Sleeping Freshmen Never Lie (16 page)

Mouth managed to recover his rhythm. “Oh man, they’re going to send her home.”

“They” acted pretty quickly. I heard her get called to the office in the middle of first period.

The second moment of silence happened to Mike Clamath at the opposite end of the school day. I saw it right after I got on the bus. Mike was leaning on Wesley Cobbles Mustang in the student lot. Wesley walked over and said something to him. Mike got off the car, but then he swung at Wesley. Wesley took the punch right on the jaw. He didn’t move. Even from far off, I could see Mike’s eyes change. Wesley hit him once, and Mike dropped. Then Wesley grabbed his collar and dragged him over to the side of the parking lot, out of the way of the cars. I expected Wesley to stomp him a couple times, but he got in his car and drove off like nothing had happened.

f
riday, we had a half day. Finally, it was Christmas vacation. I was more than ready to kick back for a while and relax.

Usually, Kyle and I did our Christmas shopping together. When I called him, he said he didn’t have time, so I went by myself. I was going to buy Dad a book about classic muscle cars, but I figured he’d like some trout spinners better. That way, he could think about fishing while we waited for spring.

I’d wanted to get Mom a cookbook, but I didn’t have a clue which ones were good. And there was no way I was going to touch any sort of baby book. So I got her this nice set of flavored cooking oils. She liked stuff like that.

I bought Bobby a watch. Nothing expensive, but it kept time. I noticed he’d lost his. I also got him a couple cool neon-colored guitar picks.

The vacation seemed to vanish right in front of my eyes. Before long, it was New Year’s Eve. Mom and Dad were at a party across town. They were probably listening to all sorts of clever new-year/new-baby comments. Bobby was out. Probably making the rounds of a half-dozen parties. I was home, reading a book while the TV played and the end of the year approached.

At midnight, I glanced up from my book and watched the ball drop in Times Square. Right after that, the phone rang. It was Mom. I talked to her and Dad for a minute. The phone rang again a moment later.

“Happy New Year.”

The voice was oddly familiar, but I was pretty sure I’d never heard it on the phone before. I tried to figure out who it was.

“Hey, spaceboy, you there? What’s the matter? Vampire got your tongue?”

“Lee?” I could hear a light tapping. I realized it was the sound of a row of earrings bumping against the receiver.

“Yup.”

“Uh, Happy New Year to you, too.” I couldn’t think of anything else to say.

Neither could she, I guess. She said good-bye and hung up. I hadn’t noticed any party sounds behind her. She was at home, too. Probably alone with a book. I thought about calling her back and asking what she was reading. But that would have been pretty pathetic. I didn’t want to begin the year by starting a telephone book club for people with no place to go.

i
t was tough going back to school. But I’d sort of missed English. When I got to class, I noticed that Julia wasn’t sitting next to Kelly. They must have had some kind of fight during vacation. Probably because of the play.

On the positive side, it was definitely too cold now for even Mr. Cravutto to think about taking us outside for gym. The ground was frozen solid. But that just meant there was more time for weight lifting.

Though the first day back was reasonably easy, things got busy the next day. I had to cover a basketball game and go to play practice. When I got to the auditorium, Mr. Perchal pointed toward the back of the stage and said, “Go report to Ben. He’s in charge of the crew.”

I saw six guys sitting around a table, playing cards. That was good. There’d be plenty of people to share the load. I figured I’d be able to study. And maybe play some cards.

“Freshman,” one of them said. He was a skinny guy with the kind of acne that looks like it’s taken up permanent residence on his face. He was wearing a Phillies sweatshirt with the sleeves torn off.

The others looked over.

“Fresh meat.”

“Fresh blood.”

A half-dozen fresh phrases floated through the air. The guy who’d spoken first, I guess it was Ben, pointed to a stack of two-by-fours. “We need those cut into three-foot lengths.”

I stared at him, wondering whether he expected me to do all the work while the rest of the crew sat and played. He stared back and shrugged.

Great. I was almost as good with a saw as I was with a wrench. Maybe they’d let me change spark plugs next.

I guess sawing uses different muscles than weight lifting, because I had a whole new set of sore muscles the next morning. But I forgot all about the pain in my arms when I came within inches of death on Friday.

Mr. Franka had sent me to the office to get a file he needed.

“I’ll be with you in a couple minutes,” the secretary said. So I took a seat. A moment later, Wesley Cobble came in. I thought about pretending to be asleep, but then I remembered what had happened to me when I fell asleep on the bus. I had no idea what Wesley might steal from me if he thought I wasn’t conscious. Probably a kidney.

My attempt at becoming a stealth person failed. There were three empty chairs, but Wesley plopped down right next to me. I could feel his eyes on me. I really didn’t want to turn my head, but I couldn’t help myself.

I looked at him and nodded. Just the tiniest, insignificant gesture to show I acknowledged his presence. I was pretty sure
he didn’t recognize me, despite the fact that I was one of the many donors who’d contributed to his collection efforts.

That part of my plan didn’t work very well, either. Instead of losing interest, he nodded back and said, “What’d you do to get here?”

I realized if I said, “I’m picking up a file for Mr. Franka,” Wesley would know I was a goody-goody well-behaved kid of the sort he enjoyed pummeling. I’d end up on his radar. But I didn’t want to risk a lie. So I told the truth.

“Perambulation,” I said.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. That’s what got me here.”

“Cool. I was trying to borrow a table saw from wood shop.”

Phew. That was close. I’d told the truth when I’d said perambulation got me to the office. It was just a fancy word for walking. It definitely sounded worse. Like when people refer to chewing as
mastication
.

Wesley got called into the principal’s office. As he stood up, without thinking, I said, “Have a nice day.”

I flinched, expecting him to spin around and knock me out. What a lame thing to say. Especially when he was about to go see the principal.

Wesley glanced over his shoulder. “You, too, man.”

A couple minutes later, the secretary handed me the file I was waiting for. By then, my pulse had dropped to a safe two or three hundred beats per minute.

I thought that was the end of my social interactions with
Wesley. Then, at lunch, who should perambulate across the cafeteria and drop down into the seat opposite me while I was masticating some macaroni and cheese? Yup. My new pal. Right in the seat that used to be Kyle’s.

Wesley didn’t say a word. Just chewed slowly at his roast-beef sandwich. The silence was driving me crazy. Finally, I said, “You know, Westley’s the name of the good guy in
The Princess Bride
. That’s pretty close to Wesley. It’s an awesome book.”

He stared at me for a moment, chewed another bite, then said, “Oh really?”

It dawned on me that I could get hurt just for using the word
princess
in his presence. Or
bride
. I nodded and went back to eating, though my throat had closed up so tight I could barely swallow. I could still see the way he’d decked Mike Clamath with one punch. He’d only need half a punch to flatten me.

Midway through lunch, Wesley got up and strolled out of the cafeteria. I noticed kids all over the place glancing at me as if they were trying to figure out where I fit in the social structure. Their guess was as good as mine.

There was a student-council meeting on Monday. I had the funny feeling that if I didn’t show up, nobody would notice. We spent the whole meeting figuring out what each class should sell this year for their fund-raiser. The other freshmen wanted to sell wrapping paper. I felt we should sell books.

After the meeting, I went up to the adviser and said, “Would it be okay if I quit?”

He stared at me like I was a complete stranger. “Quit what?” he asked.

“Student council.”

“Oh. Right. Sure, if you want. That would be okay. What position did you have?”

“Council member.”

“Freshman?”

“Yeah.” I started to leave, and then turned back. “Don’t you want my name so you’ll know which member won’t be back?”

“Nah. I’ll figure it out.”

On the way out, for just the slightest bit, I felt like a quitter. But then I felt like a genius. I was done with it. No more meetings. No more feeling completely ignored. It was probably the smartest move I’d made all year.

Thursday afternoon, I was standing at my locker when Julia walked by. I barely glanced at her. Hardly even noticed her
dark green wool sweater, tan pants, mini—diamond-stud earrings, or the scent of peaches drifting from her freshly washed hair. Hardly noticed her at all. But a moment later, I realized Lee was staring at me like the two of us were at opposite ends of a microscope.

“Isn’t that sweet,” she said.

“Isn’t what sweet?” I asked.

“The way your face gets all soft and your eyes get dopey whenever she’s anywhere near you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said. Good God, Lee reminded me of Patrick. He’d figured it out right away, too. I felt like that little model of a transparent guy—the one whose skin is plastic so you can see all his organs. Especially his rapidly beating heart.

Lee’s gaze skewered me. “You know exactly what I’m talking about, Romeo.”

I shrugged and said, “So I notice her. So what?”

“So talk to her. She’s just another person. No better or worse than you. Start a conversation. It beats drooling on your shoes.”

Good grief. Lee was the last person in the world who should be giving social advice. I shook my head. “I can’t talk to girls.”

Sometimes, right after you speak, you can feel the universe shudder.

Lee’s stare turned into a glare. “Thanks.”

“That’s not what I meant.” But I couldn’t think of any way to say what I meant without digging a deeper hole.

“It’s not important,” Lee said as she turned away.

I felt like such a jerk.

The next morning, I was standing at the bus stop when a Mustang drove by. The driver hit the brakes, threw the car into reverse, and pulled up to the curb. It was Wesley. Everyone in the group took at least one giant step back.