Jimmy Stone's Ghost Town (5 page)

I soaked up every single piece of
information that David was willing to give me over that running
bathroom sink. He was the seasoned veteran - he'd been through this
before with Billy and his friends - and he was willing to take me
under his wing, teach me his ways, and help me escape
almost-certain embarrassment. And, for that, I was very
grateful.

When the bell did finally ring, David
twisted the knob to shut off the hot water, snuck his head out of
the bathroom door, and motioned for me to follow him. We took the
longer way around Boredsylvania Elementary, but it was the route
that he was sure the Coogan Boys would never take.

"But how can you be so sure?" I asked
him.

"I've done this a million times." He looked
at me like I was crazy for even asking. "An entire year as their
target, Jimmy. I learned a lot about Billy and his friends in that
year, and the one thing I learned is that they pretty much refuse
to go past Mrs. Harlow's room."

"Old Mrs. Harlow? The art teacher?"

"That's the one," he said and led me through
the hallway, past her room.

Following David, I made it safely back to
our classroom, completely out of sight of the Coogan Boys, and just
before the usual late stragglers wandered into their seats.

Mission accomplished, I
thought, as I had managed to avoid any kind of confrontation with
Billy. And with the help of my new friend (
friend
?!), I was sure I'd be able to
do the same thing on a daily basis.

When the last kids made their way into the
room our teacher, Mrs. Toleda, scanned the room to make sure
everyone was there. As she turned toward the blackboard and grabbed
a piece of chalk, I swung my head around to look back at David.

Right in front of the lockers, all the way
to the right, just as he'd told me.

David lifted his head from
his desk, saw me looking back at him, and gave me a big thumbs up.
It was a cheesy thing to do, but I didn't care. I'd made a friend -
and, even better, a friend (with what I imagined to be some kind of
magical powers) that was going to help me
survive
this year - and that's
really all I needed to know to get me through the rest of the
day.

Chapter Ten

"Jimmy," I hear through my barely open
bedroom door. "Jimmy." Dad's yelling for me again, from the couch,
and I wish I'd had my door closed. At least then I'd have some
excuse for not answering. I could have at least said I was doing
some homework, or listening to the radio, or something.

Trex looks up at me, probably wondering the
same exact thing. "How could you possibly forget to close the door,
buddy?" If he could talk, I'll bet that's exactly what he'd say to
me right now. Instead, he just stares at me with those big, brown
eyes and drops his chin back onto the bed.

"Yeah, Dad," I say as I get up and walk over
to my door, leaning out into the hallway. "What is it?"

"C'mere," he mumbles just loud enough for me
to hear.

Looking down the hall, I can see his crossed
feet up on one arm of the couch. His socks are full of holes and
the soles are a weathered yellow. I can only imagine what they
smell like. The TV is blaring so loud that I can actually hear the
speakers buzzing.

I reach the living room and go directly to
the TV to turn down the volume.

"What do you think you're doing, Jimmy?"

"Turning down the TV, Dad. I can barely hear
you."

"What?"

"Forget it," I say and look down at the
coffee table, scattered with a few empty bottles of Dad's beer. I
want to try to get this over with as soon as possible so I can just
get back to my room and Trex. "What's up?"

"I was just wondering," he says before
taking a long gulp from the green bottle in his hand, "when you
were planning to take out that garbage like I asked you to
yesterday?"

I drop my head, look down at my shoes, and
shuffle them across the floor in front of me. He asked me to take
out the garbage yesterday? Maybe he's confused with last week - or
two years ago - who the hell knows?

"I don't remember you asking me to take out
the garbage yesterday," I say quietly.

"Jimmy," he says and bangs his bottle down
on the coffee table before looking me square in the eyes. "I
specifically remember telling you to gather up the garbage from
around the house, the stalls, and back by the barn. Then, I
specifically remember telling you to take that garbage, bundle it
up in some bags, and walk it all out by the street so the garbage
truck can pick it up tomorrow."

I almost want to laugh as I listen to Dad
slur his way through that little speech, but I'm not that stupid.
When he gets mad like this, he has this habit of making his eyes
bug out really big and looks right at me. I guess he thinks it's
intimidating, and maybe he's right. At this point, I wouldn't dare
tell him that I have zero recollection of this conversation ever
taking place - yesterday, two weeks, or a year ago.

"Sure, Dad," I say as I gather up the empty
bottles from the coffee table. It's just not worth fighting with
him when he's like this. "I remember. I'll do it right now."

With the empty bottles
between my arms, I move around the couch and look for any garbage
that he might have dropped to the floor without even bothering
to
think
about
putting it in the trash.

"Come on, Trex," I say as I walk over to the
kitchen garbage, toss the empty bottles in, and pull out the large,
plastic bag. "We gotta take the garbage out."

Trex comes running into the kitchen, sits
down right at my feet, and looks up at me. I pet him behind the
ears just before tying the garbage tightly in a knot.

I'm heading out the door, to go gather all
the rest of the garbage, as I remember that I wanted to ask Dad
something before he fell asleep on the couch. I guess now's as good
a time as any. I mean, I'm taking out the garbage like he asked.
What better time could there be?

He's already turned the volume on the TV all
the way back up, so I have to basically scream over the sound of
some crazy infomercial about a "revolutionary" tool that does
something I doubt anyone would ever even need.

"Hey, Dad," I yell, straining for him to
hear me over the TV. "I wanted to ask you a quick question."

"What's that, Jimmy?" He refuses to turn the
TV down - or just doesn't really care to hear me - and doesn't even
bother to turn around toward me. He just keeps staring right at the
screen.

"A question, Dad. Can I ask you a question
real quick?"

I hear him grumble as he fishes for the
remote control from underneath his flannel shirt. "Did you take out
that garbage like I asked?" he asks as he turns down the volume
just enough so he can barely hear me.

"I'm doing it now," I say, garbage back in
hand and Trex at my side. "I just wanted to ask you something
first."

"Go ahead," he says. "What is it?"

"Is it okay with you if I have a friend over
to the house tomorrow?"

I nearly drop the garbage bag as Dad busts
out in a huge belly laugh. He almost falls off the couch as he,
apparently, continues to get a huge kick out of my question.

"You
what
?" he asks.

"I wanted to know if--"

"I heard what you asked
me, but I wanted to make sure I heard you right." He's getting way
too much enjoyment out of this and now I wish I'd never even have
bothered to ask. I wish he'd just go back to drinking his beer.
"Did you say you wanted to have a
friend
over?"

"Yeah, this kid I know from--"

"Yeah, yeah," he says and
falls back onto the couch laughing. "A friend. Okay, Jimmy. No
problem. You can have your
friend
over the house." He continues to laugh as he
turns the volume on the TV back up to full blast.

And, you know what? He's still laughing as I
slam the door behind me and carry the large garbage bag across the
yard to the stalls, Trex following right behind me.

Mom never would have laughed. Mom would have
invited David for dinner without me even having to ask. But Mom's
not here anymore, and I've got to deal with Dad instead.

I drop the garbage bag outside the stall
doors and pull them open, stepping inside. The smell of horse poop
is strong, and I can practically taste it, but I still smile as I
think about what new tips and tricks David might tell me tomorrow.
Right here, at my house. Whether Dad remembers saying he could come
over or not.

Chapter Eleven

It turned out to actually be a few days
before David finally came over after school. I'm sure dad had
forgotten all about it by then and the look of shock on his face
when we both walked through the door said that he probably didn't
even remember me asking him for permission.

When Dad's brain finally computes the utter
shock of me having company over, he shakes it off, pulls open the
refrigerator door, grabs a tall, green bottle of beer, cracks it
open, and tilts his head back to take a big gulp. It was almost
like he needed that alcohol in his brain to truly understand what
was happening.

"Jimmy has a friend?!" he was probably
thinking.

"Dad, this is David, my friend from
school."

"Hey, David," he said, "what the hell are
you doing--"

"--We'll be up in my room with Trex," I
said, cutting him off before he could say something to David that
I'd have to explain for the next hour. "We won't bother you."

"But I'm trying to talk to little David
here," he said as we walked past him and into the hallway.

Dad didn't seem happy that I blew him off as
I pushed David in front of me, down the hall, and toward my
room.

I'd have to deal with Dad being mad later.
David and I had only been friends for a few days now and I didn't
want to risk Dad screwing that up in the first five minutes we were
in the door.

We finally made it to my room and I could
still hear Dad mumbling to himself in the kitchen as I popped open
the door for David.

Trex was curled up in a ball at the foot of
my bed until he heard us click open the door and his head shot up
almost like he wanted to smile at us.

"C'mere, Buddy!" I said and slapped my
thigh, bending over to greet him.

Trex jumped up from his spot and bolted off
the bed toward us.

"This is Trex," I told David as I rubbed my
dog's head. "He's probably the best dog you'll ever meet."

David looked down at Trex, nodded his
approval, and smiled.

One thing I'd learned about David in the
last few days is that he didn't say much unless it was something
really important. That was probably one of the reasons I'd never
noticed him in the back of our classroom. I don't think I'd ever
heard him say even a word in class. In fact, I'll bet he's never
even answered any of the teacher's questions.

It was actually something that I'd learned
pretty quickly to like about David. He wasn't one to joke around
very often (even to me), but he always knew the right time to chime
in with advice and conversation.

We'd spent the last few
days getting to know each other a little better. Well, at least I
was getting to know
him
a little better. It was obvious that David
already knew me pretty well. I mean, he
did
find me hiding in that bathroom
stall, right? And he even knew exactly who I was hiding
from.

For David, the last few days had been all
about showing me some of the things he knew about Billy Coogan and
his crew.

It was amazing. David knew exactly where the
Coogan Boys were going to be, what their plans were, and the best
possible routes to take to avoid them. It was like he'd kept a
journal of every move they made during the year he was their
target.

David showed me what he called his "Four
Principles."

"Like Principal Rufkin?" I'd asked him the
first time he said it.

"No, no," he said. "The 'principles' are
more like laws, or rules, to live by if you want to have the best
possible chance of survival against the Coogan Boys."

David's "Four Principles" were as
follows:

Evade!

Never take the route that
will put you in the way of danger. If you know where Billy and his
pals are going to be, make it your personal mission to avoid that
area at
all
costs. If they can't find you, they can't hurt
you.

Anticipate!

If, by chance, Billy's
crew is going to find you, be prepared. You should know their
tactics, their favorite attacks, which attacks they use in every
situation (and every place), and their limits (here's a hint: they
have
none
). The
Coogan Boys attack with military precision and you have to be ready
for that.
You have to be more prepared
than they are
.

React!

You've been caught by the
Coogan Boys. What do you do? What's the best way to minimize the
damage from an embarrassing situation? What can
you
do to lighten the blow of a
wedgie? An Atomic Wedgie? An intimidation tactic? Or, worst of all,
a
pantsing
?!
There
are
ways to
turn a horrible situation into something tolerable. You need to
know these reactions like your times tables. The Coogan Boys will
do everything they can to maximize the damage and take away your
reaction options, so you'll need to get creative.