Lor Mandela - Destruction from Twins (35 page)

Maggie just nodded.

Mr. Lee sniggered and turned to go to his
desk, but as he did he smacked right into Holden, who was standing
directly behind him. Maggie had no idea how he got there without
her seeing him, but she was relieved that Mr. Lee would have a new
target on which to vent his frustrations. What happened next,
however, was not at all what she expected.

Holden's face became chillingly serious. He
stared Mr. Lee boldly in the eye, and in a quiet voice only audible
to the three of them, and so daunting that it didn't even sound
like his own, he gave Mr. Lee a dose of his own medicine.

“Mr. Lee,” he began, “you
will
never
use
that tone with her again!” He didn't break his intense stare.
“I
fully
expect
you to treat her with the esteem and dignity that she deserves or I
will have you removed from this school permanently.”

Maggie was dumbfounded. Mr. Lee actually
appeared to be trembling in fear.

Holden continued, “Do you understand me,
Wilbur?” The Math Nazi slowly bobbed his sweaty head up and down.
Holden raised his eyebrows condescendingly. “Good! Now take your
seat.”

Without a word, Mr. Lee obediently shuffled
over to his desk and sat down, as if in a trance. Holden glanced at
Maggie and then returned to the back of the class where he resumed
his casual position—leaning back with his hands clasped behind his
head.

It was several seconds before Mr. Lee moved
again. Finally, he blinked once or twice, looked up at Maggie and
said, “Miss Baker, would you please take your seat so we can
begin?” There was nothing spiteful or vindictive at all in his
tone. Maggie glanced over at Holden who was grinning widely as she
walked slowly to her desk.

Math class had never been more pleasant.
Although Mr. Lee was far from sappy sweet, he'd actually behaved
decently. He hadn't growled, grimaced or glared at anyone. And,
when Cynthia Dix asked him to repeat the page number of the
assignment, he praised her for having the courage to ask. At the
end of the period, he announced that the students were free to take
extra time to finish their assignment—something he'd never done
before—and informed them that it would be due the next morning.

The bell sounded and the buzz of comments
began. Some students guessed that he'd gotten in trouble with the
administration. Others assumed that he'd gone to the doctor after
his “near-heart attack” the day before, and been told that death
was imminent if he didn't relax. Whatever the reason, they were all
sure that the change was temporary, and that the Math Nazi would
surely return with a vengeance.

Maggie waited near the door as everyone
exited. As Holden passed her she grabbed a hold of his sleeve and
yanked him into the hall. “Okay,” she insisted, “you and I need to
talk!”

Holden shrugged his shoulders and replied,
“Sure, Blue Eyes.”

She pulled him down the hall and out a door
that led to the football field; she continued down the steps
between the bleachers and out onto the field.

A group of four or five kids who obviously
had no plans to attend any of their classes huddled across the
field from them, and briefly acknowledged the intrusion.

Maggie got straight to the point. “Okay. Who
are you,” she insisted—finally letting go of Holden's sleeve.

He straightened his shirt and casually
replied, “I'm exactly who I say I am, you?”

Maggie stomped her foot. “You know what I
mean, Holden! Stop playing around and tell me what's going on!”

He strolled over to one of the benches
alongside the field and sat down. “Listen, Blue,” he began, “it’s
no big. I’ve had some trainin’, that's all. Ya know . . . taught
how to handle bullies? Doesn't matter if they're kids or adults, I
know how to deal with 'em.”

He stood up and gave Maggie an awkward
squeeze around the shoulders with one arm. “Ya know, Blue, I accept
that I'm D-I-F-ferent. Most people just gimme my space, which is
cool, but you and Pretty Du . . . uh, Bridgette . . . you've been
like totally great.”

A twinge of guilt twisted in Maggie's gut.
She hadn't been “totally great” at all. She'd yelled at him,
stopped him from kissing Bridgette, dragged him through the school
like a mother punishing a five-year-old, and practically accused
him of being—well—something strange.

“Holden,” she sighed at length, “I haven't
been that cool. I've actually been kinda mean.”

“Hey! It's all good, Blue,” he assured,
“you're just stressed. I get it . . . been a couple of whacked out
days. Nothin’ like the boring stuff you’re used to.”

“Yeah . . . well . . . .” She looked at him
suspiciously again. He knew somehow. She could see it in his
emerald eyes. There was something hiding there. She took a deep
breath and went for broke. “Holden, have you ever heard of Lor
Mandela?”

He didn't answer right away; he seemed
confused by the question. “Huh,” he finally muttered, tilting his
head to one side. “I dunno, seems kinda familiar. Are they a
band?”

Maggie frowned. “Uh huh . . . um, never
mind.”

Just then a bell sounded from within the
school.

“Dang it!” She grabbed Holden by the sleeve
again and started pulling. “Come on! We're gonna be late!”

They dashed up the steps and back into the
school. Maggie pointed down the hall that ran to the right.
“Drama,” she shouted.

“Chem,” Holden replied, pointing straight
ahead.

“See ya!” She turned and sprinted off toward
the auditorium, and barely made it as the final late bell
sounded.

“Ahhh, Jolie, Maggie,” Ms. Devereaux greeted
as she burst through the purple curtain completely out of breath.
“You look much better today.”

Maggie gasped a bit, and then replied,
“Thanks. I . . . I am.” She quickly joined the other students who
were sitting in a circle on the stage floor.

Ms. Devereaux—who today was wearing grey and
black horizontal striped tights under black shorts that were rolled
to just above her knee; a long grey jacket, a white T-shirt, a
charcoal beret, and black ankle-high boots—strolled slowly and
dramatically toward the circle.

“Today, loves, we will pair off and
practeese for our production of ‘Meet Me in St. Louis’. . . Gabby?”
She touched a lovely auburn haired girl on the head, “You with
Michelle.” She pointed toward a skinny boy with glasses. “Michael,
you with Robert.” She smiled and nodded at Bridgette. “Brigeet, you
and Maggie.” She clapped her hands twice and instructed, “Everyone
else, peek a partner.”

Two by two, the students paired off and
found a corner or secluded spot to run lines. Maggie and Bridgette
went to the very back of the auditorium in a corner lit only by the
green rays of the exit sign overhead.

“We're not really going to practice this
again, are we?” Bridgette sighed, “I can recite these lines in my
sleep.”

Maggie smiled. “Oh really, Ms. Ballard?” She
turned her nose up and dramatically continued. “Well, that’s only
because you're an Eastern snob!” The two of them giggled
quietly.

Bridgette pretended to look at the script in
her hand. “So, we're okay . . . aren't we?”

“Yeah, we're okay,” Maggie smiled. “That
boyfriend of yours is really . . . ummmm . . . interesting.”

Bridgette, who spied Ms. Devereaux glancing
in their direction, made a bold gesture with her arm. “I know the
two of you didn't get off to a good start, but . . . .”

Maggie stopped her. “No, really, we're
totally cool now. We talked for a minute after Math. That's why I
was almost late.”

“Why, Lon . . . you're down for the first
dance!” Bridgette grabbed Maggie's arm as Ms. Devereaux ambled
past. They heard a quiet, “lovely,” as she continued on.

“So, where were you yesterday? After
school?” Bridgette whispered.

Maggie knew this question would come up, but
had neglected to think of what her answer should be. “Uh well, I .
. . I thought . . . I thought I heard your voice out by the
baseball diamonds,” she smiled nervously. “Turns out, it wasn't
you, of course . . . but I sat down out there to wait for my dad. I
musta fallen asleep.”

Bridgette squinted her eyes. Something
wasn't right, and Maggie could see it. She'd been caught. She
braced herself and waited for the blow.

Bridgette said nothing. She didn't have to.
After a few seconds of silence, Maggie looked down at her shoes and
mumbled, “You checked there, didn't you?”

Bridgette nodded. Big tears were welling up
in her brown eyes again.

Maggie reached for her arm but Bridgette
yanked it away. “Bridge, come on. I'm sorry,” she whined.
“Yesterday was so weird! I'll tell you the truth . . . the real
deal . . . but I promise; you'll never believe it.”

Bridgette just stared. Maggie pulled her
gently by the arm to one of the auditorium seats and motioned for
her to sit down.

“Okay,” she breathed, “this is what really
happened.” She started with the bizarre light incident at her
bedroom window. She explained in detail what had really gone down
the day before at her locker. Then, she told Bridgette all about
Lor Mandela, Kahlie, and the rynolt—and of course, Ryannon.

When she finished, she tried to read
Bridgette's reaction, but there was nothing to read—no emotion,
hint of an odd expression, or anything.

After several moments, Bridgette muttered,
“Wow,” and stood and walked away.

Maggie quickly followed. “Bridge?
Bridgey?”

But Bridgette completely ignored her.

She rushed after her best friend but had to
be quiet, so as not to disturb the other students who were
rehearsing.

Just then, the bell rang and everyone
stampeded back toward the stage. Several students pushed in front
of Maggie, preventing her from catching up to Bridgette—who was
grabbing her purse and making a beeline for the stage door.

Maggie quickly gathered her things and
resumed the chase. Down the corridor outside of the auditorium, she
watched Bridgette nimbly weave her way in and out through a sea of
people. She tried to keep up but it wasn't working. After just a
few seconds, Bridgette disappeared around the corner at the end of
the hall.

Maggie stopped and sighed. Suddenly, a
knowing look came into her eyes. “She's got geometry now,” she
whispered to herself, “and Brian's an Office Aide.” She smiled
mischievously, turned around, and headed off in the opposite
direction. She reached the school's Main Office, and waited outside
the door. About two minutes later, a tall, beefy guy in a
letterman's jacket came toward her. “Bri Guy!” she shouted and
waved cheerfully.

Brian almost dropped the football he was
carrying. “Um . . . Maggie,” he sniggered and tried to act cool,
“Whu . . . whuzzup?”

“I need a little favor, Bri.”

Brian looked like he had just been handed
the Heisman. “Um, yeah . . . sure . . . anything!”

“Can you get Bridgette out
of Martin's class? I need to talk to her
really
bad!”

Brian looked around from side to side.
“We're not supposed to . . . .” he breathed.

Maggie interrupted. “I
know,” she pouted playfully, “It's just
really
important.”

Brian looked at her big, blue, doe-eyes and
blushed. “Okay,” he sighed, “I'll try.” He smiled widely,
displaying the gaping hole where his upper left central incisor had
been prior to last year’s championship football game.

Maggie bit her lip to keep from giggling.
“Thanks, Bri. I owe you one! I'll be waiting over there,” She
pointed toward a stairwell across from them. “Down by the dance
studio.”

Brian nodded and headed into the office.

A few minutes later,
Maggie heard Bridgette's voice. “Brian, I swear, if you don't tell
me what's going on I . . .
baby
,” she squealed. “You did this?
Just so you could see me?”

Maggie climbed up a couple of stairs and
peered out. Bridgette was across the hall from her, hugging, none
other than Holden Guarlo. “Great! This guy's everywhere,” she
whispered.

Brian just stood there with a blank,
bewildered stare—Holden did too.

Bridgette took his hand and started leading
him toward the very stairwell in which Maggie was hiding. Quickly,
she jumped back down to the bottom, and darted into the girl's
locker room which was, thankfully, abandoned at the moment. Through
the door, she could hear Bridgette's voice.

“She's totally ticking me off! You wouldn't
believe the story she told me!”

Maggie knew who the topic of this
conversation was.

“What'd she tell ya?” Holden asked.

Bridgette’s paraphrased
version hit all the pertinent points and Maggie realized how
totally far-fetched the whole story sounded. Hearing it from
someone else simply confirmed that no one in their right mind
would
ever
believe it.

Apparently, Holden was not in his right
mind. “So, what's the pro-blemo? Are ya mad ‘cause you didn't get
to go with her, or what?”

Bridgette's reply was louder than it
probably should've been. “The pro-blemo is that she lied to me!
She’s my best friend and she lied to me! Best friends don’t lie to
each other!”

Holden's voice was calm and almost too quiet
to hear through the thick wooden door. Maggie leaned in closer to
it. “I don't think she was lyin', Pretty Dude, and it sounds like
you didn't give her too much of a chance.”

Maggie could only imagine Bridgette's face
at the moment.

“But Holden, there's no way,” Bridgette
whined.

“Blue doesn't seem like
she'd risk losin' you by lyin', Babe. Besides, what if she's
like
totally
tellin' the truth? If you had all that crazy biz
goin' down, down, down, wouldn't you want your best bud to believe
ya?”