Runt (7 page)

“Mom,” Nadine was now wailing from her bedroom, “I can't find my blue top.”

“Did you check in your drawer?” Mrs. Goldstein shouted up the stairs.

“God, Mom. If it was in my drawer I wouldn't be looking for it, would I?”

Freida stood and watched Nadine stepping in and out of pants and throwing sweaters on the floor, flinging shoes across her room. It was like that pretty much every morning until Nadine found something she could wear, usually as their mother called out that she could see the yellow of the school bus through the woods behind their house.

“Did you check under your bed, sweetie?”

“Did you wash it? I put it in the laundry last week. Have you done the laundry in, like, forever?”

Freida gave her sweatshirt a tug and let out a sigh. She would wait for her sister because that's what sisters do, and a few minutes later they were running down their driveway, each with a warm bagel in their hand. They stopped and stood, panting.

“So you never gave me an answer,” Nadine said. They could see the bus stopped at the Weavers' house. It took a while for all four Weaver children to board.

“To what, exactly?”

“Freida, I love you. I'm your big sister. I know it sounds mean, but people make fun of you. I'm trying to
protect you, but you make it hard. You've got that sixth grade dance coming up, don't forget.”

Freida knew her sister loved her. But an if-you-can't-beat-'em-join-'em philosophy didn't work for everyone. It wasn't even working for Nadine.

It was just that Nadine didn't seem to realize it. Maybe in the end, though, not realizing you're
not
“in” amounted to the same thing as being “in.”

“Have you ever been peed
on before, ma'am?”
¹

That's what I said, word for word. Not that bad, right? Well, at least I didn't think so. But judging by her reaction you would have thought I had just told her that she looked old or that her office smelled like a weird combination of Lysol and cheeseburgers.
²
Yet, for some reason that question really set her off, kind of like she had been peed on before. And this is when the thought first arose that maybe, just maybe, I wasn't
going to be able to talk my way out of this one.

“WHAT did you say to me, young man? Oh, the insolence! You better watch your mouth in my office. You are this close
³
from being suspended from this school. This close.
⁴
I hope you understand that this is an extremely serious matter, and if you don't start acting accordingly, I will not hesitate to call your parents.”

“Oh, no, please don't call my parents, Ms. Meadhall.”

I did my best to say that sentence earnestly, although it was difficult because no more than five minutes earlier I had asked her to call my parents. I knew my dad would get a kick out of this whole thing, and my mom, well, I knew she'd hate this woman as soon as she met her. Well, actually, I think she already did hate her, but I knew this whole thing would put her over the top. So, I figured that if I pretended I didn't want Ms. Meadhall to call
my parents, then maybe this time, she would call them. Unfortunately, Ms. Meadhall is obtuse in all senses of the word,
⁵
and that brings us to the biggest predicament in my tale: The woman refuses to listen to a single word I, or really anyone, says.
⁶

“I hope you are taking this situation seriously, Matthew. There is a boy in the hospital right now with a broken nose, and he is claiming that you punched him in the bathroom today at lunch. Jason, our security guard, then found you on the road leaving school right after the lunch period ended, clearly with blood on your shirt. So you tell me, Matthew, if you were me, what would you think?
⁷
Now, please enlighten me as to what exactly happened between you and Stewart today. And this time, Matthew, only the truth.”

“Well, I'll say it again, but it's going to be the same story it was when I said it ten minutes ago. . . .”

I guess it all started in fourth grade, Ms. Perroni's class, my first year at this school. We had moved into town late the previous summer, so I didn't know anyone here. I wasn't worried, though—figured it would take some time to meet people and I would spend that time being under the radar. However, on my first day of class, Ms. Perroni decided to ask me all these questions in front of everyone just because I was the new kid.
⁸

She asked me where I moved from, what my favorite subject was, what my parents did for a living, if I had any siblings, you know, all the usual stuff. Nobody in the class seemed to be paying much attention to my responses.
⁹
But then she asked me what I liked to do for fun and my life changed forever.
¹⁰

Basketball, I told the class, I like to play basketball.
¹¹

I didn't get it at first. I didn't understand why the class was now suddenly interested, why everyone was suddenly whispering to one another. I couldn't understand why some of the kids were now looking straight at me while others were looking around the classroom, searching for something. No, searching for some
one
.

He was in the last seat in the back of the class, all the way by the door. The first thing I noticed was a fitted hat that lay drooped over his eyes. The front two legs of his chair were floating off the ground as he leaned dangerously backward, with the back of the chair balanced on the rear wall of the classroom. His feet were resting on the empty desk in front of him, spread exaggeratedly wide either for comfort or stability. The last thing I noticed was that there was a basketball in his hands.

“You play ball, huh?”

I could only manage a nod.
¹²

“We'll see about that.”

I didn't know he meant that day. At recess he found me and told me that he and the guys play basketball every day on the blacktop. He wasn't really asking if I wanted to play. It seemed kind of like I had to. I still didn't really know yet what I was getting myself into.
¹³

It seemed like a normal game. We had 10 kids and we split into two teams. Stewart and some other kid were the captains. Stewart picked first. The kid he chose walked over to his side of the court and they slapped hands. Then the other captain picked and the same thing happened, the selected kid walked over to the other side of the court and they slapped hands. Then Stewart said it.

“I got the new kid.”

I walked over to his side. He didn't attempt to slap my hand. He looked me over, from shoes to haircut. He was still looking at me as he picked the rest of his team, watched as I introduced myself to my new teammates and tied my shoes and stretched my legs. I was getting the feeling that this was less of a game than a tryout.

“Let's see what you got, kid.”
¹⁴

• • •

Maybe I should have sucked that day. Maybe I should have missed every shot I took and dribbled the ball off my knee whenever he passed it to me. Maybe then it would all be different now.
¹⁵

But I was pretty good at basketball, and I showed it. I played well, I stood out, I impressed people. I wish I hadn't.

You see, Stewart is really good at basketball. I was not as good as him, though, which was lucky because I really can't fathom what would have happened then. But I was good enough.

“Hey, you played all right out there, what's your name again?”

I thought I had found a friend. I guess I did.

I thanked him and told him my name was Matthew and that he played really well too.

“Well, Matty, aside from the fact that you look like a girl when you shoot and those shoes are embarrassing for you to be seen in,
¹⁶
I'd say you have some potential.”

We walked into the school together. It felt like everyone at recess was watching us. He told me about the Rec basketball league the school ran and how his team was undefeated. Then he made fun of my haircut
¹⁷
and slapped my hand as we got near the classroom. The rest of my time in middle school had just been contractually agreed upon.

“All right, Matthew, well, that is right and good and all, a nice story, quite dramatic if I may say, but it has done nothing to tell me about the incident today.”

“Yes, yes, Ms. Meadhall, I was just giving you some context. But we can fast forward a year or two if you'd like.”
¹⁸

There I am, this morning, sitting at my desk in homeroom, just minding my own business, doing my thing, when Stewart and Scott walked in. They came over and sat down next to me, Scott slapped my hand and said what up, Stewart slapped my face, gently enough, and said, Good morning, Madeleine.
¹⁹

We had basketball practice right after school that day because there was a band concert in the gym at night, so I had worn my basketball shoes to school. I thought I was being smart, figured I wouldn't have to carry them with me all day in that case. Stewart did not agree.

“Hey, jerk, why do you have your basketball shoes on? You're gonna ruin the soles and mess up the traction. Then you'll fall on your face like an idiot and blow another game for us.”
²⁰

I told him I'd change them, that I thought I had another pair in my gym locker. He told me not to forget to save him a seat at lunch today. I told him I wouldn't. Then we went to our next period class.

When lunch came around, I was already more irritated
than usual. I was on edge. I had just gotten a test back in history class and it did not go nearly as well as I thought it had when I took it.
²¹
I was sitting at the lunch table, my jacket in its normal place on the seat to my right, serving as a reservation, and Scott sitting in the seat next to that.
²²

We could hear Stewart coming down the hallway toward the cafeteria before he got there. The reverberating sound of a basketball bouncing up and down was an easy giveaway.
²³
He came in with the basketball in hand, walked over to his designated seat, and sat down, casually shoving my jacket to the ground in the process.

He asked around about what was for lunch today, how the pizza looked, if there were Italian dunkers, and then told me that the sandwich that my mom had made for
me looked disgusting.
²⁴
Then he got up to buy his lunch and told me to come with him. I said I had lunch already but I could get a cookie or something, I guess.

When we were waiting in line to pay, he stood behind me and kept pushing me into the back of the girl in front of me. I kept telling her how sorry I was and telling him to stop. He kept doing it until there was no longer a girl in front of me and it was my turn to pay. I gave the cashier my school card.

“Matthew Berry, huh, kid? Never heard of you, must not buy lunch a lot.”

“Actually, he prefers to go by Madeleine.”

I told the man no, I didn't, and that yeah, my mom usually makes my lunch. Then I started off back to my seat, but remembered to wait for Stewart. After he paid, we returned to the table where Scott was still sitting with the rest of the guys. I was feeling weird.
²⁵

After we all finished eating, Stewart suggested we should go to the bathroom. We were standing at the urinals in our usual positions, Stewart in the middle of me and Scott, when Stewart noticed I hadn't changed my shoes like he said to. He was not happy.

“Why didn't you change out of your basketball shoes, stupid?”

I told him I had forgotten and that I wasn't worried about them getting ruined.

“And that's why you're an idiot. Only wear your basketball shoes when you're playing basketball. You have to change 'em or else you'll screw it up for all of us this weekend.”
²⁶

And then I said a word he probably hasn't heard me say often: No. I said I wasn't going to go outside with them on and that I would be extra careful walking around. What's the worst that could happen to them?

“Someone could pee on them.”

He then pivoted toward me, looked me directly in the eye, flashed a sadistic smirk, and proceeded to urinate all over my shoes and legs. Then he laughed and turned back into the urinal.

“See, like that.”

I looked down for a second. My lower body basted in another man's liquid excretion. I looked up. I thought about what had just happened. I looked down again. I looked at Stewart. Still laughing. I looked at Scott. He was silent and didn't return my stare. I looked down again.

I had been peed on. This much was sure. It was a situation I had not thought I would find myself in that day, or pretty much any day. I was ill-prepared to handle it. But really, what would you have done?

I turned to Stewart. I did not say anything. I looked him right in the eyes. He was still smiling. Then I looked down
again, made sure he saw me look down. Then I looked back up and punched him as hard as I could right in the face. I think he was still peeing when he hit the ground.

Then I walked out of the bathroom and left the school, and as you have already said, Ms. Meadhall, that is when Jason, the security guard, found me. Now I am here, hoping that this time you actually listened to my story.