Alibi Junior High (7 page)

“What do you want?”

Her voice is like a feather. “I just want to talk, that’s all. Open the door.”

I’m tempted, but I can’t. “Not now. Later, okay?”

“Cody, I want to help you. Talk to me, maybe I’ll understand.”

“I can’t. I just want to be left alone.”

There’s a long moment of silence. Then she says, “You don’t have to open the door. Just talk to me.”

I slide down to the floor and sit with my elbows on my knees, hands on the sides of my face. I stare off across the room, focusing on nothing.

A little while later I hear a noise in the hall and realize it’s Jenny sliding down to the floor. I picture her sitting out
there, her back just inches behind mine on the other side of the door.

Time slips away. The world moves forward while I just sit here. The emptiness is like a weight pressing down on top of me. I doubt I could stand even if I tried.

I hear a car pull into the driveway, then the sound of a door opening. A minute later, I hear Andy saying good-bye. I realize it must be his taxi. Andy went to the job interview already? He’s back? How long have I been sitting here? The room’s a lot darker than it was before.

“You still there, Jen?”

“Yeah, hon, still here…you want to talk now?”

I stare at my shoes and sneakers lying on the floor. They’re scattered around like bodies. I see the waitress winking at me again. I can see her face, her smile, the way she lifted her little pinkie while she poured my dad’s coffee.

I clear my throat. The words flow out of my mouth like water from a broken pipe. I’ve got no control over them; they’re rushing to be free. My voice sounds strange, almost like it’s not mine.

“Me and my dad were at this café in Santiago…”

I tell her the whole story, everything I can remember. When I get to the end, to the part where I find the waitress lying next to me, my voice starts to crack, and before I even know what’s happening I’m crying, crying like I haven’t cried in years.

I feel the door being pushed with gentle force against my
back and I give in to it. A moment later Jenny is sitting next to me, tears flowing down her face. She holds me tight; her hands are rubbing and patting my back. I close my eyes and sink into her.

For the moment, I feel safe and warm.

When I first
looked into Renee Carrington’s eyes—those big, beautiful brown eyes—I realized I had to spend as much time as possible with her. Whenever Mrs. Smith says something stupid or misguided I’ve learned to just let it slide so I can spend more time next to this special girl.

I discreetly watch her every move. I listen to her conversations with her friend Fiona. I study her extensive doodles, her colorful clothes, and focus on her odd comments in class. Like when Mrs. Smith asked her to explain the importance of the free press in a democratic society and she said, “It’s like having a menu that lets you know what every restaurant in town is serving.”

I notice the different ways she styles her hair, holds her pen, and taps her fingers on her desk like she’s playing an invisible
piano. I notice that she laughs at things the rest of the class doesn’t find funny, gets sad about stuff nobody seems to care about, and is excited by what others find boring.

For the last week I’ve spent most of my time in class thinking about the best way to talk to her. Should I just introduce myself? Ask her about homework? Give her something? Write her a note? Hack into her computer? Everything I come up with feels really lame. I blame my clothes. They say clothes make the man; well these clothes make me feel like an insecure, tongue-tied boy. I miss my suits. I always felt confident wearing a suit.

The bell rings and another opportunity to talk to her seems to be slipping away. I can almost feel the floor moving beneath me. She’s walking out the door with a quick, purposeful stride.

I pick up my books as another wave of disappointment washes over me. I wish I could talk to her. What’s wrong with me? It has to be the clothes. These baggy, pocket-crazed pants are messing with my mind. I glance at her desk. It’s only a few feet away from me. It would be so easy to reach out and touch her. Why is it so hard to just talk to her?

Then I notice the notebook. Her notebook. It’s on the floor next to her desk. She brought her art project to class today; it’s some kind of weird kite-type thing. Between juggling the artwork and her books, it’s not surprising something was left behind.

Here’s my chance. I snatch it off the floor and dash toward the door after her.

“Cody.”

I look over at Mrs. Smith. I don’t believe it. What does she want and why does she want it
now
?

“Yes, Mrs. Smith.”

She gives me a smile. “I just wanted to say that I’ve noticed a change in your attitude. It’s nice to see that you’ve decided to try harder in class.”

“I’m not trying any harder.” I can see the clock over her shoulder and I swear that second hand is mocking me. “I’m just trying hard not to get kicked out of class.”

She has a slightly puzzled look etched across her face. “I see…perhaps we might consider this a turning point?”

“Sure, why not.” I look toward the open door. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Smith, if there’s nothing else, I’ve really got to get going.”

“That’s fine, Cody, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

I hurry out the door and look for Renee. She’s walking down the hall by herself.

I run after her, shouting, “Renee! Renee!”

It seems like she’s the only person in the hall who doesn’t hear me. Everyone is turning my way except her.

“Renee! Renee! You forgot your notebook.”

I tap her on the shoulder. She jumps and quickly spins around toward me. The stick in her kite swings toward my left eye. I try to avoid it but it’s moving too fast.

“Ahhh!” The pain shoots through my whole body. I clutch my eye and squat down to the floor. I can’t believe it. I let my guard down. Good thing my dad wasn’t here to see that. I’d be doing extra training drills for a week.

She’s standing over me, pulling iPod ear buds out of her ears. I can hear the sound of faint, tinny music. “What’s wrong with you?” She looks alarmed. “What are you doing?”

“You poked me in the eye with your stick.”

“I did?” Her expression softens. “I’m sorry. I didn’t do it on purpose.”

I slowly rise to my feet, blinking my eye and trying to rub the tears away. I think it will be okay, although it still really hurts.

It’s tough to talk. “I know, I guess I startled you.”

“Startled? Who says ‘startled’?”

“I guess when you’ve been maimed by a stick you tend to say words like ‘startled.’”

“Did you say
tend
? Who says ‘tend’? First you say ‘startled,’ and now ‘tend.’” She gives me a huge smile and a wink. “Oh, I get it, you’re from Albania, right?”

“Albania?” My head’s starting to hurt. “Why would you think I’m from Albania? Are you putting me on?”

“Putting you on? What an odd phrase. But that would be fun, wouldn’t it? To put someone on like you put on a new suit. Just slide inside their skin and walk around for the rest of the day. See what it’s like to be them.”

“Um, I guess.”

“You guess? What’s wrong with you? I think it would be okay for a girl to try being a guy for a day, but a guy being a girl? Now that just seems plain weird to me. You want to be a girl?”

“What? No! I didn’t say that. Not that there’s anything wrong with girls, it’s just…Why are we even talking about this?”

“You brought it up.”

“No, I didn’t.”

She shrugs her shoulders. “Okay, whatever you say.”

I’m starting to get really frustrated. This isn’t how I wanted things to go between us. I try my best to stay calm but I can hear the tension slipping into my voice. I wave at the people in the hall with the notebook. “I have absolutely no desire to walk around in a girl’s or for that matter anyone else’s skin except my own.”

“Oh, I’m just playin’ with you. Hey! That’s my notebook! What are you doing with my notebook?”

I almost forgot about it. “Oh yeah. You forgot it under your desk. I was just returning it.”

She takes it out of my hand.

A teacher standing in the hall shouts, “Move it along, people! This isn’t a social club!”

She starts talking faster. “Hey, don’t worry. I think you’re cute. Next time you want to talk to me, just talk to me. Okay? You don’t have to go around stealing my stuff to get my attention.”

“I didn’t steal your notebook!”

“Whatever you say. Listen, I’ve got to get going. Oh, by the way, my name’s Renee.”

“I know.” I can’t believe I just admitted that. “I’m Cody.”

“Nice to meet you, Cody. Hey…I was wondering. Fiona and I need a third for the class project. You seem to know a lot about history. Would you want to work with us?”

I can’t believe she’s asking me. Two minutes ago I didn’t think I’d even be able to talk to her, and now we’ll be working together! I feel a little dizzy. Just say yes and try not to sound too overly excited. Try to act cool.

“I’d love to.”

I can feel my face getting red. Why did I say “love”? What a stupid thing to say, “love.”
Why
did I say that?

She smiles. “Great!”

“Oh, what’s the project about?”

“France.”

She starts walking down the hall.

“Renee.”

She turns around.

“I didn’t steal your notebook.”

She flashes me a smile. “I know. I left it for you. I could tell you needed an excuse to talk to me.”

I
’m late. Time to bolt down the hall to the gym. I really thought gym was going to be a blast. Too bad Coach Dinatelli has to take
all the enjoyment out of it. The man’s a fun vampire, just sucking the fun out of everything. I bet he spends his nights dancing with snakes and sticking pins into the voodoo dolls of all good people.

The bell rings as I burst into the locker room and I nearly plow right into the evil one himself. He’s abandoned his black cloak, sharp teeth, and night wings for his day uniform of gray sweats and a whistle.

“Teacup. Do my eyes deceive me? Are you late?”

“I beat the bell, Coach.”

“That doesn’t make you on time. I expect you to be on the floor when the bell rings, not walking into the locker room. Are you on the floor?”

“No, I’m not, Coach.”

“So what does that make you?”

“I guess it makes me late, Coach. Sorry, I’ll change fast.”

He shakes his head in disgust. “Stop talking and start changing.”

I quickly move toward my locker. Just when I’m beginning to think the coach is going to let this drop, I hear him open the door leading into the gym and bellow, “Seems like Teacup and Frankfurter both arrived late today. So you all can thank them for the extra two laps you’ll be taking.”

I hear a loud collective groan as I round the corner to my locker. Frank’s locker is next to mine and he’s standing there half dressed. He turns his back to me in an effort to hide the rolls of fat draped around his body.

I start spinning my lock combo. “Coach seems to be in a bad mood again.”

Frank snorts. “He’s always in a bad mood. Get used to it. Now the whole class is going to be mad at us for making them take two more laps.”

“We’re not making them take two laps, Coach is.”

“Yeah, try telling that to the class. They’ll blame us. They always do.”

I open my locker and quickly pull out its contents, and I’m overwhelmed by a strong, sweet smell.

Frank notices it too. “Whoa, what’s that smell? Perfume?”

I lift the uniform to my nose. “Oh yeah, it’s perfume. Someone sprayed a ton of it into my locker.”

As he struggles to slip his excessively large shirt over his head, Frank grumbles, “Isn’t school great? Don’t you just love it? It’s just one humiliating moment after another.”

I stand there wondering what to do. I could quickly wash everything in the sink and dry it with the hand dryer, but I don’t have enough time.

I could disappear, suddenly get sick, steal someone else’s clothes, or call in a bomb threat. Any one of those ideas would work but I’m betting they’d create more problems than solutions.

It looks like my only option is wearing the stinking uniform.

Frank finally gets his shirt on. I pat him on the back. “Listen,
my whole locker smells. Could I squeeze my street clothes into your locker?”

“Sure, no problem, if you can find the room. Are you really going to wear that thing?”

“Looks like I’ve got no choice.”

“Coach is going to have a field day.”

I slip the shirt over my head. I can’t believe how bad it smells. This is one gym class I’ll definitely be taking a shower after.

Sometimes you can get yourself all worked up about something and it turns out to be nothing. Other times it turns out your fears were completely justified.

Gym class—which, for me, consists largely of just running lap after lap with breaks in between for Coach to shout and call me names—is even worse than I feared it would be.

The overpowering cloud of perfume that hangs around me makes me the most tempting target of ridicule to ever step upon a gym floor. Teacup becomes Little Miss Teacup and it isn’t just Coach doing the name-calling, it’s the whole class. Frank’s the only one who doesn’t feel compelled to insult me.

Billy Foster, the tall guy that Coach has a habit of calling Pogo Stick, seems to be the main ringleader, and I strongly suspect that he had something to do with my locker taking on its sudden, overpowering stench.

After class I take a scorching-hot shower and cover myself from head to toe with soap in an effort to wash away the foul
odor. I think I managed to scrub most of it off, but I’m not sure. I’ve become immune to the overpowering scent. My success or failure will be judged by whoever has to sit next to me for the rest of the day.

I dry off, slip into my shorts, and head for my locker. When I round the corner I find Frank, dressed only in his underwear, surrounded by Pogo Stick and five of his friends. They’re pushing him back and forth from one side of the circle to the other, laughing and chanting, “Frankfurter, Frankfurter, Frankfurter,” over and over.

Frank appears to be on the verge of crying, which seems to only increase their sadistic pleasure. He’s folding his arms across his flabby chest in a futile attempt to cover his exposed flesh. There’s a desperate, pleading look to his eyes.

I glance over at the coach’s office. It’s empty. Normally he can be seen behind the large glass window that looks into our locker room. It figures that when he’s truly needed he’s nowhere to be found.

I approach the group. “Hey, knock it off!”

They stop pushing Frank and shift toward me. They flow around me and I soon find myself by Frank’s side in the center of the circle.

Pogo Stick grins. “Look what we’ve got here, Little Miss Teacup running to his girlfriend’s defense.”

I look him in the eye. “Stop this now before someone gets hurt.”

A voice behind me mockingly calls out, “
Oooh
, is Little Miss Teacup scared he’s gonna get
huuuuurt
?”

The others start to laugh.

Someone pushes me toward Frank. I stop a few inches short of running into him.

“I’m warning all of you. Leave us alone and nobody will get hurt.”

The guy to the left of Pogo Stick snorts. “
Oooh
, I’m scared. Little Miss Teacup says he’s gonna hurt us.”

The big kid, with the pimply face and long greasy hair, suddenly shoves Frank into me. The two of us painfully collide and almost crash to the floor. We briefly hold each other to avoid falling.

Pogo Stick winks at us. “Look, they’re dancing. Aren’t they a cute couple?”

I glare at him, pucker my lips, and kiss the air. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll save the last dance for you.”

Both his temper and his fist are quicker than I thought they’d be. I don’t have time to block his punch. I snap my head back but he still manages to graze my forehead. Someone kicks me in the back.

I let the tiger out of his cage.

It only takes a few seconds.
Legs.
My eyes pick the targets and my body follows their lead.
Knees.
It happens fast, too fast for my mind to even register what’s happening.
Feet.
It’s simply instinct
and countless hours of training taking over.
Elbows.
The switch got switched.
Hands.
They might as well have been trying to stop a moving train with a pillow.