence post nearest him. The figurine’s hands had been duct-taped to cover his face, which was missing its nose and half of its mouth. Pumbaa sat close at Charlie Brown’s feet, the warthog’s wide, flat features all soulful and innocent. Sleeping Beauty, with vines and flowers etched in felt marker on her colorful gown, and a Red Cross knight dressed in black armor and chainmail, were positioned in front of Charlie Brown. Small yellow roses had been attached with twist ties to their hands, which were thrust in Charlie Brown’s direction. Darth Vader, flanked by Goyle and The Riddler, completed the circle around him.

  Whoa, thought Sully. Way too many universes colliding here. Disney, Star Wars, Harry Potter, dc. It looks like a mini Comic-Con Convention.

  Sully crossed to the lake side of the street and continued walking. He felt strangely better after seeing the purple house. It was like an advertisement for crazy. As confused as Sully felt, he knew he wasn’t as messed up as whoever lived there.

  A few more steps and he’d reach Perdu Avenue. From there it was only another five minutes home.

  But he didn’t make it that far.

  CHAPTER 12

  As Sully reached the dividing line between mellow yellow and violent violet, he pivoted slowly to the realization that he was being followed. At first, he expected to see the weird old lady with the purse, but the reality was worse. Tank leaned against a tree just yards away, while Dodger jumped around excitedly, and Ox repeatedly punched his right fist into the palm of his left hand.

  Sully darted a look at the fence scene now on his right. There was nothing he wanted more at that moment than to cover his eyes like the Charlie Brown figurine, as if that could make the trio disappear. Because Tank, Ox, and Dodger definitely weren’t offering flowers.

  “Any cramping, Sally?” said Dodger. “Need any Midol?”

  Sully swallowed hard. He forced himself to grin, which tugged uncomfortably at the ear affixed to his forehead. Maybe if he acted casual and unfazed, they’d leave him alone.

  “Heh heh . . . good one. You got me there.” He shuffled his right foot back and then his left, as if launching into a super-slow-motion moon walk. If he could reach Perdu without them noticing, he wouldn’t be so isolated.

  “You have a talent for stupid.” Tank’s bored eyes bored into Sully’s own. “It must suck to be you.”

  “Yah, well, you know. I guess, yah . . . pretty much.” It did suck. Tank was right. Especially at that moment. Because what sucked most for Sully, as he listened to his own voice, was knowing what a suck he was being, and knowing he was too sucky to do anything about it.

  “Bet you wish you could disappear sometimes,” said Tank.

  Sully nodded. Disappearing would be a fantastic trick right about then.

  “Well.” Sully jerked his head over his shoulder and twitched his thumb in the same direction. “I gotta get home. Yah. So. I gotta, like . . . you know . . . go.”

  “Don’t want to worry Mommy?” said Dodger.

  “What? No! Just . . . you know . . . homework to do.”

  “Oh, that’s right,” said Tank. “It’s getting close to your time of the month to teach us about your . . . time of the month.”

  Ox and Dodger snorted.

  “Enjoying your research, Sally?” Tank said.

  “Well, no, I . . . I mean, you know, it’s . . . yah . . . that is, no, I . . . well, anyway. I’d better be going.”

  Sully wanted to punch himself to get it over with. Tank had asked him if he respected himself. He’d better start showing some self-respect.

  He made himself stand up straighter and cleared his throat. He rolled back his shoulders and lifted his chin. Unconsciously replicating Tank’s bored expression, he narrowed his eyes a little, which, considering th
eir placement, didn’t make him feel as cool as he’d hoped.

  “Are you mocking me?” Tank pushed off from the tree and took a step toward Sully.

  “What? No!” Sucky Sully was full force back in action. “Definitely no. No way. Anyway, like I said, I . . . I gotta fly.”

  Too late he realized that Ox and Dodger had sidled around behind him. When he spun to face Perdu, he tripped over Ox’s extended foot. Making a surprising arc through the air, he landed cheek first and swallowed a mouthful of dirt.

  “Like you said,” said Dodger. “You gotta fly.”

  “What, the—” Tank doubled over and held his ear.

  “What’s the matter?” asked Dodger.

  “Something hit me in the ear.” Tank righted himself and glared at Sully. “Did you throw a rock at me?”

  “Who, me?” Sully pushed himself backward on his butt and spit out dirt.

  “It came from over there.” Ox pointed in a vague direction down True Street.

  The vacant road offered no clues, but something had definitely hit Tank in the side of the head. They all looked down to see a hard, green fruit about the size of a golf ball at his feet. A walnut pod, Sully realized.

  Sully seized the opportunity to stumble to his feet. Before he could slink away, he heard something connect with Tank’s skull again, triggering an impressive string of unrepeatable words.

  “What the—?” Dodger reached for the acorn-sized bump sprouting in the middle of Tank’s forehead.

  “Get off me.” Tank shoved Dodger sideways.

  “Did you throw this?” Ox picked up a second walnut pod at Tank’s feet.

  “What? Me?” Sully’s backward steps were far less subtle this time. “I didn’t throw it. I swear!”

  Sully darted a look behind him to calculate how many steps he’d need to take before he could disappear around the corner onto Perdu. As he turned back to face Tank, he thought he saw something flash in the dormer window of the purple house. Ignoring it, he found his gaze involuntarily climbing Tank’s forehead where the bump had doubled in size.

  “What are you looking at?” said Tank.

  “Nothing,” said Sully. “I’m looking at nothing.”

  “Correction,” said Tank. “I’m looking at nothing. You are nothing. Less than nothing. Get out of my sight.”

  Eager to do exactly this, Sully jogged backward a few feet as Ox and Dodger shifted awkwardly on either side of Tank.

  “Tank, man, are you okay?” Dodger touched the spot on his own forehead where Tank’s bump beamed an unflattering red.

  “You got a problem?” Tank punched Dodger’s hand away and narrowed his eyes.

  “No problem, Tank.” Dodger cradled his bruised hand.

  “No problem,” echoed Ox.

  “Shoo, little Sally.” Tank flicked his index finger as if Sully was a bug. “Send our regards to that Emo freak you’re going steady with.”

  As Sully turned back to sprint home, the glint from the dormer flashed in his eyes again. A millisecond later, the right curtain panel fell back into place and fluttered a bit through the open window.

  In front of which was a massive walnut tree.

  CHAPTER 13

  The stars were still visible when Sully set off for school on foot the next morning. Arriving a half hour before the bus, he cleared all his stuff out of the locker and left Morsixx a note:

  I had a run-in with Tank yesterday and he mentioned your name. You need to stop the Morsixx stuff. You’re practically begging for the Black Spot. Either way, I need to keep a low profile. The locker’s yours till the whole Naked Niner thing is over.

  Sully hoped Morty would heed the warning. While he had resolved to stay under Tank’s radar until someone else was targeted, he didn’t want it to be Morty. The poor guy was so self-unaware it was scary. His all-black clothes and skulls and chains clearly made him a target, but underneath it all, he was a good guy. Still, Sully had a feeling that all the bad luck he’d personally had since the school year began made him and Morty like Nitro and Glycerin. Steering clear of each other until after it was all over was doing them both a favor. Despite the fact that one of his eyes slid up to his forehead as he hid out in the boys’ bathroom until the bell rang, Sully felt better than he had in weeks.

  Until Blake Muir’s presentation in Sex Ed.

  Blake strode to the front of the class like an actor taking the stage.

  “Hygiene, Gentlemen,” Blake began. “Good diet. Lack of stress. These are your weapons against the cruel joke most of you are victims of: a.k.a. Acne Vulgaris.”

  Blake himself, with perfect hair and prep boy good looks, had a flawless and tanned complexion. No zit dared deface his perfect Greek God nose.

  “Now, acne goes by many names,” he continued. “Papules, pustules, nodules or, the more familiar, pimples and zits. But, to paraphrase Shakespeare, a zit by this or any other name will swell and secrete . . . ”

  Blake paused here for effect. While his Shakespearian wordplay went over his classmates’ heads, “pimples, papules, pustules, and zits” elicited the desired reaction.

  “Will swell and secrete,” he raised his voice over the groans, “because of a single underlying cause: oily build-up. Let me demonstrate with some lucky volunteers.”

  It was soon evident that this was to be no solo performance.

  “You!” said Blake, pointing to a boy named Kyle at the back. “Show us Exhibit A.”

  Obviously prepped for the performance, Kyle jumped up and raced to the front like a contestant on a game show.

  “Gentlemen,” said Blake, handing Kyle a piece of Bristol board.

  Kyle flipped the board over with Vanna White precision, cueing Blake to point to the oversized, disgusting image he’d pasted to the other side.

  “Let me introduce you,” Blake continued, “to the blackhead.”

  “Gil!” Blake called, pointing at another of his friends. “Show us Exhibit B.”

  Gil’s sign had an equally nasty photo, this time of a whitehead.

  “Gentlemen,” said Blake, cuing up his PowerPoint presentation now. “Know it or not, these two odious specimens are members of what is called the Comedone family. Google it. Sounds like a mob family, right? And like the mob, the Comedones are stealthy and merciless, attacking when and where you least expect.

  “Now, where do these nasty little explosions come from? Well, I have to warn you . . . the conception of the common pimple is far less titillating than the conception of a human baby . . . the topic my man Jason gets to present to you next Friday.”

  Blake pointed to a boy at the back who stood up, bowing to cheers and whistles.

  With clever quips and an easy manner, Blake led the class through the causes and cures of acne.

  “Now, Gentlemen,” Blake said. He held up his hands to quiet the laughter and commentary. “We come to the family member no one wants to talk about. Help me out here, Brewster.”

  Tank walked casually into the classroom at this point. He tossed his bag from across the room before taking his seat.

  “Nice interruption,” said Green. “That’ll be an extra ten laps before football practice after school. Continue, Mr. Muir.”

  Unfazed by the disturbance, Blake grabbed Sully’s arm and spun him out of his front row seat to face the class. As Sully regained his footing, Blake pushed another cardboard sign into his hand.

  “The blind pimple.” Blake shook his head in mock sorrow. “You know what I’m talking about. This is the guy who tries to hide in plain sight, pretending he’s not there. But we know better, don’t we. When this character shows up, the only one he’s fooling is himself, right? I mean, you can’t miss him. There he is, right in the middle of your chin . . . ” Blake thrust the pointer at Sully’s chin, which hit his nose and caused him to sneeze.

  “Or the middle of your forehea
d.” Blake poked Sully in the eye this time. “He’s red, he’s sore, he’s ugly . . . no offense, Brewster . . . but there’s no easy way of getting rid of him. He’s just gotta be exposed.”

  Tank stared unsmiling from the back row. The bump in the middle of his forehead lasered Sully like a third eye.

  Sully tried to make himself as inconspicuous as it is possible to be, when posing as a blind pimple in front of a group of adolescent boys. He didn’t take in much more of what Blake had to say about the root cause or remedy for blind pimples. He did, however, decide that humor might be the best defense for his own upcoming presentation.

  He also made note of the fact that with Tank at football practice every day after school, he could now fearlessly walk home through the park.

  Sully skulked out of Sex Ed only after he was sure Tank was long gone, and then sidled through the hallways via a circuitous route. He arrived late to English to find that Wippet had rearranged the desks in pairs, and that the only empty seat was next to the girl with the flower tattoos.

  “There you are!” said Blossom as Sully took his seat.

  “Hmph,” said Sully.

  He slouched sideways with his elbow on the desk between them.

  Blossom was someone else he’d have to find a way to avoid. His gut told him that association with anyone peculiar that would draw unwanted attention to himself was a really bad idea until after the Naked Niner was over. Blossom definitely fell into that category.

  “Good news,” said Blossom. “You and I are partners for the term project.”

  “Hmph,” said Sully, and then, “What?”

  He turned to look at her as she held up a sheet of paper.

  “Our comparative essay on ‘The Lady of Shalott,’” she said. “I’m really excited about it. We have to compare Tennyson’s poem to a contemporary novel. There are so many possibilities!”

  “I didn’t choose you as a partner,” said Sully.

  “You were late,” she said. “And stop being so rude, Bee Boy. You’re lucky to have me as a partner, given that you don’t look like much of a reader.”