The Downside of Being Up (14 page)

“You know, that was a really good math class today.” I made my voice cheery. “A very solid lesson plan. I mean, who knew fractions could be so interesting.”

Sheriff Mustache growled, part man, part werewolf.

The next day at school, the entire eighth grade buzzed about the Big Dance. It was all anyone could think about.

Me included.

Sure, it'd be held in the school gym, but who cared. The dance—not the location of the dance—was what mattered. Chips, pretzels, soda pop, some tables, chairs and a coupla streamers in our school colors to decorate the place were all we needed. The rest, Mother Nature would take care of that.

I just hoped Mother Nature wouldn't take care of sending me a terribly timed, out-of-the-blue bone-a-rooskie, too. I shook my head, banished the thought from my brain and searched the halls for Allison before class started, just wanting to say hi-hi. But I couldn't find her.

After first period, no sight.

After second period, no sight.

During Nutrition Break, I raced to the center of the main hall and waited. I was sure she'd cross through on her way to science class.

“Wanna hear my most brilliant poem yet?”

“No,” I said, trying to peek over the heads of all the students passing through the halls.

“It's called ‘Boogers, Belly Button Lint and Toe Fungus.'”

“You're disgusting, Finkelstein.”

“Oh, how wrong you are, my friend,” he answered. “When the sugar bear hears me whisper my words of romance tonight, she's gonna melt like cheddar cheese on a buffalo burger.”

“You think a poem about toe fungus is gonna impress a girl?” I asked.

“Three words, Bobby,” said Finkelstein. “I'll be tasting taste buds.”

“That's five, you moron.”

“
He-hurrrgh, he-hurrggh,
I know.”

Lots of kids cruising past to the left and right but still, there was no sight of Allison. “You really are a mental case, you know that, Finkelstein?”

“You do yours yet?”

“My what? My poem? Nah, been busy.”

“You better get on it, Bobby. It's due soon.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I said, straining my neck to make sure I checked every kid in the crowd. Just then, I spied her. “Hey, Allison, wait.”

She cruised past at full speed without bothering to acknowledge me, even though I was sure she'd heard me.

“Like, what's up with that?” I said.

“Aw,” said Finkelstein. “The little sesame seedsicle will come around, Bobby. The jealous ones always do.”

“Seedsicle?” I said. A few girls passed between me and Finkelstein talking about, what else, the Big Dance.

“Yeah, seedsicle,” he answered once the girls had walked through. “It's a good word. Scores high in Yahtzee.”

“You mean Scrabble.”

“Same thing,” he said.

“Finkelstein, you're a moron.” I gazed down the hall wondering if Allison was going to turn around or not.

“Well, if I am such a moron, how come my plan is working to perfection?” he asked.

“What plan?” I said. “What are you talking about, Finkelstein?”

“My plan to get my best friend his little sesame seedsicle,” he answered. “I mean, why do you think Allison is pretending to be mad at you?”

“I don't think she's pretending.” Allison had vanished into a sea of kids. “In fact, I'm thinkin' she might have found out about something I did.”

“She didn't find out about nothin',” Finkelstein said confidently. “Trust me, she's pretending. And you know why?”

“I don't know why.”

“Do you want to know why?”

“Please, tell me why.”

“Why should I tell you why . . . said Mr. Fly as he said bye-bye to the guy with the eye that looked like a pie?” Finkelstein answered. “Ow! Stop, Bobby, let go.”

“Talk, Finkelstein,” I ordered. “Now!”

“She's mad because I told the lil' cucumber sandwich you were going to the dance with Jenny McNeil tonight.”

“You told her what?” I said, letting Finkelstein go.

“It's like Gramps said,” he told me. “Ya gotta make 'em jealous. They all want what they cannot have, and I knew how much you wanted to go with her, so I did you a favor.”

“A favor?” I said, trying to think this through. “When did you tell her this?”

“Today,” he answered. “Right before first period.”

No wonder she'd been avoiding me all morning. I raced off to go catch up with Allison before she went into her science class. I caught sight of the red sweater only after weaving in and out of a few zillion people.

But just then someone grabbed me from behind.

“We missed our appointment yesterday.”

Oh no,
I thought.

“Look,” I said, turning around. “I don't have time to talk right now. See, I have to—”

“Your time is my time, Bobby,” replied Dr. Cox. “And I need to have a session.”

“
You
need to have a session?”

“I mean I need you to have a rescheduled session,” she said, rephrasing her words. “You know, because I had to cancel.”

“When? Now?”

“Yes,” she answered, adjusting her thin eyeglass frames. “Right now.”

“But . . .” Allison's red sweater faded further into the distance. “I can't,” I said. “I . . . um . . . I have class in, like, three minutes.”

I made a move to dash off, but she grabbed my arm.

“I'll write you a pass.”

“But—”

“Look, Bobby,” she began. Dr. Cox looked flustered and kinda weirded out. Her neck was covered today by a white turtleneck sweater, but it was sleeveless and I could still see every vein in her pencil-thin arms. “I've had a really hard day and I don't want to do anything rash, but if you do not come with me right now to do as you are obligated, I'll have no choice but to consider you in violation of your probationary agreement and make the recommendation to have you expelled from this school.”

“Expelled?” I said, shocked by the words.

She nodded. “Expelled.”

I looked down the hall. The red sweater was gone, having disappeared into a soup of students.

I took a moment to think about it. Dr. Cox was just nutty enough to have me kicked out of school even though I really hadn't done anything to deserve it. And our vice principal certainly wasn't going to take my side of the story over hers.

Yeah, right. I dropped my head.

“Lead the way.”

“Good decision, Bobby,” she replied. “Good decision.”

A few minutes later, we took our usual seats in her office, me on the couch, her in the upright office chair.

“Look, I'm sorry about back there,” she began. “It's just been a tough day, you know?”

I didn't answer.

“I mean, I just don't understand why I always fall for the wrong guy,” she continued. “It's like I'm a magnet for losers or something. Really, why do I always choose men who are afraid of commitment?”

“Or liars,” she continued. “Oh, do I love the liars. I mean, come on, I should have known by the way he always carries that bullhorn around and thinks he's so much more superior than all the students that things weren't going to work out with this one.”

“Oh yeah, always the losers for me,” she complained. “Always the losers.”

Dr. Cox gazed off in the distance with a faraway look in her eyes. A moment later, she took off her eyeglasses and began to rub her temples.

“You know, I think it goes back to my own feelings of inadequacy surrounding my father.” She stood up and walked over to me.

“Huh?”

“You know, the role of the paternal in the formulation of an adolescent's psyche is one of the most critical components to healthy childhood development,” she said. “It's in all the research. Mind if I sit?”

“'Scuse me?”

She scooched me off the couch. We had traded places—I was now in the chair.

“You know, Bobby, you're the only one who takes me seriously on this campus. Every other kid I see thinks I am a joke.”

Dr. Cox reclined.

“Of course my dad wasn't good with intimacy.” With her head back, she looked up at the ceiling. “I never remember him hugging me, you know? Like really hugging me.”

For the next forty-five minutes Dr. Cox blabbered on about her feelings of insecurity, about how she always just wanted male approval in her life and about a rocking horse that had really traumatized her when she was in middle school. I had no idea what she was talking about.

But the longer she talked, the worse she got.

“And then,” she said with tears streaming down her face, “after all that, I still didn't get the yellow doll. Can you believe that? How could they not get me the yellow doll? Didn't they know how much the yellow doll meant to me?”

It took her three full boxes of tissues before she finally told me I could leave her office. As soon as she wrote me out a hall pass on official school stationery, I was gone.

 

I caught up with Allison just before the bell to begin fifth period was about to ring.

“Hi-hi,” I said.

“What, Bobby?” Allison replied.

No hi-hi,
I thought. Oh boy, she was mad.

“What?” she repeated.

“We need to talk,” I said.

“No, we don't, Bobby. We don't need to talk at all. Ever.”

Allison walked away. Suddenly, I felt a chin rest itself on my shoulder.

“Oh, the tiny little cream cookie is gonna be saying gobble, gobble, gobble in no time at all. Ya got her right where you want her, Bobby boy. Right where you want her.”

“Shut up, Finkelstein,” I said, pushing him away. I dashed off to catch back up to Allison.

“Allison, wait,” I said. “Don't be mad. I'm not going with Jenny to the dance. I swear, I'm going with you.”

“No, you're not,” she replied.

“But Finkelstein was just making that stuff up so that—”

“That's not why I'm mad, Bobby,” she said, spinning around to face me. “I'm mad because you stole the tickets.”

“Stole the tickets? I didn't steal the tickets. I—”

“I don't want to hear it, Bobby.” She walked off again.

“But Allison,” I pleaded, chasing after her. “You don't understand—”

“I don't want to hear it, Bobby. My dad knows it was you.”

“But Finkelstein and my sister—”

“Bobby!” Her cheeks were red hot. “Just answer one question: Did you or did you not take two tickets from the green envelope when you were at my house yesterday?”

“You don't understand, I . . .”

“It's a yes or no question, Bobby,” she said. “When you were at my house yesterday—I don't even know why I'm asking 'cause all the tickets are numbered and my dad knows who bought which ones anyway, but humor me—did you or did you not go into the green envelope?”

“But I . . .”

“No buts, Bobby. Yes or no?”

“But you see, I . . .”

“Yes or no, Bobby?” She put her hands on her hips. “Did you or did you not go into the green envelope?”

I stood there like a block of wood.

“Yes or no?”

Her eyes were laser beams. There was a long silence.

“Yes,” I said softly, lowering my head.

“I thought I could trust you,” she replied. The words practically burned a hole through my heart. “Good-bye.”

“But—”

“Good-bye!” she repeated. “And don't ever talk to me again.”

She stormed off. Finkelstein approached a second later.

“Worked like a charm, right, Bobby boy?” he said with a big, goofy grin. “The lil' coffee cup just needs a few vanilla beans and then—”

“Leave me alone, Finkelstein.” I slowly shuffled away.

“Aw, don't be like that, Bobby,” Finkelstein said, catching up. “It's all going perfect according to the master plan.”

“Shut up, Finkelstein.”

“Hey, bro,” he said. “You just need some faith that the jelly jam you're planning for the toast parade is—”

“I mean it!” I said. “Shut up! You're an idiot, you know that? A total and complete idiot.”

“I'm being serious, Finkelstein.” My anger grew. “Look at you. You're a bozo. And you do nothing but annoy the crap out of me,” I said. “Really, you do. You're like a genuine loser in life and the truth is, I wish you would just leave me alone.”

His shoulders sank and the grin disappeared from his face.

“Stay out of my life, okay? We're not friends. We're not buddies. We're not nothing,” I said. “I mean, how in the world can I make this more clear to you?” I leaned in close. “You're a moron. Stay away,” I said. “Just stay one hundred percent away!”

The bell rang. Next period for me? Math class, of course.

I left Finkelstein in the middle of the hall. After a deep breath, I opened the door to class and slipped quietly into my assigned seat.

“Take out a pencil,” Sheriff Mustache ordered all of his students. “Time for the Friday quiz.”