Project X (11 page)

“We gotta move our thing up,” he finally says, right before I head off for my house.

“I know,” I go.

“We gotta pick a time,” he tells me.

“I know,” I go. My insides are screwed up thinking about it.

“Come over tomorrow night,” he goes.

“Yeah,” I go. And it feels like summer vacation was over just because somebody said so.

11

No sleep.

In the middle of the night I remember a math test I forgot about. There's still plenty of time to study before people get up. I know some of what I need to but just stare at the pages. I clear off the kitchen table and sit with just the hall light on. The house is quiet. My math book smells. The numbers and unknowns in chapter 3 jump from place to place after a while. On one problem I keep seeing a 5 where there's an X. 120/3 = 40 miles—10/1 hr = 30 miles/ 1 hr 450/30 = 15 hrs. I shut my eyes for stretches. The refrigerator makes its little noise. Solve for X.

I read Isaiah in the Bible but don't like it as much.

I nod out once it's getting light and wake up in time to go upstairs before my mom gets up. I keep yawning and stretching my mouth to get some feeling back into it. “You're dressed already,” she says when she opens my door to wake me.

I remember part of a football game I played in with some kids like a year ago.

“Eat something. Even if it's candy,” my dad goes once he sits down at the table. I'm still staring at my eggs. It's a weird feeling, like the right words or numbers are standing around just out of reach. My eggs look weird, too.

The meeting with Flake's tonight. I'm thinking, if I could
just close my eyes from now till then.

“Hey. The
bus,
” my mom tells me. She's leaning forward and has her hands on her thighs. Apparently she's said this already.

On the bus for some reason I think about summer camp when I was little. We put on a play.
12 Angry Men
.

“Seen Hermie?” Flake asks before homeroom. The ninth-graders are playing some kind of You're It game with a willow switch. It looks like it hurts.

I shake my head.

“Can you talk?” he goes. I nod a couple times. “I gotta go to the dentist after school,” he says. “So just come over after supper.”

I nod again. My cheeks are numb.

“My mom thinks I gotta get braces,” he goes. He's smiling because he's thinking, Well, that's not gonna work out.

The Kalashnikov's heavy. I don't know if it's got a really big kick or if I can even hold it steady or what. Well, you'll find out, I say to myself when the homeroom bell rings.

There's an announcement about an assembly sometime this week. I miss when.

“When'd they say it was?” I ask the girl next to me.

She looks at me.

“When'd they say it was?” I ask her again.

“Mr. Hanratty,
what
is the problem?” my homeroom teacher goes. Everybody's got their mouth open, with this look. I'm surrounded by fish.

She sends me to the vice principal. We should've tested the guns before we did this, I tell myself while I'm walking down the hall. Now we're not going to have time.

I space out during my math test. Halfway through, the teacher stops in front of me and goes, “Mr. Hanratty, do you have something to write with?” “No,” I go, and he gets me a pencil.

“I got a question for you,” Tawanda says when we pass in the hall.

After fifth period I can't get my locker open again.

Before seventh I go to the nurse and tell her about the headache. Almost nobody goes to the nurse seventh period because you're almost home.

“What's it feel like?” she asks, interested.

I make claws and put both of them up around my eyebrows.

She has me lie down on a little cot with a facecloth over my head.

While I'm lying there I hear the vice principal. He keeps his voice down but I can still hear him. “Our friend with the nose is having a tough day, isn't he?” he goes.

“Headache,” the nurse tells him. She shakes me a few minutes before the end of the period so I can get to my locker and still make the bus.

“We don't even know what we're going to do about the doors,” Flake says as soon as I come into his room that night.

“I know,” I go.

He's lying on his back in his underwear with his arm over his eyes. One of his bandages is soaked with dried blood.

“You bang your finger again?” I go.

He doesn't answer. “I got the guns out by myself,” he finally says. “I think I know about the safeties and everything now.”

“Good,” I go. It's nice to have some good news.

“Sit down,” he tells me.

There's an open jar of peanut butter on the chair. I pick it up and ask where the top is.

“What is it with you and stupid questions tonight?” he goes.

I roll the jar under his bed. It keeps going until it hits the wall. “This place is a shithole,” I tell him.

“You mean this town?” he asks. He sounds worn out.

“You gonna keep your arm over your face all night?” I go.

“What do you care?” he goes. “You showing off your outfit?” It's quiet. I move my feet back and forth while he lies there like he's dead. “You gonna play one of your speeches?” I ask.

“No,” he goes.

His mom's screwing around with the blender downstairs. She was setting it up when I came through the kitchen. Now it sounds like she's trying to grind rocks.

“How was the dentist?” I go.

He grins without moving his arm off his eyes. “I need braces,” he goes.

“When're you supposed to get 'em?” I go.

“Turns out I got an overbite,” he goes. He finally takes his arm off his face and sits up. His neck is against the headboard.

“Is that comfortable?” I go.

He looks away and shakes his head. “So did you see our friend today?” he asks. “Or that other fucking midget? Budzinski?”

“Nope,” I go. “But that doesn't mean they weren't there.”

He makes a face.

“So what're we gonna do?” I go.

“First thing we gotta do is solve the door problem,” he tells me.

“When's the assembly?” I go.

“Friday, fourth period,” he goes. “You finish the stuff we're gonna bury?”

“Pretty much,” I go. “You?”

He gets up and roots around in his closet. There's a little poop stain showing through his underwear. He throws shirts and shoes out into the middle of the room, then comes out with a pile of papers like a phone book.

“You're gonna bury all that?” I ask him.

He looks proud.

“What is it?” I go.

“None of your fucking business,” he goes. The first page is all filled with writing. He holds the pile in front of me before he puts it back in the closet. He's careful about how he hides it again. Then he throws the shirts and shoes back in over everything he's arranged.

I had like five pages to bury, so now there's that to feel bad about.

“A
wedge,
” he goes. “Jesus Christ. A wedge.” He's still standing next to the closet.

I don't get what he's talking about.

He bunches his fingers together and makes a little move with his hand to demonstrate. “To seal up the side door. We do it from the
outside
. From outside the gym, in the hall. One of us brings a little wedge and a hammer.
Bang,
you drive it in under the door. Nobody from the
in
side can open it.”

I'm still looking at him, trying to figure it out.

“We wait till everybody's in the gym. Then one of us does that,” he goes.

“Where do we get a wedge?” I go.

“A wedge,” he goes. “Anywhere. You make one. It takes two seconds.”

I think about it. It makes sense. “So we gonna test it?” I go.

“We don't have to
test
it,” he goes. “It's a
wedge
. What're we, testing to see if a wedge works?” He flops down onto the bed again, happy. “I can't believe I didn't think of it before. I can't believe even you didn't think of it.”

I have a new headache or else the same one that just keeps coming back. “So this means we can do it Friday?” I go. But he's already thinking about something else. He's excited again. “You gonna have trouble with your fingers?” I go. Meaning with the guns.

He shakes his head, still thinking about whatever the other thing is.

“Roddy? Homework?” his mom calls up the stairs. We both jump.

“He's just going,” Flake calls.

We listen for her leaving the bottom of the stairs.

“Do we know how much kick these guns have?” I go.

“Listen to you: Joe Pro,” he says. “How much kick.”

“Well, who knows,” I tell him. The headache makes me squint.

“Just hold on to it,” he tells me back. “Don't hold it like a faggot and you'll be fine.”

“I'm not gonna hold it like a faggot,” I tell him.

“Then we'll be fine,” he goes. “Look, you better go.”

I get out of the chair. “What about the thing with Hermie?” I go.

He does a thing with his hand like bugs are around his head. “We gotta stall him for a week,” he goes. “Lemme think about it.”

“You think about it, too,” he tells me, after I say I'll see him later.

I don't come up with anything that night. Instead I spend a lot of time thinking about Bethany. I make up this little scene where she comes over and I go, “Hi. What are you doing here?” and she doesn't say anything but she pulls me into my garage and then puts her hand on my face.

I whisper to myself. A hard-on that's so hard it hurts comes and goes. We haven't figured out what we're going to carry the guns in, either.

When I get off the bus at school I'm so tired I have trouble focusing.

“What's the matter with you?” Flake goes.

“Your mother kept me up,” I go.

“Your mother kept my dog up,” Flake goes. He puts his arm around me like we're the best of pals and walks me over to the steps where we broke in.

“What's the longest anybody ever had a headache?” I go.

“So listen,” he goes. “I think I solved the Hermie problem.”

“What'd you do?” I ask.

“Stop yawning,” he goes.

“I can't help it,” I go.

“What if we tell him we'll get him something supercool that he can fight Budzinski with?” he goes.

“Like what?” I go.

“I don't know. Something supercool,” he goes.

“Like what?” I go.

“How should I know,” he goes. “Like nimchucks.”

“Nimchucks,” I go, thinking about it.

“We don't have to actually
get
any,” he goes. “We just
say
we will.”

“Why can't Budzinski take his nimchucks away from him and beat on him like he did with the stick?” I go.

“Ah, shit,” Flake goes.

“That's what Hermie'll say,” I tell him.

“Well,
you
come up with something, then,” he says.

“I'm just saying what Hermie'll say,” I tell him.

The homeroom bell rings. “So come up with something,” Flake says again. We walk over and shove into the group that's heading in. “I'm doing all the work here.”

When I see Hermie in the hall between first and second period he's got a black eye.

“Shit,” Flake says when I see him before third period. “You talk to him?”

“I just saw him,” I tell him.

“We gotta find him at lunch,” Flake says. “And we gotta talk to him after school.”

I get my math test back.

“Hi, Edwin,” Bethany goes as I'm turning a corner. I almost go back.

My locker flies open like I never had any trouble with it in my life.

At lunch Hermie's standing there with a tray by himself like he already knew what we wanted.

“Hey there, Herman,” Flake says. “Long time no see.”

“Hey,” Hermie goes.

“What happened to your eye?” Flake goes. “Walk into somebody's boner?”

“No,” Hermie goes.

“They got brownies,” I tell him.

“I saw,” he goes.

“Wanna sit with us?” Flake asks.

Hermie shrugs. While we're standing around looking for a place, Dickhead goes by and dumps an apple core on my tray.

There are no completely empty tables, so we sit with some ninth-grade girls. “Do you mind?” one of them says when Flake's pack leans on her feet under the table.

“Wanna do my hair?” she asks another girl at the table.

“Yeah, maybe in French,” the girl tells her.

“So did we tell you we talked to Budzinski?” Flake says to Hermie.

“
He
told me,” Hermie goes.

“He do that?” Flake asks, about the black eye. Hermie eats his mac and cheese and looks like he wants to drop the subject.

“Son of a bitch,” Flake says, like there'd been some agreement. “I'm gonna talk to that little prick.”

“Don't talk to him anymore,” Hermie tells him. He touches his eye with his fingertip and eats more mac and cheese with his other hand.

“Well, he can't just keep beating on you,” Flake goes.

“Don't worry about me,” Hermie says.

Flake gives me a look. “So listen,” he says back. “We got some good news. We'll tell you after school.”

“Why can't you tell me now?” Hermie asks.

Flake nods at the girls.

“What do they care?” Hermie wants to know. It's a good question.

Flake holds up his hand like we'll all just have to wait. Hermie gives up and finishes his lunch.

“So what's your good news?” he says after school. He doesn't seem so thrilled just to be hanging out with us.

I haven't talked to Flake since lunch so I don't know. I haven't come up with anything.

He looks at me and sees how much help I'm gonna be. He says to Hermie that we came up with the perfect thing to get even with Budzinski. It's gonna really screw him good.

“What is it?” Hermie wants to know. He doesn't sound excited.

“I don't want to give it away, completely,” Flake tells him. “It's pretty complicated to set up.”