The Battle of Jericho (15 page)

Jericho looked up in surprise. “For real? What does that mean?”

Kofi shrugged. “Well, there goes my chances with the NBA!”

“You couldn't shoot a hoop straight to save your life
anyway! You're lucky the NBA lets you buy tickets to their games!”

“Yeah, I know. I never did like sports much. I just played ball with you all 'cause that's what dudes are s'posed to do, I guess. I'm more into computers and video stuff anyway.”

“Did your doctor sign your Warrior medical form?” asked Jericho.

“Yeah, he signed it, with a note about my 'heart condition,' as he called it. He said as long as I don't decide to run a marathon or something, I'll be okay.” Kofi chuckled. “No danger of that! He said takin' toys to little kids was cool and wasn't stressful, and he wished me good luck in the club.”

“Well, that's good to know. What did your parents say?”

“Nothing. I don't think they got the message on their machine yet. It usually erases itself before they bother to check it.”

“You gonna tell them?”

“Maybe. They won't think it's a big deal.”

“Why you say that?” Jericho asked.

“To them, nothing is a big deal, except hangin' out. They party with their friends all night long, then sleep it off the next day wherever they end up. Life is just one big high for them.” He drummed his fingers on the wooden bench.

“That's some deep stuff. I know they're hardly ever home when I stop by there,” Jericho replied.

Kofi grunted. “I live there, and I never see them either. Sometimes I feel like I'm the grown-up in the house. It's
been like that since I was little. I grew up on words like 'maybe later' and 'I don't care.'”

“I know they're glad you're around, Kofi. Maybe they'll change,” Jericho suggested. “Ever think about that?”

“All the time. But for now, I just hope they remember to leave a couple of dollars for lunch and bus fare,” Kofi admitted. He picked up his book bag.

“You need a ride?” Jericho offered.

“No, but thanks. I'm taking the bus downtown. I have to do a report for English and I have to use a real book, not something I downloaded.” Kofi slung his backpack onto his shoulder. “Old-fashioned teachers,” he muttered as he headed out into the cold January air.

“You take it easy, now,” Jericho called as Kofi left. He noticed Mr. Boston, with his coat and briefcase, walking purposefully toward where Jericho sat. “I'm sorry about all the noise, Mr. Boston,” Jericho began.

“Oh, that's okay, Jericho. Actually, I understand. I feel sorry for Eric. If screaming is all he needs to do to vent his frustrations, then let him scream once in awhile.”

Mr. Boston sat down and Jericho tried not to groan. Why couldn't this dude just go home? Why did he feel like he had to talk to him? Out loud he said, “Why do you always stay at school so late, Mr. Boston?”

“Grading papers. Preparing for tomorrow. I like the silence and the solitude of an empty classroom.”

“Hey, we can make that happen for you. Just say the word and you can have a solitary classroom every day! We'll just disappear.”

“Thank you for your kind offer, but nothing that drastic
will be necessary,” Mr. Boston replied, rolling his eyes. “I also like the noisy activity of a busy classroom. I just like school.”

“Is there a pill you can take to cure that?” Jericho asked.

“Retirement, I guess,” he replied with a laugh. Then he cleared his throat and said, “I hear you're on the list of pledges for the Warriors of Distinction.”

Jericho nodded. “Even teachers know?”

“Everybody knows.”

“That's cool,” Jericho said with a shrug.

“We've heard about Dana Wolfe as well—the first girl to try it.”

Jericho sighed. “Well, she's gonna make it interesting at least. Nobody's sure how it's gonna turn out.”

“You look out for her, Jericho,” Mr. Boston said sharply.

“Me? How come?”

“A young man of true distinction would do that.”

Jericho said nothing for a moment. Then he asked, “Were you a Warrior when you were in high school, Mr. Boston?”

“I didn't go to Douglass. I'm from Oklahoma. Believe it or not, I was on the football team in high school.”

“For real? You don't look big enough,” Jericho said in amazement.

Mr. Boston laughed. “I wasn't the best kid on the team, and I only played for a year. I quit in my sophomore year.”

“Too much competition?” Jericho asked.

Mr. Boston inhaled and replied, “No, I quit because of the initiation activities the team practiced every year.”

“What kind of initiation? Don't you just make the team because you're good enough?”

“Yes and no. After you make the team, the returning players put the new kids through hazing rituals.”

“How can that happen? Wouldn't the coach stop anything bad?”

Mr. Boston looked at the ceiling. “The coach turned his head and pretended it didn't happen—he'd been doing that for years.”

“Then it couldn't have been that bad,” Jericho reasoned.

“I remember the coach saying that the initiation activities built team spirit and such. But it was horrible.”

“So what did they do?” Jericho was fascinated.

“After our first practice, while we freshmen were in the shower, the upperclassmen took our clothes, so we were left there, nude, in the locker room.”

“No big deal. We're naked in the locker room all the time,” Jericho countered.

“Yes, but then we were blindfolded and marched, without our clothes, onto the football field, where the cheerleaders, the marching band, and the drill team were practicing. We had to stand there, naked and blindfolded, while kids took pictures and called us names. It was only seconds, but it seemed like hours. Everybody laughed and thought it was great fun, but I was embarrassed and humiliated.” Mr. Boston picked at the latch of his briefcase.

“So you quit?”

“No, I was also too embarrassed to complain to anybody,
so I played that one year. The next year, when I heard them making the same plans for the new kids, I just quit. I didn't want to be a part of the hazing, but I didn't have guts enough to stop it.”

“Are they still doing it at that high school?” Jericho asked.

“No, someone with more guts than I had finally told the authorities. The coach was fired, and the practice was stopped.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Jericho asked, amazed.

“Because I've heard rumors about the pledge activities of the Warriors of Distinction, and I don't want you to get hurt. I'm also a little worried about Dana.”

“What kind of rumors? I haven't heard anything like that,” Jericho replied, agitated.

“As you know, they keep it pretty secretive. But bits and pieces of information escape.”

“The Warriors of Distinction is the best club in the city!” Jericho said defensively. “Look at all the good stuff it does!”

“I don't deny that, Jericho. Just be careful, all right?”

“Yeah, I'll be careful. But if it was dangerous, my Uncle Brock, Josh's father, wouldn't let us pledge. He's been through it and he said it was a piece of cake!”

“Were those his exact words?” asked Mr. Boston.

“Well, he said it would bean 'unforgettable experience.'”

“That's not exactly the same thing, is it?” Mr. Boston got up to leave. “You're a good student, Jericho. I enjoy having you in class. I just wanted to share my concerns with you.”

'Thanks, Mr. Boston. I appreciate you worrying about me, but everything will be cool.”

Mr. Boston opened the main door, letting the cold winter air into the front hall. Just then Arielle came around the corner.

“Thanks for waiting for me,” she said. “That test was really hard. Were you bored while you waited?”

“Surprisingly not. I'll tell you about it in the car. Let's get out of here!”

THEY STOOD IN THE WAREHOUSE THAT HAD
been used for the toy drive. Jericho was nervous but not frightened. He looked at the other members of his pledge class—Josh, Kofi, a big football player named Cleveland, the track star Luis he knew from math class, two basketball players named Rudy and Deshawn, a wrestler who was simply known as Ram, three honor society members named Arnold, Simon, and Jesse, a swimmer the kids called Fish, a boy named Kenyon who liked to write poetry, a drummer named Jack, and Dana, who stood a bit off by herself. There were fifteen pledges, all waiting to see what would happen. No one spoke. Jericho felt a tickle in his stomach when he thought about what the first night's activities might be. He had thought about it all weekend, and he couldn't imagine what they might ask him to do. The room, completely empty of boxes and toys now, echoed strangely in the darkness.

The Warriors entered the room together. They all wore black Warrior T-shirts and stood in a line before the pledges. Eddie Mahoney seemed to be in charge tonight. He lifted weights every day after school, and his upper body was tight and hard with muscles. Jericho figured he forced himself to be tough to make up for his lack of height.

Eddie spoke with authority. “We will ask very little of you during the school day. After all, academics are important. But we will ask you each day to complete a school service activity.”

Rick spoke next. “You will address the seniors, who for the duration of this process are your pledge masters, by their proper title. For example, I will be known as 'Master Senior Sharp,' and you must address me as 'sir.' Mr. Madison here will be 'Master Senior Madison, sir.' And we will call each of you by your proper title, which is 'Pledge Slime.' Any requests we make of you at any time must be fulfilled—immediately. Understood, Pledge Slime?”

“Understood, Master Senior Sharp, sir!” the pledges repeated.

“When this is over, if you survive,” he paused and looked directly at Dana, “we will no longer be your masters, but your brothers, and we will welcome you into the Warriors of Distinction. But until then, you must undergo the Bonding of the Brotherhood. Understood?”

“Understood!” the pledges repeated loudly. Their voices echoed strangely in the now empty warehouse. It sounded different from how it had in the daytime, Jericho thought, when sunlight streamed through the wire-covered windows.
Tonight the warehouse was slightly darkened, full of shadows and echoes.

“Tonight it begins,” Eddie said suddenly. “The sweetness is over. We did a good job with the toy drive. No one will bother us now while we get down to the business of making sure you are worthy of us.”

A feeling of dread began to creep up Jericho's spine.

“Our first activity,” Eddie Mahoney continued, “is designed to test your loyalty and obedience. Sit on the floor in a circle, hands behind your back.” He held a medium-size plastic bowl in his hands. Rick held an identical bowl. In each bowl was a spoon. Jericho couldn't see what was in either bowl. “Pledge masters, the blindfolds please.”

Rick and Madison and the others swiftly tied black scarves around the heads of the pledges. Jericho could feel the scarf being wrapped around his head and it felt uncomfortably tight. He could see nothing. Then he felt his hands being tied behind his back. He suppressed a wild notion to pull off the blindfold and run out of there.

“Warriors and Masters,” Eddie said. “It's time to make our very own pledge slime. Let's spit in the bowl for the Pledge Slime at our feet.” Jericho wasn't sure he heard correctly, then he could distinctly hear the disgusting, wet sounds of deep gobs of mucus being spit, dropping thickly into the container.

“Enough!” Eddie commanded. “Now, Pledge Slime, one spoonful of spit will prove your loyalty and obedience. Who will be first?”

The room was silent.

“We don't have any potential Warriors here, men,” Eddie said. “We have a room full of wimps! Again I ask you—who will be the first to swallow a spoonful of spit?”

Then Jericho heard Dana's voice. “I'll go first, sir.”

“I gotta admit, the girl's got guts,” Jericho heard Madison say. Jericho silently agreed.

“Open your mouth,” Eddie said. “One large tablespoon of spit for the girl with the guts!”

Jericho heard Dana gagging a little, but she must have swallowed it, because she said clearly, “That was delicious!”

The pledge masters laughed at that, and Eddie said, “Who's next?”

Kofi, probably not wanting Dana to show him up too badly, volunteered next, then Luis, then Cleveland, who almost vomited. Josh volunteered then, and the rest of them. It took a very long time, but finally it was Jericho's turn.

“Jericho, you get what's left in the bowl. Can you handle it?” Eddie asked him.

“Yes, sir,” Jericho replied weakly. He heard the spoon scraping the bottom of the bowl, then felt the spoon at his lips. He felt sick to his stomach.

“Swallow it, Pledge Slime!” Eddie said, a maniacal tone to his voice.

Jericho took a deep breath, opened his mouth, and the contents of the spoon were poured into his mouth. It was warm and thick. He swallowed quickly before he could gag. He felt like he might faint.

“Take off the blindfolds and hand restraints,” Eddie
commanded. Jericho gazed at the pledges sitting on the floor. They all looked ill.

Madison took over then. “You did well, Pledge Slime. You know, of course, that we wouldn't really make you drink spit. Let us show you what you swallowed.” He removed a Styrofoam egg container from his book bag. “Rick, show them your bowl.”

“Egg whites. Just egg whites—room temperature. Not exactly pleasant, but not dangerous, at least. That's what you swallowed.” Rick smiled maliciously, but none of the pledges smiled back.