Saturday Boy (8 page)

I was thinking about stuff I could do to him for revenge but all my plans ended up needing things I just didn't have like an angry squirrel or a flamethrower. Then one of the stall doors opened and who should walk out but Arlo.

We looked at each other for a minute. At least I thought he was looking at me. His hair covered his eyes so it was kinda hard to tell exactly what he was looking at. He was pointed in my direction, anyway.

“What were you doing in there?”

“Sitting,” he said. “What are you doing over there?”

“Also sitting.”

“Cool.”

Arlo blew some hair off his face. I wondered how many times he did that during the day and why he didn't just get a haircut or wear some kind of hat. At least now I knew he was looking at me and I suddenly realized that I might not have an angry squirrel or a flamethrower but I
was
standing about four feet away from something just as good.

* * *

I got back to the classroom and went right to my seat.

Arlo had driven a hard bargain for the shrew once I explained that I wanted to give him money
not
to eat it. He also wanted to shake hands and said we should spit on our palms first to make it more official because that was how men agreed on stuff in the old west. I wanted to tell him that we were neither men
nor
in the old west and that spitting in your hand was actually really gross but I didn't. Who was I to argue with a kid who, when all was said and done, would probably have eaten the shrew for free? I wasn't exactly sure what I was going to do with it just yet but I knew it was going to be epic. I mean, the shrew had it all—it was smelly, it was dead, it was small and would fit just about anywhere. Then I got an idea.

“Ms. Dickson?”

“Yes, Derek?”

“Can I go to the bathroom?”

“Weren't you just
in
the bathroom?”

“Yes. But I have to go again.”

“Can't you wait until lunch?”

“No,” I said. Then I added the only thing I could think of to make Ms. Dickson let me go the bathroom again.

“I'm having some, um . . . diarrhea.”

The class exploded. Pretty much everybody started laughing and the girls who weren't laughing were making faces. Missy Sprout looked like she was going to faint.

“Do you need to go to the nurse?”

“I don't think so.”

I got up and went to the door and opened it while Ms. Dickson tried to get the class to settle down. She told everyone that there was nothing funny about diarrhea, which only made everyone crack up again. I could still hear them laughing even after the door was closed.

I went to Budgie's cubby and got his lunch box. I took his lunch box into the bathroom and went into a stall and closed the door. I opened the lunch box and took out his sandwich and put the dead shrew inside of it. Then I put the sandwich back in the lunch box, closed the lid, and left the bathroom. After I'd put the lunch box back I returned to class and waited patiently for the lunch bell to ring.

Ms. Dickson talked about the presidents for a while and then she talked about European geography but the only two things I really heard were Millard Fillmore and Luxembourg and that was only because they sounded funny. Otherwise I was imagining Budgie biting into a peanut butter and shrew sandwich and screaming like a girl and how I'd be the hero of the school. I decided that, if it came to it, I wasn't above being carried around on everybody's shoulders.

The lunch bell finally rang. I'm not sure how it was possible but I'd swear it had taken four hours to get from ten thirty to twelve o'clock. Once we got to the cafeteria Budgie and Barely O'Donahue went and sat at a table with some of their friends from another class and right away Budgie leaned in and whispered something and then pointed at me.

I went past them and sat down at a table where I could see Budgie. I was worried that someone might sit with me and block my view but no one did. Budgie and Barely O'Donahue were now whispering to the kids who were sitting at nearby tables and some of them looked over at me and I could even hear a couple of them giggling. Then Budgie put the palms of his hands against his mouth and blew a big raspberry and about half the cafeteria turned to look and started laughing.

“Now,” I thought. “Everybody's looking! Open your lunch now!”

But he didn't. Instead, he stood up, got on his chair, and bowed, which made everyone laugh harder, and now some of them were starting to clap. Budgie was causing such a ruckus that a lunch monitor came over. She took Budgie's arm in one hand and his lunch box in the other and led him out of the cafeteria to eat his lunch alone in the classroom but I don't think he cared because he was waving and blowing kisses at everybody.

It wasn't fair. On any other day I bet he didn't even take the time to chew but today he didn't even open his lunch box. Now not only did I not get my revenge but also since the shrew thing didn't happen there was nothing to make everyone forget about the diarrhea thing so I was going to have to deal with being called “squirt” for the next week or so. The worst thing, though, happened in the middle of word study. I opened my desk to get a pencil sharpener and found the shrew right on top, which startled me so much I screamed.

I COULDN'T WAIT
for the day to be over. All I wanted was to be at home and away from school but I had play rehearsal, which meant I'd have to stay even longer. Plus, Violet was going to be there and even though she was one of the only ones who didn't laugh or make fun of me or scream or pretend to faint or anything, she'd still been there and seen the whole thing and that was kind of embarrassing. Maybe if I didn't talk about it then neither would she.

She was sitting in a seat in the front row of the auditorium reading a book. I sat on the stage. Mr. Putnam had forgotten something and had gone to get it and it was uncomfortable sitting there with Violet in the empty auditorium and not saying anything. I decided to say something but when I opened my mouth I swear I thought different words were going to come out.

“I don't really have diarrhea.”

Violet looked at me. I could feel my face turning red.

“Then why did you say you did?”

Budgie's face popped into my head. I didn't want it to but it did and now it was taking up all the room and I couldn't think about anything else. I felt myself getting angry so I jumped down from the stage and took off up the aisle.

“Where are you going?” Violet yelled after me.

I didn't answer her. Instead I went out into the hallway. It was quiet with all the kids gone and my footsteps seemed really loud as I paced back and forth. I wasn't really watching where I was going and I slipped on something and fell down. When I got up and looked around I found that I had stepped on a Magic Marker. I blamed Budgie. If he wasn't such a fat jerk none of this ever would have happened. I wished I'd never even met him. I picked up the Magic Marker and took the top off.

* * *

“What's a ‘doosh'?” said Mr. Putnam behind me. “And who's Budgie?”

I blinked. The wall in front of me was covered in Magic Marker. Someone had written bad words about Budgie over and over again in big letters. There was something in my hand and I didn't have to look down to know what it was.

I wished I could just disappear. I closed my eyes tight and counted to ten but when I opened them I was still there. The words I'd written about Budgie were still on the wall and the Magic Marker was still in my hand. I handed it to Mr. Putnam.

“Do you know your way to the principal's office?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Go there please. I'll be along in a minute.”

“Mr. Putnam?”

“Yes.”

“I'm sorry.”

He just looked at me. Then he nodded and went into the auditorium and I was alone in the hallway again. I looked at what I'd written. It wasn't very nice. I'm not even sure Budgie had been this mean. I licked my finger and tried to rub off some of the Magic Marker but nothing happened. At the very least I was going to be back here with a sponge and a bucket until the late bus came.

* * *

I gave the lady at the front desk my name and told her I was there to see Mr. Howard. She picked up the phone and pushed a button and said a few things and then hung up and sort of nodded her head at the door.

Mr. Howard looked up from his desk when I came in. His bald head was so shiny I swear I could see myself in it. He also had a little beard that he was always petting like it was a guinea pig or a hamster or something. There was a candy jar on his desk, only instead of peanut butter cups or red hots it was full of paper clips. I wondered if that meant he kept candy in his paper clip dispenser and, if so, where he might be hiding it.

“Derek?”

“Yes sir?”

“Would you like to tell me why you're here?”

“No sir.”

“Derek?”

“Yes sir?”

“Why are you here?”

“I wrote something.”

“What was it?”

“Something bad.”

“Where?”

“Um . . . the wall.”

“Why?”

“I don't know,” I said. “I think I was mad.”

“You
think
you were mad?”

“Yes sir.”

“Who were you mad at?”

“Budgie.”

“And what did Budgie do?”

Mr. Howard put his elbows on his desk and looked at me and waited for me to answer. Budgie hadn't really done anything except hurt my feelings and that didn't seem like a good enough reason to write what I'd written.

“Nothing,” I said. “He didn't really do anything.”

“Then why did you write it?”

“I don't know,” I said.

Mr. Howard stared at me. He petted his beard. After a minute he stood up and went to the door and opened it.

“Show me,” he said.

* * *

On the way back to the auditorium we ran into Mr. Putnam. He stopped and we stopped and Mr. Putnam and Mr. Howard started talking. Unfortunately they were talking about me and what I'd done to the wall. Mr. Putnam even had the Magic Marker with him and he handed it to Mr. Howard, who looked at it and shook his head. I stood there wishing I could turn invisible like Fadeout or that I had Opaque's mutant ability to cloud people's minds. At this point I'd have even settled for Mysterion's lame Cloak of Obscurity. I didn't have any of those things, though, so mostly I just stared at my feet and felt bad.

The afternoon didn't get any better. In addition to scrubbing the wall clean, Mr. Howard said I'd have to stay after school every day for a
week
and scrub marker off all the walls, even in the girls' bathroom. Then he had me apologize to Mr. Putnam for wasting his time and Mr. Putnam said maybe the next time I decided to act like a hooligan I should first consider who might be affected by it. And if
that
wasn't enough,
then
Mr. Howard made me call home and tell
Mom
what happened, which was the worst part of all.

Mom was quiet on the phone. When she gets like that it means I've let her down and she's disappointed in me. I didn't like that. One time Budgie said that disappointing your parents was worse than making them mad because if your parents got disappointed too much they could stop loving you.

“I'm really sorry, Mom,” I said.

“Me too.”

“You still love me, though, right?”

I heard Mom clear her throat but she didn't say anything. There was just more quiet.

“Mom?”

“Of course I still love you, Derek. I'm just . . .” she took a deep breath and let it out.

“Disappointed?”

“Yes.”

“But I said I was sorry.”

“I know,” she said. “Listen, I have to go now, Derek. Don't miss the late bus, okay?”

“Okay,” I said. “And Mom? Mom?”

I was going to tell her that I loved her again so she wouldn't forget but she wasn't there anymore. I really,
really
hoped Budgie was wrong.

* * *

Aunt Josie made a Mexican stew for dinner that had red chiles and pork in it and I only knew that because that's what she'd told me when I asked what was wrong with the chicken. I didn't remember ever having pork before but by the way the smell punched me in the face I didn't think I'd like it too much. Or at all. During dinner I made sure to fill up on tortilla chips so I wouldn't be able to finish it. Aunt Josie looked at me like she knew what I was doing but didn't say anything.

“I'm full,” I said. “Is there anything for dessert?”

“I thought you were full.”

“Well, I'm a little bit full. I saved some room for dessert.”

“There isn't any.”

“Not even a Chocolate Ka-Blam?”

“No,” said Aunt Josie. “But if you're still hungry you could finish your
carne adobada
.”

“My what?”

“Your stew.”

I looked at the stew and the stew looked back. It seemed angry.

“I'm full,” I said. “Can I be excused?”

“Fine,” she said. “But no TV.”

“What? Why not?”

“Because of what happened at school today. Your mom asked me not to let you watch TV.”

“For how long?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know—one hour, two hours . . .”

“Dude, I think you're in a little more trouble than you realize.”

“But that was at school! I can't get in trouble twice for the same thing can I?”

Then I remembered what Mr. Putnam said about my actions affecting other people and I wondered if this was what he'd been talking about.

“I don't know, Derek. She's pretty mad.”

“I thought she was disappointed!”

“She's mad
and
disappointed.”

“She can't be both!”

“You need to talk with her about it, Derek,” said Aunt Josie. “She just asked me not to let you watch TV.”

“But that's not fair!”

“I don't know what to tell you. Writing on the wall was something you chose to do. Nobody was holding a gun to your head.”

“Why would someone hold a gun to my head?”

“It's just a figure of speech,” said Aunt Josie. “Listen, I'm just doing what your mom asked me to do.”

I went up to my room and shut the door and flopped down on my bed so hard the springs creaked. I could feel the frown on my face. It was deep—like someone had carved it there.

After what seemed like a long time I got down off my bed and went to my desk. The drawing I'd done of Castle Budgerek was sitting right on top. I picked it up and studied all the little details—the flamejobs on all the bumper cars and the cool expression on Budgie's face as he caught mad air off the half-pipe. I'd even drawn scales on the piranhadiles, which hadn't been easy.

I remembered how long it had taken me to do and how impressed Mom had been and how happy it had made her. Then I thought about how she wasn't happy anymore and how she was angry and disappointed instead and it was my fault for making her feel that way.

Suddenly I was crushing the drawing in my hands, crumpling it into a ball and throwing it on the floor. I stomped on it over and over again, then dropped to my knees and ripped it into a million pieces and threw them into the air. The next thing I knew, Aunt Josie was holding me. There were pieces of the torn drawing in her hair that reminded me of snowflakes. I heard someone sobbing. It was me.