Eighth-Grade Superzero (19 page)

“No offense, but you’re not going to beat Justin on the visuals,” says Joe C.

“He’s right,” says George Henderson, as though I wasn’t there. “We’ve got to do more than just the cool stuff. We need to play up the regular guy angle … the little guy who brings big things to Clarke!”

“Like what?” I ask. “Quilted TP in the boys’ bathroom?”

“Juiced! vending machines!” Joe C. chimes in.

“An eighth grade trip to Hawaii instead of Washington, D.C.!” If I could swing something like that, I’d be a big hit. The hero.

“What does any of that have to do with what you said in the cafeteria?” says Ruthie.

“Nothing,” I say. “But it’s the way to make what I said a reality. Let me get the votes first, and then I can get the work done. Everybody knows we can’t really go to Hawaii, but …”

“But if we make them believe it for a while, do a whole feel-good campaign, they won’t care,” says George Henderson.

“I mean, everyone knows Justin’s not really going to be able to get rid of grades and tests too,” I say. Or could he? “But they cheer when he says that he will.”

“Something to make people cheer!” says George Henderson. “I’ve got it — Reggie, can you climb the rope in the gym?”

“Not all the way to the top, but I can get close if I’m not being timed,” I say. “Why?”

“You start climbing the rope, people will cheer you on, and we’ll give out Twizzlers and shout ‘Reggie McKnight, climbing the rope to success!’ You sweating and working hard like that on camera, that’s TV gold. Voters will remember that. And you don’t have to get to the top. Just trying will be ‘I think I can’ enough to win people over.”

“So it’s all about the spectacle now?” Ruthie asks.

“With the Hawaii trip, you can give away leis, and maybe get some girls to wear coconut bras,” says Joe C. “Can we get coconut bras by tomorrow?”

“I’m not listening to this,” says Ruthie. “And I hope you aren’t either, Reggie. Instead of fooling around, you should be fine-tuning your message. Tomorrow is a huge opportunity to call some attention to the shelter, to the homeless population in New York, to the inequality and disregard for basic humanity perpetuated by the West throughout the global diaspora—”

“You’re right,” I say. “I can’t listen to this.” My head hurts.

George Henderson picks up his briefcase. “I’ve got a LARPers meeting. Reggie, text me if you want help prepping for
tomorrow. I’ll be up, I’m writing a medieval version of
High School Musical
for English.” He walks to the door. “I’ll work on the rope-climbing concept. Remember, you don’t even need to say actual words, just get the crowd going. Girls throwing candy into the bleachers. Lots of ‘Woo hoos,’ and you’re set. See you.”

He leaves, and we’re quiet for a moment.

“Did they have high schools in medieval times?” asks Joe C.

“Despite the sexist tendencies, he seems like a nice guy,” says Ruthie. “But this isn’t just some show or something. The people are craving nutrients and he’s telling you to give them junk food.”

“Speaking of food—” I check my watch. “Ruthie … we’ve got to go.” I look at Joe C., who’s shuffling through his delivery-menu pile. “Do you want to come over for dinner?”

“Took you long enough,” he says. “And speaking of long, did you know that Ashrita Furman of Jamaica, NY, pogo-jumped twenty-three miles in twelve and a half hours in 1997?” He grabs a Juiced! to bring along. “It’s a world record.”

I take the bottle out of his hand and toss it on the couch. “Kind of like how long you’ve been able to do this without your best friends murdering you?” I say. “We’re only human, though. Don’t push it.”

Joe C. makes a move to get his Juiced! back, but Ruthie and I drag him outside.

“Let it go, Joe C.,” I say. “You’ll never know what the future holds until you do.”

I run down from the bleachers, fist in the air, and … and …

Some of the girls are screaming so loud, their heads seem about to pop off, and …

Nothing. I keep squeezing my eyes shut so that I can slip into one of those “Reggie the superhero” fantasies that used to keep me occupied, but I’m wide awake. Might as well do more work on my speech. I get my new notebook out and put a towel over my lamp to keep the lights low. Mom would be screaming fire hazard if she saw, and for a second I wonder if a fire might be just the thing to stop this crazy ride. Maybe I want to get off.

No. That was the old Reggie. (And a somewhat psycho one.) I shake it off and write “NO I DON’T” in big block letters.

Image counts. I mean, maybe if John the Baptist wasn’t all crazy-looking and bug-eating, they wouldn’t have paid attention to him. But maybe the people looked past the crazy-looking, bug-eating-ness because they were so into his message? I wonder if Dave would write me back if I e-mailed him.

Did you have to think about eating bugs, Reggie? Note to self: When working on another presentation for the whole school, DON’T THINK OF THINGS THAT REMIND YOU OF PUKE.

Justin doesn’t even have a message! He’s not all that. If I could just get some new clothes …

Oops, Mom. She’ll bust me for being up so late. And maybe I can just close my eyes for a minute.

I wonder if George is awake right now. I wonder if George is alive right now. I picture him at a subway entrance, shivering in one of those donated coats.

This wish list — tutoring, cleanup crew, textbooks, soap … somebody wants a cat! I bet it’s Old Crump. That’s easy, actually. We can just reach into a bodega for one. In fact, most of this stuff we can do. I know we can. Kind of nice to be a part of something I believe in.

“sleepovrs at my Big Budees howss” — Charlie’s handwriting is pretty good. That kid is something. Maybe I can bring Charlie up with me. The cute little kid factor will definitely get the girl vote! And I bet he would love to have the crowd cheering him on. I could let him try the rope a little. Should we wear the Dora shoes?

Who am I kidding? It doesn’t matter what I wear, I’m no Justin Walker.

What made Mialonie start talking to me? And what’s up with her and Justin?

Justin’s probably going to ride in on an elephant, and Vicky will somehow stir up a hurricane of hatred that will at least be memorable…. Even if I look like an idiot, the rope thing might be a good idea.

How did I ever get myself into this?

I should say something about extra credit for working at Olive Branch. Oh, wait — I forgot to ask Ruthie about that Effa Manley assignment….

I should ask Wilma if we can set up a bulletin board to display kids’ artwork and papers and stuff.

The extra-credit thing — is that too Vicky-esque?

Got my spiel down. Looks good. Short, get the point across, get some cheers, and get out. Community service is feel-good, and the whole reward/extra-credit thing isn’t too bad…. I bet people will have other ideas.

Coconut bras might have been nice, but I’m not going out like that. That’s not how I came in. And forget about the rope climbing too. I don’t want to just put on a show.

I still might bring Charlie up with me, though.

Monica hits me with the phone before she hands it to me. My notebook falls to the floor as I sit up.

“You’re supposed to be at the gym entrance by 7:45,” Ruthie starts right in without saying hello.

I yawn. “Hi. How are you? Good, I’m fine,” I say. “A little tired.”

“Sorry. I’m just so proud of you, getting up in front of everyone like this.” She pauses. “And I know you won’t let me — or yourself — down.”

“I think I’m good,” I say. “I’m keeping it short and sweet. There will be some ‘woo hoos,’ but no ropes or coconuts. I’m staying on message.”

“I know you will. You’re going to be great. Just please, please, please don’t be late. You know Blaylock will be freaking out because of the mayor and the TV cameras.”

“I’ll be there; I just have to stop at Olive Branch first. Okay,
boss?” I say. “I’m going to talk about the wish list, and I want to run a few things by Wilma.”

“All right,” she says. “See you at school.”

“Oh, and can you call Joe C.?” I ask. “I need you guys to pick up a couple of bags of mini candy bars. There will be
some
giveaway madness. I’ll give the people a little of what they need
and
a little of what they want.”

“Compromise is a necessary … art,” she says, and I can hear the smile in her voice. “Fine. Just don’t be late.” She hangs up.

I shower and dress in record time, and I don’t look half-bad, if I do say so myself. And I do, twice, to my reflection in the mirror.

I’m grinning as I head out the door.

Even though Mom loaded me down with a huge bag of clothes for the shelter, I get to the Olive Branch in record time. Before I can open with the fact that
I
didn’t bring junky stuff, Wilma points me over to the donation corner. I set the bag down next to a pile of old clothes and glance around.

Charlie’s sitting on the floor with a shoebox. His mom is asleep in a chair. I look at my watch; I know I’ll be pushing it for the rally, but I plop down next to him and look into the box. It’s full of a bunch of wooden train cars that look older than the ancient guy sitting in the corner. Most of them are peppered with teeth marks and they look pretty disgusting, but I pick one up.

“New train set?” I say. “You haven’t come over to play with your Thomas trains in a while….”

Charlie snatches the train out of my hand. “I didn’t say you could touch that.”

“Um, okay. Sorry,” I mutter. “Hey, you want to walk to school with me? It’s kind of late.”

“I’m not going to school today,” he says. “My mommy said I could have a vacation.”

“Oh,” I answer. “That sounds like fun, but … what about our deal? You come to school, we have lunch together? I’ll miss you.”

“I didn’t say you could sit there either,” he says.

What did
I
do? “Come on, we can walk together,” I say. “You can tell me how things are going. It’s getting late, and I’ve really got togo”

“Why don’t you just go away?” he says, louder. A few people look over. “You always got to go. People leave all the time. Why don’t you?”

I flinch. I want to get out of this place; I’ll be late for the rally, and I can already picture Blaylock’s glare at me while Justin takes a victory lap around the gym. I stand.

I should wake Charlie’s mom up, tell her I’m leaving.

She just looks so tired.

And Charlie looks so sad.

I should tell him about bringing him up on stage at the pep rally. That’ll put a smile on his face. He’ll probably get all pumped up and we can get out of here together.

Or maybe not. He really looks so sad. And almost as tired as his mom.

Pay attention, smart boy.

If I run at top speed the whole way, I might be able to sneak into the gym while Blaylock does the intros. The mayor will probably
blah blah blah too. I can make it if I leave now. I’ll tell Charlie that I’ll come here right after school. We can get ice cream.

Just pay attention.

If Charlie thinks everyone leaves … then that means what he really needs is someone to stay.

I take a deep breath. “Can I play for a few minutes?”

“No,” he says.

“Fine. Can I just sit here with you for a minute?” I say.

After a long second, he shrugs.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” I say. And I sit there. And after a while, he starts playing, setting up those old beat-up trains in a line and making low train whistle sounds. He never looks at me, and I just keep sitting there, not saying anything. Just staying.

“Principal Blaylock!” I’m out of breath. “I’m really sorry, I—”

“Reginald, nice of you to join us. Unfortunately, you should have joined us over an hour ago. You have missed the boat, the bus, and the point. A leader is responsible. A leader shows respect for Clarke and the electoral process.”

“I can explain, I—”

“You owe the mayor here an apology as well,” says Blaylock, turning to the man walking with him.

The mayor shakes his head at me. “You don’t win elections by not showing up,” he says. “Especially not in New York.”

“Mr. Mayor, I apologize, it’s just—”

They walk into Blaylock’s office; Blaylock turns and closes the door in my face.

A few stragglers are coming down the hall, and I duck into a nearby doorway.

“Justin killed it,” says an eighth grader. “He knows how to represent.”

His friend nods. “Even Vicky Ross made me watch her, crazy as she is. That Pukey punk didn’t even have the guts to show up.”

“Someone should check the bathroom,” says the first guy. “He might be having stomach issues.”

I wait until they’re out of sight before I head to class. And bump right into Donovan.

“Pukey!” he says. “What’s up? Spilled your guts again so you didn’t have any left to show up today?”

I say nothing, but I don’t walk away either.

“You’re a loser and a punk and that’s all you’ll ever be,” he says. “And everyone realizes it now. Nice job, getting even the mayor to hate you. What kind of ‘leader of tomorrow’ doesn’t even show up? You probably lost us that grant money too.” He starts to push past me. “This is almost too easy.” He walks off, and I force my mouth open.

“The name is Reggie,” I say. Could I really have lost the money for Clarke?

“Where were you?” Ruthie whispers as I slide into my seat.

“I was at the shelter. Things … took longer than I expected.”

“What is your problem? Why should we take this seriously if you don’t? We went and bought your stupid candy and everything.”

I look at Joe C., who shrugs.

“I’m
sorry,”
I say. “What do you want from me?”

“Maybe more than you can give,” Ruthie says. “Don’t waste my time if you’re not serious.” She slams her notebook on her desk and everyone looks.

When class ends, I walk out with Joe C. “Listen, I
am
sorry. I just got tied up.” He doesn’t say anything. “So, what did I miss?”

“You know, whatever. Vicky was bumping her gums for like ten years. Justin’s brother came again, they had music and did this whole call-and-response thing. Really got the crowd going. He had some sixth grade girls do a step show. Then he gave out Hershey’s Kisses. Even the guys were grabbing them up.”

“Oh,” I say. “Not a big deal. Um, not gonna cost me the race, right?”

“Are you even running the race?” he says. “What’s up?”

“Charlie was having a tough time, and I couldn’t just leave him alone.”

“I got you,” Joe C. says. “It’s just — you got us all fired up about this election.”

“I know, and I’m sorry, but
I
got all fired up about this election thing because of Olive Branch, George, and Charlie.”

“Yeah, but I thought the whole thing was that you were going to help the shelter by winning this election.”

“I was! I am! I just — had to hang out with him this morning. It was important,” I finish, and it sounds a little lame. When Charlie and I were heading to school, I was sure that I’d helped him, and I felt good. But now I wonder if I messed up … again.

I look at the hall clock, which may actually be right for once. “We’re late already,” I say. “See you.”

I start jogging to class. Then I remember that Joe C. and I are going the same way, but when I turn around, he’s gone.

“I’m sorry I made you late for school,” Charlie mumbles into the phone.

“That’s okay,” I say. “It was only a significant portion of my final grade.”

“What?” he asks.

“Never mind.” There’s a pause, and I can hear his mother whispering on the other end of the phone. “I’m sorry I was rude,” he mumbles. “No problem,” I say. “Are you coming back to see me?” “Of course.”

“My mommy says thank you for taking me to school. She said you were right that it’s important to eat breakfast.” “Tell her she’s welcome.”

“I had fun on the bus,” he says. “You tell good stories!” “Thank you! So do you.” This feels good. “You must have been like a lucky charm. There’s usually no room on the bus, so I end up walking every day.”

“Walking is good for you. You made me feel a lot better,” he says. “Do you play with my trains when I’m not there?”

“Nope,” I reply. “That’s for us to do together. We’re Buddies, right?”

There’s a long pause and I wonder if he put the phone down or something.

“My pretend daddy left,” he says. “I don’t want you to leave too, cuz you’re my pretend big brother.” He starts to cry. “So I wanted to tell you to go
first,
before you left.”

“Wait, George was your … Wait,
I’m
your pretend big brother?”

He sniffs; I hear his mom’s voice, and then he speaks again. “My momma says you can’t hear me nodding, so yes. Like a
real
one, but pretend.”

I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to swallow the lump that’s forming in my throat.

“Charlie, that’s the biggest honor ever. I — thank you. And don’t worry, I’m coming back. I’m sorry I haven’t found George, but … I’m not running away. I’ll be back.”