Brutal Youth (18 page)

Then Lorelei was charging back at him, dropping her book bag on the ground, her face full of fury. Stein began to babble another apology, but she shoved him up against the wall of the church and pressed her mouth against his, softly, deeply, until they were both out of breath.

She stepped back. One hand reached down to pick up the shoulder strap of her bag; the other brushed her lips lightly, as if to make sure they were still there.

Stein’s face was a jumble of confusion. “Why did you do
that
?” he asked.

As Lorelei disappeared around the corner of the church, all she said was: “Because.”

FIFTEEN

Stein didn’t try so hard to make anyone else like him.

He was never the go-along type, resisting even the harmless bits of senior hijinks, like the dumb hallway sing-alongs that had made Green so popular. At first, Stein’s defiance provoked the older kids into directing ever more brutal treatment toward him, and the more they tried to make him suffer, the more he pushed back. Stein’s unrelenting combativeness succeeded in making most of the seniors avoid him. He was more hassle than he was worth, though they all were eager for someone else to humble the hostile little brat. There is always some fringe-dweller, some perpetual loser with lots to prove who moves in where others have failed, desperate to make a reputation.

And that’s how Stein crossed paths with Asshole Face and Sandmouth.

Mullen, who had once tangled with Clink’s mysterious book bag and got a pen through his face to remember it by, had been waiting weeks to get revenge on Stein for bestowing him with that unpleasant little nickname. The white starburst of scars on Mullen’s cheek had healed over, but his pride took the beating now. Sandmouth Simms, was his eager toady, reminding him that torturing Stein would make them heroes to their fellow seniors. They needed something to elevate them from their bottom-feeder status.

Life in general had never been good for Mullen. His family’s income was slight, barely able to keep up with the school’s tuition, but his parents were convinced a private education would get their boy into a decent college. His father was on disability from the farm-supply outlet, undergoing chemotherapy for a thyroid cancer they suspected was caused by longtime exposure to the pesticides they sold. They had plans for a lawsuit if doctors could prove the connection—one hell of a retirement plan, if the old man lived to see it.

Frank “Sandmouth” Simms came from a similarly desperate financial situation. His parents were Catholic traditionalists who lived along Bull Creek, in a cramped wooden home that was shedding paint like dandruff—even though his father worked as a housepainter. Having their only child receive an education steeped in the teachings of Christ was a luxury they afforded by forgoing medical insurance. The trade-off was their son’s horribly maladjusted teeth, which were browning from some type of dental disease—undiagnosed, of course.

Simms was the kind of guy Mullen would have loved to torture, if only Mullen had been able to make other friends. Every time he looked at Simms’s big smile, with those furry teeth, and heard his jackass laugh, he felt a secret hatred for his only companion.

Ever since their time as seniors started, Simms had been nagging Mullen about getting in on the freshman hazing. “Man, we got to find something really good to do to ’em. Really fucking
good,
you know?”

Mullen agreed, but the “Asshole Face” nickname had cowed him. Mullen was no longer sure he’d even
get
a freshman slave of his own when the Brother–Sister sign-up sheet was posted. There were about half the number of freshmen as seniors, so some upperclassmen would have to share. Others might get shut out completely.

“We’ll double up right away and pick one together, okay?” Simms said. “That way we won’t get left with
nothin’,
right?” Mullen reluctantly agreed, once again unhappy to find his fate locked with Simms’s.

In the days before Thanksgiving, the senior class introduced a new hazing task for the freshmen—Butler Duty, which required freshman boys and girls to act as servants for the upperclassmen during lunch. They would carry food trays, polish the cafeteria seats before the seniors would sit down, and clean up when the meal was finished. It even had Sister Maria’s blessing, since she saw it as a harmless way to initiate the newcomers, and might even create a bond among the freshmen—which, after all, was the entire justification for the St. Mike’s hazing ritual.

Davidek spent the entire time trying to spot Hannah Kraut, just to get a look at the dread monster. But LeRose said she always left school grounds for lunch, a privilege afforded the upperclassmen, but not the freshmen. “Nobody wants to eat with her anyway,” LeRose said.

While the senior boys were caveman-ish, deliberately spilling their sodas and slopping their food on the table, and testing the patience of guys like Smitty by dropping their silverware and making him fetch new forks and spoons, the senior girls were more orderly and polite—albeit just as demanding. Lorelei, working alongside Zari and Seven-Eighths, even received polite “please’s” and “thank you’s” as she served Audra and her friends.

Only one freshman refused to participate in Butler Duty.

Stein sat alone at the freshman table, waiting for his friends to finish their work and join him. He smiled at the upperclassmen barking at him to get up and help. Still, no one felt like tackling the infinite hassle of Noah Stein—until Asshole Face and Sandmouth sidled up to the lone figure in the freshman section.

“Listen to me, fuckstick,” whispered Mullen, leaning down over Stein’s shoulder until his lips were in his ear. “You’re going to get up, get over to the food line, and bring me and my friend Frank, here, our lunch.”

Simms opened his jack-o’-lantern mouth. “On your feet, faggot,” he said.

The sophomores and juniors at the surrounding tables got quiet, watching the confrontation. Stein devoted unusual focus to his peanut butter and jelly sandwich, nibbling tiny bites, while Mullen and Simms looked at each other helplessly. Then Mullen grabbed a metal fork off Stein’s tray and stabbed it under the freshman’s left armpit as Simms pulled Stein up out of his chair. Mullen dug the fork harder, shoving Stein toward the lunch counter.

“You win, guys,” Stein said, wincing as he rubbed his side. He looked over at his classmates, acting as maids and butlers to the older kids. “All you had to do was ask
nice,
” he said.

Mullen and Simms shared a brief, surprised glance; then Mullen put the fork back on the table. Stein asked them for their money, and Mullen said: “This one’s on you.”

“If you say so,” Stein said. He grabbed two azure plastic trays and waited his turn in the lunch line for double helpings of pot roast and rice with gravy, two dishes of creamed corn, and two cubes of wriggling green Jell-O. Stein paid with a fistful of wrinkled bills that emptied his wallet.

He gripped a tray in each hand, holding them high at shoulder level as he maneuvered through the crowded aisle toward the senior tables. “Over here!” Simms called, waving his hand from one of the far rows. Mullen plopped down beside his friend, boasting to the other guys at the table about how they had scared the shit out of that scar-faced little prick.

“He’s even buying our lunch!” Simms said.

“It’s true,” Stein said, standing behind them, still holding the trays aloft. “But on second thought, maybe this should be on you guys.”

As Mullen and Simms turned to look at him, Stein rotated his hands, dumping the plates full of hot meat and gravy over the tops of their heads. Mullen shrieked, pawing steamy corn away from his eyes, while Simms, wearing a little square of green Jell-O on his head, sprang from the table to slap the scalding pot roast off his lap.

Stein didn’t run. He stood still and straight, savoring their agony. When Simms seized him by his shirt and threw him down against the table, a group of teachers, led by Mr. Zimmer, were already there to stop the fight.

“He spilled
piping hot fucking
food
on us
!” Mullen screeched in a high voice. His shoulders steamed with gravy while his shirt and tie dripped brown fluid.

Stein feigned a nervous apology. “No, no!” he cried. “I was just saying I didn’t think they should make me pay for their lunch, and that guy—” he pointed at Mullen “—pushed back in his chair and knocked me over!”

“Fucking liar!” Mullen cried, lunging at the freshman.

“Watch your mouth, Richard,” Zimmer said, holding him back without much effort. “Did you boys really make him pay for your meal?” Mullen and Simms were dumbstruck. The other boys at their table had just listened to them brag about that.

Zimmer scratched his face and looked around the circle of irate upperclassmen surrounding the lone, seemingly apologetic freshman. Mrs. Tunns and Mrs. Horgen were there, keeping the peace, along with Mr. Mankowski, who looked unsure of himself, as always. Bromine, thankfully, had already gone back to her classroom.

Zimmer thought of Father Mercedes, looking for excuses to attack Sister Maria’s oversight of the school. This incident could only feed that, if he allowed it. But an accident was just an accident, after all.

“You’re a mess, but are you
hurt
?” Zimmer asked, and Mullen and Simms stared at him. “I got gravy in my ear,” Mullen said, which made some of the surrounding students chuckle.

“Why don’t you go upstairs to the bathroom and clean up?”

“What happens to
him
? Nothing?” Simms snapped.

Zimmer turned to Stein. “Maybe everybody here needs to apologize to each other,” he said, and forced the three boys to shake hands. Stein’s hand came away wet with gravy. “This isn’t over,” Mullen growled as he and Simms wandered upstairs to find warm water and paper towels. A little ripple of laughter followed their retreat through the lunchroom, along with low, foghorn murmurs of “Asssssss-holeface…”

Butler Duty was supposed to happen all week, but from that point forward, it was canceled. The seniors were pissed that Stein’s behavior had ruined it, though some feared other freshmen might follow his example if they continued. No one wanted to end up like Asshole Face and Sandmouth, wearing their lunch the rest of the day.

SIXTEEN

Carl LeRose’s face looked like it was full of red wine. “Jesus, can’t you two guys back off?
Christ,
” the sophomore said, pacing in front of Davidek and Stein between classes. “I’m taking a risk trying to help you guys. Goddamnit, if my dad didn’t make me promise to look out for you, I swear—”

“You and your
dad
…,” Stein said, rolling his eyes to white.

“Come on, Stein,” Davidek said. “He’s been looking out for us. Who else is doing that?”

“I look out for myself,” Stein said.

“Don’t you idiots see?” the lumpy sophomore told them. “This is when the seniors start losing interest in all this initiation crap. Instead, you’re pissing ’em off more. They’re miserable. Father Mercedes is up Sister Maria’s ass, and she’s up the students’ asses even further.”

“You’re up your own ass,” Stein said.

LeRose’s face turned a darker shade of red. “We’re going to take it out directly on
you.
Not just you freshmen—
you two guys.
”

“We?”
Davidek asked.

LeRose shook his head.
“They.”

“They can bite me,” Stein said.

LeRose insisted: “They will.”

*   *   *

“I’m not saying you have to make friends out of the seniors, but do you have to turn them all into enemies?” Lorelei asked.

“Who needs them? As long as I got you,” Stein said, smiling crookedly. Ever since their kiss behind the church, they’d been spending their lunch breaks in an isolated spot along the brick wall separating the school grounds from the nuns’ convent and the priests’ rectory. Making out with Stein behind the school as the wind tossed leaves in spirals made it easy for Lorelei to forget about Davidek—and provided a chance to reason with her boyfriend.

“Just remember Hannah,” Lorelei warned, and Stein shot back: “Hannah, Hannah, Hannah … You sound like Davidek. She’s just a boogeyman they’re using to scare us. ‘Be nice, or Hannah’ll getcha!’” Stein made his hands like claws. Lorelei reached up and laced her fingers through his, bringing his hands back down and placing them on her hips.

“You’re trying to change the subject,” he said, planting a small kiss on her lips.

“I just want you to be quiet,” she said, pulling his face in closer.

They thought they were sneaking away unobserved, but at least one student at St. Mike’s took note of their little getaway each day. Zari didn’t need second sight to know what they were doing, but she wasn’t sure what she could do about it. There were no answers to be found in her deck of well-worn tarot cards.

Girls like Lorelei lived in the future, projecting years ahead of themselves to map out the arcs of their lives, from college to career to marriage and kids. Others like Zari fixated on very basic wishes for the present: just one boy to like, who might like her back.

Every person, someday, tempers wild aspirations with reality. It’s those small dreamers, like Zari, who abandon their hopes the hardest.

*   *   *

JayArr Picklin and another freshman named Charlie Karsimen got tossed into the school Dumpster about three days later. The upperclassmen who did it latched the lids shut, so they had to stay in there for about half an hour, until others heard them pounding and crying for help.

A group of freshman girls, including Zari, had their makeup cases confisticated by some senior girls during the changeover for gym class, and were forced to walk out onto the field with their faces painted like clown-whores.

It was no seceret. The upperclassmen were terrorizing the freshmen even harder as revenge for what Stein had done to Mullen and Simms. His behavior could
not
be tolerated, and could
not
be allowed to spread. But the scar-faced boy himself was never bothered. It was a tactical maneuver by the seniors, designed to turn Stein’s own classmates against him, one by one, until he was isolated. And it was working.