Schooled (8 page)
I left four messages for Frank Kasigi before he finally called me back.
He was apologetic. “Sorry, Flora. You know I’m chairing the principals’ conference this year, and it’s just details, details, details.”
“Sorry to bother you when you’re so busy. I thought I’d better check up on Cap Anderson. Has he been fitting in any better?”
“Fitting into what?” he asked. “The Age of Aquarius?”
I felt my heart sink. “That bad, huh?”
“Actually, not really. I had the boy pegged as a train wreck. But considering how odd he is, and how sheltered his life has been, things could be a lot worse.”
“He has friends?” I asked hopefully.
“Not friends, exactly. More like followers.”
“Followers?”
“Ever since that stunt with the school bus, the kids just flock to him. He put together a tie-dyeing clinic with the art teacher. You wouldn’t believe the turnout! It was”—he chuckled—“what did they call big events back in the sixties?”
“A happening,” I supplied automatically.
“Right. And that’s the least of it. He picks up a guitar in the music room and strums a few old Beatles tunes, and pretty soon he’s got twenty people in there singing along. He’s running some kind of martial arts class on the front lawn. He’s got more kids working on the Halloween dance than will probably come that night. He’s even got a few meditators. If I didn’t know the kid’s history, I’d probably have the police making sure he wasn’t setting up a cult.”
It triggered an explosion of images from my own childhood at Garland. Cult was exactly the word for it, with Rain as its philosopher/guru.
Still, the news made me breathe easier. “That’s a load off my mind. When I found out they made him eighth grade president—well, Sophie filled me in on what that might mean.”
“I’ve heard those rumors too,” he admitted. “It certainly hasn’t gone smoothly for the last few in that office. But we don’t want to be the only middle school in America with no student government. So we threw the dice, and this time we lucked out.”
“Thank heaven.” But maybe I should have realized that Cap was holding his own in his new life. He was still a fish out of water, but he didn’t seem to be quite so thrown by every little thing as he had been when I’d first brought him home.
One major clue was the fact that he was taking a genuine interest in that school. As a social worker, I kept current yearbooks from all the buildings in my district. Not only was Cap borrowing the Claverage books, but he was spending hours studying them. Imagine, a boy who had never had even a single classmate now wanting to know about more than a thousand of them. I found it heartwarming.
Things were even thawing slightly between Cap and my daughter. Mind you, that had more to do with a change in Sophie than a change in Cap. She was in a better state of mind because her father had finally remembered to send back her extremely belated birthday present, duly engraved.
Truth be told, I’d never expected to see it again, and I don’t think Sophie had either. So imagine my surprise when she opened a padded mailer with no return address and pulled out that silver bangle. There was no card, not even a scribbled note. The only thing that spoke for this gift was the engraving on the inside of it:
ALL YOU NEED IS LOVE
To be honest, the inscription threw me a little. It certainly didn’t sound like the Bill Donnelly I used to be married to. His idea of sentimentality was the presentation of the Lombardi trophy at the end of the Super Bowl. But I guess he could still surprise me. He certainly got this one right. Sophie was thrilled.
It almost made up for the fact that he had walked out of her life yet again.
Even with the new, kinder, gentler Sophie, Cap was still a whole lot nicer to her than she was to him. He probably had a crush on her. An attractive high school girl had to look good to an eighth grader, especially one who had barely laid eyes on a female who wasn’t his grandmother.
I couldn’t prove that, of course. But one day, I came home from work, and the two of them were on the couch in front of
Trigonometry and Tears
, that awful teen soap opera geared to the interest level of chimpanzees and various species of plant life. A steamy make-out scene was taking place on the screen. Sophie was watching it intently. And, more to the point, Cap was watching Sophie. He was a difficult one to read, but I believed he was trying to work up the guts to lean over and put his arm around her.
So I slammed my briefcase down on the kitchen counter and said the first thing I could think of: “Who’s up for a nice tall glass of lemonade?”
“Mother!” Sophie exclaimed in exasperation. “What century is this?”
I told myself I was protecting my daughter. But the truth is, I was protecting Cap from what Sophie would have done to him if he’d made a move on her.
The pain of my own adjustment from Garland was decades in the past. But it felt like yesterday when I watched this poor boy. I took Frank Kasigi at his word when he said Cap was doing well. But I knew I wouldn’t sleep at night until he was once again with Rain, hobbling back toward the sixties as fast as her pinned hip would carry both of them.
I was the first dropout from Cap’s morning tai chi group. Literally.
Not that I’d ever been the star of the class. Two left feet weren’t exactly an asset in martial arts. But I was Cap’s friend—as much as it was possible to get close to someone like him. I wore my tie-dyes proudly, secure in the knowledge that I had more right than anybody. After all, who hung out with Cap
before
he ever drove a bus, or masterminded a dance?
So there I was, waving my arms and hopping around like a turkey amped up on Mountain Dew, when the planted foot was kicked out from under me. It was so sudden, so devastating, that to this day, I have no idea who did it to me. Darryl Pennyfield is my prime suspect, because he was close by, but I didn’t catch him in the act. One minute I was upright—the next, I was on the grass, rolling. To the other kids in the group, it must have looked like I’d just vanished into thin air.
Were my deepest, darkest fears coming true? This was a great school year because Cap was taking the heat off me. But he wasn’t a target anymore. Target, heck, he was practically a celebrity! It was the bus-driving thing that started it. When your whole world is a cheesy, prepackaged rehearsal for being alive, like middle school, a kid your own age who can pilot a twenty-ton bus is impressive. Plus the fact that he saved somebody’s life, obviously. Now people were treating the eighth grade president like—well, like an eighth grade president. Someone who was admired and popular, a student leader who took an active role in the school.
And that was great—for Cap. But what did it mean for me? Was I back in the crosshairs because he was out of them? Only time would tell.
Of all the newly minted Cap fans, the biggest surprise had to be Naomi Erlanger. She was with that whole Zach Powers crew, and not as a hanger-on either. She was part of the inner circle, Lena’s best friend. That was royalty around here.
Needless to say, I didn’t know her well. Steering clear of that crowd was a good way to avoid being dangled by my ankles over a toilet bowl. But I’d heard that she had a big crush on Zach. And let’s face it, if the rumor had made it down to my lowly rung on the ladder, you had to figure it was all over the school.
So what was her sudden fascination with Cap? She was star pupil of his tai chi group; she was constantly turning up at his locker to show him a new peace-sign bracelet she’d bought, or a magazine article on Vietnam or the Beatles or anything about the sixties. Come to think of it, hers had been the first face at the door after the PA announcement on tie-dyeing day. The eighth grade wing was on the opposite end of the building from the art room. She must have sprinted the entire distance.
Of course, she was still one of the beautiful people. So when I spotted her, flanked by Lena and Darryl, coming our way in the hall, I was on my guard.
“Hi, Cap,” Naomi greeted us. Another thing about Naomi: I was invisible to her. Either that or I was like Cap’s pet ferret—a subhuman companion, undeserving of attention. “We’re walking in the March of Caring this weekend, and we need sponsors.”
Darryl looked me up and down, a threatening expression on his face. “It’s for a really good cause.”
I pulled a pair of crumpled dollar bills from my pocket. It made no difference to me if the money was going to support throwing puppies off thirty-story office towers. This wasn’t a charitable donation. I was purchasing wedgie insurance, and Darryl was Allstate.
“Sorry it can’t be more.”
With a grunt of acknowledgment, Darryl snatched the money out of my hand and passed it on to Lena.
Naomi’s worshipful eyes never left the eighth grade president. “What do you say, Cap?”
He took out the checkbook and began writing on it.
I frowned. “Isn’t that the school’s money?”
“Mr. Kasigi said spend it responsibly. What could be more responsible than giving to charity?”
“Paying for the dance,” I replied. “That’s what it’s supposed to be for.”
He was serene. “I’ve been inside that bank, Hugh. They’ve got plenty of money for everything.” He tore off the check and handed it to Naomi.
She took one look at it and let out a shriek that raised the roof clean off the school.
Lena gawked over her shoulder.
“A thousand dollars?”
“What?” I wheeled on Cap. “Are you
nuts
? You can’t give away that much!”
“Rain says there should be no limit on giving,” he lectured serenely. “Only taking.”
“She’s not the one Mr. Kasigi’s going to
strangle
—”
But my words were lost in the excited buzz as students flocked around to investigate the source of Naomi’s scream. Lena took the check from her and held it up for the crowd. There were oohs and aahs.
“You’re awesome, Cap!” Naomi cried emotionally. “Awesome!”
Darryl nodded fervently. “You’re the man!”
Suddenly, everybody was clapping and cheering. I was blown away. Not one of those idiots had the faintest idea that Cap’s donation came straight out of the budget for the Halloween dance.
I wanted to scream:
Look at the check! The school’s name is printed right on it! This money is yours
—
mine
—
all of ours!
That was when I experienced a moment of stunning understanding. Popularity had nothing to do with the truth. If these kids took a minute to ask themselves where Cap got off writing thousand-dollar checks, they’d be rioting, not applauding. But what really mattered was image. The eighth grade president was a star now. Nobody questioned it when he did something wonderful, because that’s exactly what was
expected
of him.
All the adulation must have been overwhelming to someone like Cap, who was so accustomed to peace and quiet. He pushed his way through a barrage of high fives and ducked into the bathroom. I followed him, struggling with my own feelings about this. I wanted to be happy for the guy, but why? Because he did something stupid? His entire rise to fame seemed bizarre. Random. Dumb.
“Must be nice,” was all I could think to mutter.
“It
is
nice,” he agreed in wonder. “I couldn’t have imagined how good it feels when so many people like you.”
I recoiled as if he’d slapped me. Being liked was a feeling I didn’t know. That I might never know. And to have that rubbed in my face by my one kindred spirit, the only person around who was more of an outsider than I was—it was the ultimate insult.
I didn’t care if he grew up on Pluto, let alone some hippie commune. To say that to
me
—someone who’d never experienced a popular
minute
, much less a popular day—was beyond cruel. Nothing could have made me feel worse than I did at that instant.
The door was flung mightily open, and into the boys’ room burst Naomi, her face pink with daring. She threw her arms around Cap and pressed a long kiss right on his mouth.
Cap was so shocked that he crumpled against the stall door when she let go.
“To be continued,” she said meaningfully, and ran out of the bathroom.
I glowered at him through eyes that were barely slits. Hero status wasn’t good enough for him anymore. He had to be a heartthrob too.
I was finished with Capricorn Anderson.
I saw a show last night with a bunch of scientists arguing over what the signs will be when the world is coming to an end. They talked about asteroids, volcanoes, and melting ice caps.
Small minds.
When Cap Anderson becomes the most popular, happening kid at C Average Middle School,
that’s
the end of the world. Especially when you consider that the guy he replaced was
me.
It was all because of that stupid dance. How could a hippie who knew less than nothing about parties organize the middle school bash of everybody’s dreams?
“It’s your own fault,” Lena accused. “You recruited half the school to bug him, and he turned them into an army of volunteers.”
She had a point. With the exception of me and the Hairball-in-Chief,
everyone
was working on the Halloween dance—even the cool people. Darryl was hauling huge rolls of construction paper to the decorations people in the art room. Naomi was designing reflective mobiles to hang from the basketball hoops. Lena was on the committee to cover the bleachers with orange-and-black bunting. Even cheap paper chains were impressive when you had eleven hundred kids stringing them.
“This is going to be the greatest party we’ve ever had!” Naomi enthused. “I’ll bet we get a thousand kids.”
“And that’s just the planning committee,” I added sourly.
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Ignore him,” Lena put in. “He’s in mourning because he thinks Cap stole his year.”
“
Our
year,” I corrected. “And he’s making it into 1967!”
“You shouldn’t be so hard on Cap,” Darryl told me. “Sure, he’s weird, but he’s the best eighth grade president we’ve ever had.”
“Eighth grade president isn’t a real job,” I seethed. “It’s a joke, remember?”
“Well, maybe it started that way,” Naomi said earnestly. “But Cap Anderson is the most amazing person I’ve ever known.”
I snorted. “Anybody can be amazing handing out thousand-dollar checks.”
Now
that
had caught me off guard. What was up with all this charity? He gave eight hundred to the food drive in the cafeteria. Five hundred to cancer research. The same to Alzheimer’s disease. They may have called it the March of Dimes, but that didn’t stop Cap from forking over six-fifty. He even stuck checks into the slots of those cans designed for people to drop their spare change.
Mr. Kasigi had to be behind it somehow. Cap wouldn’t be allowed to throw around big chunks of school money without permission from the office. Maybe the whole thing was a lesson about philanthropy. It bugged me. The eighth grade president wasn’t supposed to set a good example. His job was to make an idiot out of himself and have a nervous breakdown. But no, the assistant principal had to set Cap up for sainthood!
Whatever Kasigi was thinking—
if
he was thinking—I was the one paying the price. I was spending more and more of my time arguing with my friends, and all because of that hairball.
My year. Yeah, right. More like my minute.
How do you think I felt at lunch on Tuesday when I walked out of the food line with my tray and found Cap Anderson at
my
table, in
my
seat? Okay, it was a big cafeteria, but I’d been working my way up to that position since the very first day of sixth grade. It hadn’t taken me more than thirty seconds to look around the room and know that this was the place where the masters of the universe ate their tuna fish sandwiches. It was near the wall of windows, but not so close as to get too hot on sunny days. Yet, at the end of the period, a shaft of light always seemed to shine down like a spotlight on the person sitting in the end chair.
My
chair—at least until today.
Those filtered rays were shining now on the haystack of Sasquatch hair. I stared at Darryl. The gutless wonder wouldn’t even look me in the eye. He was concentrating on the exit sign over the door, which may or may not have been a message for me to get out. Naomi was focused on Cap, which meant nobody else in the building existed. Lena was the only one with the nerve to face me. Her look plainly announced that not only had I lost my spot, but I wasn’t welcome to pull up a chair and squeeze in either.
Fuming, I turned away.
Crash!
It was a tray-to-tray collision. My split pea soup sloshed onto his egg-salad sandwich; his Tater Tots flipped into my banana cream pie; his Snapple tipped over, raining down on my shoes.
I stared at the idiot as iced tea soaked into my socks. The last person I wanted to see just then.
Hugh Winkleman.
He stood frozen with fear, probably straining all those math brain cells to calculate how big a wedgie he’d just earned himself. Let me tell you, he should have been thinking huge. I had half a mind to stick a booster rocket under his waistband and launch it into orbit.
“You—”
And then I took in the expression on his face, and it was like looking in a mirror. He was staring at his hippie friend, who now had no time for him. And I was staring at my friends—same story.
In a way, it was more depressing than anything that had happened so far. I, Zach Powers, had something in common with this loser. That had to be rock bottom.
Still, there was only one other person in the whole school who was as disgusted as I was by all this hippie-mania. And that person had just dropped his lunch on me.
“Uh—sorry,” he said nervously.
I felt an odd rush of emotion. It wasn’t affection, trust me. But Hugh represented an earlier time at this school—before the space capsule landed and barfed up Cap Anderson. A time when things made sense.
Hugh was the one who should have been eighth grade president all along. Heck, if I’d met Cap twenty-four hours later, it probably would have happened exactly that way. Then this would still be my year, and Cap would be nothing more than a walking bad-hair day nobody really knew.
“Don’t worry about it,” I told Hugh. “Listen—we’ve got to talk.”
He looked so suspicious that I felt a pang of remorse for the mean things I’d said and done to him since kindergarten. In all the years I’d known him, we’d never had a conversation that hadn’t been a sham to lure him through a door with a bucket of ice water balanced on top. Sure he was suspicious. Wouldn’t you be?
“About Cap Anderson,” I elaborated, “and everything that’s been going on.”
Hugh expanded his tunnel vision on Cap to include an inventory of the guy’s tablemates. He sneered at me. “Oh-ho-ho! Looks like somebody’s been replaced!”
I swallowed my pride. “You’ll notice Cap isn’t hanging with you anymore.”
“I was his friend when no one else would talk to him,” Hugh said resentfully. “When you and your cronies were trying to ruin his life.”
“Well, whatever we were plotting, it obviously didn’t happen. He’s practically the king of the school.”
Hugh nodded slowly. “I don’t like it either.”
“It doesn’t have to be this way,” I pressed on.
He rounded on me. “You are such a
jerk
! Whoever told you that the whole world performs according to your instructions? That’s what started this whole mess—you trying to make poor Cap dance to your tune!”
“I don’t remember you warning the guy off when we nominated him for eighth grade president,” I snarled.
“Because I was grateful the nominee didn’t turn out to be
me.
”
I pounced on this. “So you let Cap swallow the hook. Now who’s the manipulator? You’re just as guilty as I am.”
“Maybe so, but I’m not stupid,” he said hotly. “Making Cap your victim blew up in your face. Now you want him out so you can stick me in his place.”
“It’s not like that,” I pleaded. “Look, Cap’s president. We’re stuck with that. But there’s still time to puncture the tires of this bandwagon before the Halloween dance ratchets him up to icon status.”
“No way! Just because I’m mad at Cap doesn’t mean I’m going to help you stab him in the back!”
At
my
table, Naomi leaned over and dabbed delicately at a ketchup smear on the side of Cap’s mouth. I almost upchucked. “Will you look at that!”
Hugh had been watching too, his face twisted with distaste. He said, “To be continued.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing,” he muttered, not quite meeting my eyes. “What do you need me to do?”
I shrugged. “Simple. The whole school thinks he’s immortal. We just have to show them they’re wrong.”