Wart (2 page)

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What
Happened Next

L
ater, Stewart Wright would wonder if there had been any sign, any warning, of what was to come. When he was ready for bed that October night, could he have gone to his window, pushed back the curtain, and looked up to see strange circles around the moon? If he had stayed awake instead of pulling the green and blue comforter up to his neck and sleeping immediately, would he have heard an odd wind blow up suddenly to whistle around the house, knock over garbage cans, and shake bright leaves from the trees?

The truth is that there was no real sign. From his yellow two-story home with white shutters on Eighth Street, Stewart would have observed no warning. However, had he been across town on Bell Street at just the right moment, that short slot of time when it is no longer day but not quite dark, he might have seen a sleek black car turn into a driveway in front of a stone house, a place that had stood empty for a long time now. Just the day before the front windows had been covered by overgrown shrubs. No one had noticed workmen coming into the yard to cut the bushes and trim the hedge. Yet what had once been out of control was now well manicured.

Had Stewart been there on Bell Street, he might have seen a woman step from that car and heard her say to a boy in the backseat, "Wake up, Ozgood. We have arrived at last." He might have noticed that the woman took no luggage from the car. Nor did she carry boxes as newcomers frequently do when they first move to a home.

From outside the windows of that stone house, Stewart would have seen that no one was inside before the woman and boy came, but strangely, a welcoming fire blazed in the fireplace and reflected the shine on tables and bookcases. Had he been near the door when the woman and the boy opened it, smells would have drifted from the kitchen, wonderful smells of roasting meat and baking cookies. He might have heard the woman say, "Ah, all is ready, just as I ordered."

But Stewart was not across town on Bell Street. He spent the time before he went to bed playing a game on his computer when he should have been doing his algebra assignment.

Because there was no warning, Stewart Wright slept well in his yellow house. In the morning, he woke when his dad knocked at his door and called, "Time to get up," but he wanted to go back to sleep, wanted to continue the funny dream. He had been in a race with other boys from his class, but the unusual thing was that Ham's grandmother was in the race too. In the dream, she was a great runner, and she and Stewart were leading all the others, even Brad Wilson. Then the knock came.

Stewart sat up and rubbed his eyes. Well, he thought, it didn't seem likely that Mrs. Hamilton, a gray-haired lady who sometimes used a cane, could win a race, but his own winning, that was a dream for sure. He wished he hadn't signed up for gym. Now that he was in eighth grade, it wasn't the old required PE class. Now they had basketball teams and played real games, but it was late October, way past the deadline for changing classes. Besides, his father wouldn't have agreed to his dropping out anyway. "Finish what you begin." He could hear his dad's voice in his head.

Then that same voice called from down the hall. "Stew, are you up?"

"Yes." He threw his legs off the bed and began to dress. The day started as usual, breakfast with his dad and little sister. Georgia was still excited every morning about going to kindergarten. Stewart ate his cereal and thought about how he had liked school back in elementary days, hadn't really hated it the first two years of middle school either. Only this year had it become almost unbearable. Two things made it horrible. He was not good at basketball, and he couldn't quit wondering about being popular. Okay, he confessed to himself, there are three. He also couldn't stop thinking about Taylor Montgomery either.

His dad always drove Georgia to school on his way to teach at the college. She was in the dining room gathering her school things, but Stewart could still hear her chattering. Georgia was like their mother, a woman she couldn't even remember, always talking and at ease with people. Stewart looked at the family picture above the fireplace. Dad was holding baby Georgia, and there he was standing beside his mother, his arm around her shoulder. Life was so easy then.

Stewart got his books. On top of the stack was algebra. He frowned, remembering that he hadn't finished last night's homework. With a sigh he shoved the books into his backpack. Oh, well, there was no more hope for his algebra grade than there was for his athletic ability or popularity. For a minute he stood still, thinking. Sometimes he could hear his cousin's voice in his head. "You need new friends."

Stewart shrugged and went outside to sit on the front step and wait for Ham to come from his house around the corner, but outside the air was definitely cooler than yesterday. He went back for a jacket. When he came out again, Ham was standing on the sidewalk, and he was grinning. "Morning, Stew." Ham slapped him on the shoulder, and Stewart grunted a greeting. Sometimes Ham's good moods got on Stewart's nerves. Sometimes Ham got on his nerves! Sometimes he wanted to walk away from Ham, just long enough to know if Sammi was right. Would he really be more popular without his old buddy?

Ham took a breakfast bar from his jacket pocket and began to unwrap it. "Didn't finish my breakfast." He pointed with the bar toward the house next door. "You want to see if Rach is ready to go?"

Stewart shook his head. "Nah, let her find her own way to school."

"Not exactly Mr. Sunshine this morning, are you?" Ham talked around the breakfast bar.

"Don't see what there is to be sunny about?"

"Cheer up," said Ham. He dusted the crumbs from the front of his jacket. "Things could be worse."

"Yeah, you think so?" Stewart slung his backpack over his shoulder and began to walk. "Just watch, and they probably will get worse."

"You know," said Ham, "this might be a really good day. Maybe today will be the day Harrison shows the video in art. I would have taken band if I hadn't heard about that video, all those naked women right there in class. He's supposed to show it during the first nine weeks, and time is running out."

"I've told you, they can't be pictures of naked women. Harrison couldn't get by with that. Probably just statues or something."

"Well, as long as they're naked, anyway. Even statues would be better than nothing. I'm telling you, today is the day. I can't wait until art class."

They didn't talk much more on the way to school. The crisp autumn breeze touched their faces. Yellow mums filled flower beds and Halloween decorations hung in windows. Stewart wished he could forget about Taylor, who would never notice him. He wished he could stop caring about being a good basketball player. He wished he could quit having the urge to yell at Ham, who finished one breakfast bar and pulled another from his jacket pocket.

Their school, an old sandstone building that had once been the high school, covered almost a whole block. It was, Stewart thought, not really part of the town, not part of anything around it. Sequoyah Middle School was a kingdom, a kingdom ruled by the popular kids, a kingdom where Stewart had no real place. They climbed the big front steps and went inside. Stewart walked slightly ahead of Ham. No one noticed them. They separated to go to their classes.

When they met at the art room door third period, Ham poked Stewart. "Hey, look! He's pulled the video screen down. Didn't I tell you this was going to be the day?" Ham looked around the room. "Wonder where Harrison is? He's always in here when we come in." They made their way to a front table.

Stewart got interested when Taylor Montgomery took a seat at the end of their table. Lately, he had taken to watching Taylor all the time. It had started a few weeks earlier, when Stewart had walked behind Taylor in the hall. Her shiny blond hair had hung down below her shoulders, and it had bounced as she walked. Her body had bounced, too, and Stewart had followed her into a classroom before he realized that he should have stopped in the room before that one.

Stewart felt desperate. He wanted Taylor to notice him. He even e-mailed Sammi, "She's very popular. Any hints about how to get her to like me?"

Sammi wrote back a long answer all about how Stewart was such a great guy and how any girl would be lucky to have him for a boyfriend. She said Stewart should just be himself, but then came the part that made him uncomfortable. "You are staying away from Ham and Rachel, aren't you? You are never going to be part of the popular crowd if you're hanging around them." Stewart hadn't written back yet.

He was lost in thinking about Taylor and hardly noticed when the bell rang. Ham jabbed him in the ribs. "Maybe Mr. Harrison isn't here today," Ham said. "That's okay. Subs like to show videos."

Stewart didn't say anything. He went back to concentrating on watching Taylor without being obvious about it. Taylor was talking to her friend Madison. There was too much noise in the room for Stewart to hear what the girls said, but Taylor made a wonderful star in a silent movie. Stewart could watch all day.

Then Taylor stood up. "Hey, you guys!" she shouted. "We should be quiet and working when someone comes in. You know Mr. Dooley has been on a rampage lately. I don't want detention. I'm getting the charcoals."

As Stewart would have predicted, the room quieted down. People paid attention to Taylor. She was, after all, the most popular girl in the whole eighth grade. Until recently, Stewart hadn't thought much about such things, but until recently, he hadn't noticed how a girl's behind swayed when she walked either. Things were different now.

Stewart watched Taylor move to the supply closet and open the door. He heard her scream, and taking his eyes off her jeans, he saw what she was screaming about. What a sight! There was Mr. Harrison on the third shelf, right between the yarn and the bottles of glue. He gave Taylor a strange little wave.

Everyone got up and went over to the closet to get a better look. "Hey, Mr. Harrison," someone yelled. "What are you doing?" Mr. Harrison did not answer.

Instead, he took a ball of yellow yarn, unrolled a long piece, and began to weave it into his reddish beard.

"I think he's flipped," said Taylor, and she sounded like she was about to cry.

Stewart considered pushing his way to her side. He could take her hand and promise to take care of her. He didn't move.

"Mr. Harrison," called Ham, "can I have the bathroom pass?"

Stewart gave Ham a jab with his elbow. "Not now, dopey!"

"But I got to go real bad." Ham turned to look at the door, and Stewart knew he was considering leaving the room. He didn't, though, because the principal, Mr. Dooley, was coming through the door. He was moving pretty fast, and Coach Knox was behind him; so was Ashley Sage.

"See!" Ashley pointed toward the closet. "I told you so."

"Why'd Ashley go and ruin the fun?" Ham whispered, but Stewart didn't say anything. Coach Knox had come to stand right beside him, and the coach always made Stewart nervous.

Kids moved out of the way, and Mr. Dooley and Coach Knox stepped up close to the closet. "There is some explanation for this, right?" Mr. Dooley's face was red, and his bald head was starting to shine. "An experiment, right?"

Mr. Harrison didn't say anything, but he started to hum. Stewart was pretty sure it was the school song.

"Get down at once, Harrison!" Mr. Dooley pounded one fist into the other hand. Stewart expected to see steam coming out of his ears. "This constitutes flagrant neglect of duties, grounds for dismissal." He folded his arms across his chest and looked up at Mr. Harrison, who continued to hum, loudly now. Everyone could hear plainly that it was the school song, and Stewart had the urge to sing along. He didn't.

"Let me get him for you." Coach Knox rubbed his hands together in anticipation.

"Not in front of them," Mr. Dooley said in a sort of half whisper. He turned to the students and made a motion with his arm toward the door. "Go to the library. Go very quietly and take something to study."

They went, but not quietly. "Boy," said Ham when they were in the hall, "some teacher is always threatening to go bonkers, but I never thought I'd get to see one do it."

"Wow!" Stewart shook his head. "Do you think Coach will jerk him down by the leg, or will Mr. Dooley help and lift him down between them?"

"Wish we knew. I'm going to stop at the bathroom. You go on up and make sure we get the old
National Geographic
magazines. You know, the ones with the women with no clothes on top."

At lunch the cafeteria buzzed with talk about Mr. Harrison. Rachel almost always brought her lunch and was already eating an apple when Stew and Ham got through the line. "I feel bad for him," she said when they asked if she had heard about what happened.

Ham waved his hand in a motion of dismissal. "You feel worse because you missed it."

"Well," she said with a smile, "I guess it would have been kind of interesting."

"He might still be there if Ashley hadn't gone for Dooley," said Stewart, "but don't say anything Ham because here she comes." Ashley Sage was Rachel's only real friend besides Ham and Stewart, and the four almost always ate together. While Ashley settled herself, Stewart looked around.

The most popular kids sat in the middle of the cafeteria. Taylor Montgomery was always somewhere near the center. Today Brad Wilson and Jake Phillips were at the table with Taylor and her friends. That was becoming a pattern. One of the boys must have a thing for Taylor, maybe both of them. Brad and Jake were both the athletic type.

Stewart wondered what type he was. He glanced at the faces of the kids at his table. I'm the loser type, he told himself, and so are these others. He wondered about Sammi's comment. Would he be with the popular kids if it weren't for his friends? Would having Taylor like him make giving up Ham and Rachel worth it?

Right after lunch, Mr. Dooley came on the intercom. Usually kids yawned during Mr. Dooley's frequent intercom announcements. He didn't have much to say to individual students, but he did love to address the student body on the intercom. This time, though, they were interested. "Young ladies and gentleman," he began. "I know you are all concerned about our Mr. Harrison. Let me assure you he is being well cared for. Because his illness may keep him from us for some time, we are so lucky to have had a qualified teacher come to our building just today seeking a job. We are pleased to welcome Mrs. Wanda Gibbs who is an experienced art teacher. She will be with us covering Mr. Harrison's duties, including Open House tonight."