Black Alley (14 page)

And he put an arm around his sister's shoulders: “That's right, isn't it Manon, you wouldn't go out with a dummy like him, would you?”

Manon looked him over from head to toe.

“I don't like guys who just show off when their friends are around.”

Yes, Marcelo, in the end, Sylvain's not the one who finally finished him off, it was her. Still afterwards, there were no tears, no attempts to explain, nothing but unvoiced anger. Manon walked away and, to everyone's surprise, Cléo jumped on Sylvain and the two of them ended up on the ground in the snow. Cléo was hammering him with punches, and when the monitor saw
the crowd, he didn't guess that it was a fight, and he ordered the students to get back into their lines. Remember his horrified expression when he saw Cléo: stop that right now! What's wrong with him? And Cléo, seeing red, let me hit you, hit you, hit you! The monitor grabbed him and slapped him violently. Cléo responded by struggling to swallow his anger. Sylvain got to his feet: his nose was bleeding and he was sniffling, tears in his eyes. Then the monitor took Cléo by the ear and led him to the principal's office. Come on, you too, Sylvain. Follow me.

In the schoolyard, after that fight, they changed the way they acted towards Cléo: we want you on our team. No, we chose him before you did! Yeah, Cléo we can't wait till you come back from
accueil
, we miss you, buddy. I don't miss you guys at all. It's a lot easier in the
classe d'acceuil
. Carl smiled, you see? What did I tell you?

 

Now that his math class is over, Flaco goes down the stairs, along the narrow corridor and comes out into the fresh air, a delicious relief filling him. He walks around the edge of the field, watches the match going on, and sits down with his back against the tree where his group usually gets together. The Latino wusses are humiliating the Asian wusses, and he enjoys the pleasure of watching them play: one pass this way, another that way, a tap with the back of a heel, a bounce off a chest, a long efficient pass, if you please . . .
¡Ay, ay, ay!
When he sees him, one of the Latinos waves at him, hi, Flaco, and he simply nods. Soon the ten other players do the same, hi, Flaco: he stands up casually,
hola compadres
. When did people start calling him that? He shakes his head thoughtfully: he doesn't remember anymore. Now, his mother is the only one who calls him Marcelo. When did that happen?

Soon Paulina appears in the distance and he watches her walk: her step is always hurried, as if she's being pushed along by something urgent. The exact opposite of him. She stops, looks
vaguely bothered: you been waiting long? No, not at all, and he motions for her to come closer. They share a long kiss on the mouth, as if they were meeting for the first time after a long separation. Since Tuesday, when both of them pretended to be sick in order to miss a day of school, something has changed: the way she looks at him, touches him, behaves around him; she's more self-assured. That day, she arrived at his house early in the morning. They looked at each other shyly from a distance, in the semi-darkness of the hallway, hardly daring to touch each other. Although there was usually no situation that could intimidate her, now her eyes were lowered. Then he put his arms around her and to his great surprise, despite his greedy desire to discover her body, he felt a keen sensation of well-being just from holding her against him. Later, she'd taken off her clothes, then hurried to hide under the covers. Then, when he was naked, too, he pressed himself against her and held her face in his hands. Their mouths brushed up against each other, then they let themselves go, and he felt her relax. Paulina's smell enveloped him, carried him away. After they made love, he confided in her how much he needed her and how he felt funny being naked like that. She held him for a long time and revealed things about herself, too: she started to cry. It was one of the few times he'd seen her cry.

He contemplates her face: why does it always seem like sparks come from her eyes? She turns her back to him, sits down between his legs on the grass, and, in a slightly vague voice, he tells her about his plans: working, getting an apartment, writing. Next September, she asks, are you going to CEGEP? He signed up, but he's not too sure if he'll still feel like it then. They don't talk for a moment, watching the match, then she sighs: she doesn't think they spend enough time together. He thinks to himself that she's not really wrong. It's true, Lalo, Teta or one of the girls go with them everywhere they go. It's stupid, because he'd rather to be alone with her, too. He promises to take her to the movies on Saturday.

The noon bell interrupts their conversation. They stand up, pick the dead leaves off their sweaters, go to their lockers to get their lunch and then go to the cafeteria: Paulina branches off towards the table where the Latinas are sitting, he goes towards the Latino Power table. He shakes everyone's hand, takes a seat between Lalo and Pato, and takes out two sandwiches and a peach. Look, says Lalo, shoving a flyer under his nose. He reads:
Mega-Party, Friday April 26, put on by the Polyvalente Saint-Luc.
He shrugs his shoulders, picks up a sandwich and takes a big bite from it. Doesn't that sound fun? asks Lalo, it's tomorrow, and with his mouth full he answers yeah, maybe. Lalo tells him his mother ran across the old running shoes he lent him. As planned, he told her that they'd just exchanged shoes for a few days. Your shoes are in such bad shape, she was pretty pissed off, buddy. That's why, if she calls, he can't forget to explain to his own mother that it was just a trade. Just in case. Okay, Flaco? And he said, yeah, yeah, no problem.

They eat staring at the girls three tables away. Suddenly, Dupaulin, the English teacher, makes an entrance into the cafeteria and all heads turn towards him. He goes past the tables and then hugs the back wall with his nose in the air as if he can't bring himself to breathe the air they're breathing. Suddenly, out of nowhere, an egg sandwich falls on his grey vest. The teacher stops, his toothbrush moustache dancing, and squints his eyes. Not a single student budges. He gives them the finger and goes on his way as if nothing happened. Thunderous boos ring out, a dozen sandwiches are tossed at him. Two or three reach their mark as he continues to walk, barely taking cover, and then disappears into the teachers' cafeteria. Flaco saw that the first missile had come from the Bad Boys' table. The scene has been repeated every day since, at the beginning of the week, Dupaulin kicked Mixon out, because he'd raised his hand and asked, as seriously as possible, how to say “senile old man” in English.

Even though Dupaulin is no longer in the area, food continues to criss-cross the cafeteria. Little by little, the Bad Boys shift their target towards the Latino Power table. They retaliate, of course, throwing whatever is at hand. Soon the cafeteria is transformed into a huge battlefield where tomato juice, egg sandwiches, chocolate pudding, carrot and celery sticks sail through the air. The monitors come running, punish randomly, treat some students harshly. When the ammunitions run out, they settle down, consider the damage, wipe their faces and try to rub out the stains. With empty stomachs, they end up angry with themselves for having wasted their lunches. Several stand, beside themselves, search their pockets and stride towards the vending machines. But Eugène, one of the monitors, makes them sit back down. He still hasn't noticed he's walking around with a slice of ham on his receding hairline. Out of breath from running, he questions, “Who started all this? I demand that he stand up right now!”

Laughter rings out here and there. His fists on his hips, he spins around as if trying to catch the students behind him red-handed. It's obvious he's new at being a monitor, Flaco thinks. Then the more experienced monitor Gino enters the cafeteria with a determined stride. He walks over to the other man, relieves him of his slice of ham, which he throws on the ground, and whispers a few words into his ear. Then he addresses the students in a slow, almost affable voice, “I'm going to expel the next person who laughs or talks.”

Now, they avoid his eyes.

“This is the last time we're going easy on you,” he continues. “The next time there's a food fight, I don't care if I have to kick out fifteen of you morons, I'm going to do it.”

He surveys them with a hostile look.

“If anyone knows something but is afraid to speak out, they can come see us in the principal's office.”

For a moment, Gino speaks to Eugène in a low voice, then he leaves. Little by little the cafeteria empties out. The Bad Boys get
to their feet, walk past the Latinos, whispering insults. The Latinos reply almost automatically,
¡huevones, maricones de mierda!
As soon as they're out of sight, Lalo says to Flaco, “Did you see? They really think we're afraid of them, that they terrify us. If we have to fight them bare-fisted, if we have to use knives, I'll be the first in line.”

“Okay, okay,” Flaco says, “I get it. It doesn't do any good to get worked up.”

“We need a detailed plan,” Teta suggests.

“I agree,” Lalo seconds. “Breaking windows isn't enough. I still haven't got my sneakers back.”

“Have you noticed that since we broke CB's living room windows and his father chased us around an entire block, they've been pretty quiet? I think those guys are up to something. Don't you think so?”

“Pato's right,” Flaco says. “We have to do something to them before they do something to us. But what? That's the question.”

Flaco takes the flyer from the table and hits it with the back of his hand.

“That's it! If I know them, they'll be at that party tomorrow, and they'll all be wearing their leather jackets for sure. Here's the plan. During the party, we'll steal their coats. It'll put us in a good position to negotiate: they'll have to give us back the shoes and the watch they stole.”

“That's a good idea,” Teta say, “because all you have to do is give those guys a little rap music and they'll dance for hours, they won't have anything else on their minds at all. World War Three could break out and they wouldn't notice.”

“Exactly,” Flaco agrees. “While they're dancing, we'll sneak into the coatroom and bang! we'll steal them!”

“Yeah!” Pato brightens up. “Christ, that's a good idea!”

“How are you going to do that?” asks Lalo. “We can't just walk into the coatroom and take whatever we want. They always have someone there watching it.”

“That's true,” Flaco answers. “But have you ever noticed who they usually put in there? It's always a girl. I'm telling you, it can't fail. One of us will distract her for a little while and in the meantime, the others will take the coats. It's as simple as that.”

“I'll be the one to distract her,” Teta says enthusiastically. “I'll cruise her like she's never been cruised before. I'll take her flowers and say things like,
‘amorcito, te quiero, te amo, mi sol
. . .' She'll wet her panties!”

The others shake their heads and laugh.

“You can't just cruise her,” Flaco specifies, “she has to leave the coatroom for a little while.”

“No problem,” Teta says. “I'll take care of it. I'll just have to take her outside and give her a good French kiss.”

This time, the others look at him in disbelief.

“What? What's the matter?”

“The matter is that you're always thinking about having fun,” Flaco explains, “and none of us trusts you. Right now, I think it would be better if someone else distracts the girl. You prove yourself and then we'll give you better jobs to do.”

“I know the girl who's going to be in the coatroom pretty well,” Pato says. “She's in my class. She's Vietnamese.”

“I'll say he knows her pretty well!” Lalo says. “She's always calling him at home. So much so my mother's about to talk to her and tell her to leave her poor little Pato alone. Anyway, that girl's crazy about him.”

“Super,” Flaco says. “You sure she'll be the one?”

“I'm telling you, she's always asking me if I'm going to be at the party.”

“Good. But listen to me good, Pato. You have to know one thing. The job you have to do is dangerous. You have to have nerves of steel. After the robbery, you'll have to meet back up with us, without getting caught.”

“No problem. I'm in.”

“It's cool then,” Flaco says.

“What about me?” Teta asks. “What am I supposed to be doing all that time? Am I supposed to stand around with my fingers up my nose the whole night?”

“Calm down,” Flaco stops him. “You watch Pato and you tell us when the coast is clear.”

Like a ball leaking air, Teta lets out a long, exasperated sigh.

“You always manage to give me the stupidest jobs! Do you do it on purpose or what?”

The others turn away to hide their laughter. Then it's Flaco's turn to hiss at him, “That's what you're going to do. If you're not happy about it, don't come. That's it. I'm sick of your blubbering.”

Teta chomps at the bit, chewing on an imaginary piece of gum. To the others, Flaco adds, “One last thing. Between now and tomorrow night, we're going to stay cool. If one of the Bad Boys starts bugging you, suck it up and take his insults without saying anything. They can't think anything's up tomorrow.”

 

The only light in your room came from the little TV where monkeys were jumping from tree to tree trying to grab coconuts hanging from palm trees. Sitting cross-legged, a few centimetres from the screen, Cléo twisted the joystick, as if hypnotized. “You have now reached step number two,” a voice said, and a short tune began and played through three times. He was wearing a grey vest, a white shirt and a black silk tie. Suddenly, the monkey slipped into a ditch, a dozen coconuts fell on his head and the words
Game Over
flashed on the screen. Cléo began a new game. When he came to your house, it was always the same thing: since he didn't have Super Nintendo at home, he hogged the game and you had no choice but to watch him play. “You have now reached step number one.”