The Battle of Jericho (20 page)

Jericho was wondering the same thing. He was finding it hard to breathe in that stinking enclosure. He wasn't sure what he was standing on, but it was soft and felt squishy under his shoes. “Oh gross! I found the peeled grapefruit! I hate to tell you what this feels like,” he called out to the others.

“Toss it out there!” Luis said.

“Here's the banana!” Josh called out next. “Yuk!”

Dana found the wet and dripping wig, Kofi announced he'd stumbled over the rock, and Luis exclaimed with disgust that he'd picked up the very dirty baby diaper. All of the objects they tossed out of the door of the Dumpster. Josh reached down and pulled up the pizza.

“I don't think I'll ever eat pizza again,” he murmured.

“Hey, the pledge masters are standing out there, watching and waiting! Let's hurry up!” whispered Jericho.

“Let 'em freeze,” Cleveland replied sullenly.

“Rats don't freeze,” Josh said, teasing him.

“Aw, man, why'd you have to remind me. Let's get this done and get out of here!”

“We just have to find the gun,” Dana reminded them. “A gun is hard, and has a recognizable shape. The sooner we find it, the sooner we can get out.”

“She's right,” Josh agreed.

It was difficult for them all to move around in the Dumpster, each of them trying desperately to feel for the hard, cold shape of a gun. The flashlight was very little help, its dim rays barely piercing the darkness. The smell of the sweat from their bodies, the load of manure, and the rotten garbage was almost unbearable. It was all Jericho could do not to explode out of there.

“Will somebody tell me what digging in garbage for a gun in the middle of winter has to do with delivering toys to kids at Christmas?” a voice asked from the darkness.

No one had an answer.

As they rooted around for the gun in the stinking trash, Jericho thought about Mr. Boston and his warnings. Was this hazing? He wasn't sure. Nobody was getting hurt, he reasoned. It's just a harmless prank, right? But he wasn't sure of anything anymore.

Jericho moved so he could be closer to the door of the Dumpster, ready to be the first out once the gun was found, when his foot stumbled over something. He leaned
down, reached under his left foot and his hand touched the icy barrel of a small handgun. It had been carefully wrapped in plastic.

“I found it!” he shouted. “Let's get out of here!”

“I'm outta here!” shouted Cleveland, who was the first to climb out. Jericho was right behind him. When they all were out, they stretched and breathed deeply of the clean night air. Jericho tossed the gun to Eddie.

“Why a gun?” Jericho asked coldly.

“You don't need to know that now,” Eddie replied.

“Even you ought to know better than to play with guns. Sir,” he added. Eddie ignored him.

“Good job, pledges,” Madison said quickly. “Don't get too close, though!” He handed out wet paper towels to the pledges, but nothing could quite remove the smell on their hands and clothing. No one mentioned the gun.

“WE HAVE ONE FINAL ACTIVITY FOR THIS
evening,” Eddie announced. “Follow me.” Jericho wondered dimly if they would be allowed to get their jackets, but the thought disappeared as the pledge masters marched the fifteen pledges to the middle of the soggy yard. The ground was muddy and squished as they walked, and the frigid air whipped across their wet T-shirts. Sharp needles of rain stung them as they stood there silently waiting for instructions. A pledge master stood directly in front of each pledge.

“Kneel!” Rick Sharp shouted to Jericho.

Jericho wanted to disobey, but instead he knelt immediately. Cold mud soaked through his jeans in seconds.

“Take off my boot, Pledge Slime!” the six-foot, broad-shouldered senior shouted to Jericho over the noise of the pouring rain. He glanced down at Jericho, who huddled at his feet.

Jericho shivered as the rain came down harder and made him sink deeper into the mud of the desolate warehouse yard. His fingers were wet and stiff, but he reached for Sharp's big, black army boot and slowly began to untie the laces.

“Hurry up, Pledge Slime!” Sharp shouted. Jericho dejectedly struggled to untie the wet laces of the pledge master's boot, his fingers aching. He wasn't sure what to do when he finished. He had no idea how to get the boot off of Rick's foot.

He glanced over to see, if he could, the line of the other pledges, also kneeling in the mud at the feet of their pledge masters. But the rain and the darkness made it difficult to see very much. Jericho could barely even see Josh, who was closest to him in the line, but he could hear Mad Madison shouting at him in the darkness. Jericho couldn't see Kofi or Dana at all.

“All of us have been where you are tonight,” Sharp told Jericho. “A Warrior of Distinction is not afraid to lower himself for his brother. A Warrior of Distinction does not show fear. Are you afraid, Pledge Slime?”

“No, sir,” Jericho replied. “I'm not afraid.”

“Then get busy! The rest of your pledge class, slimy and disgusting as they are, seem to be doing fine. Do you want to let them down?”

Jericho inhaled slowly. It was all of them or none of them. “Can you lift your foot, Master Senior Sharp, sir?” Jericho asked timidly. As he raised his face to look at Sharp, he gasped as the icy rain stung his eyes.

“Did I give you permission to speak, Pledge Slime?”
Sharp snarled. Jericho said nothing, but Rick lifted his right foot, using Jericho's head to balance himself.

Jericho pulled the boot off with difficulty. He was afraid that he would fall or would make Rick fall as he tugged at the boot. Either would have been disastrous, but he managed to get the boot off smoothly. The stench of Rick Sharp's foot was enough to make Jericho choke.

“Now take off the sock,” Rick barked.

Jericho hesitated and hoped they would be able to go home soon. He slowly peeled off Rick's sock. Rick's foot reeked of sweat.

“Place the sock on the ground, then set my foot down on it. Make sure not a speck of mud touches my foot,” he commanded.

Jericho did as he was told and Rick Sharp removed his hand from Jericho's head as he lowered his foot to the ground.

Master Senior Sharp bent down and whispered into Jericho's ear, “You havin' fun yet?”

Jericho didn't dare tell the truth—that he had stopped having fun long ago.

“You really want to be a Warrior of Distinction?” Rick asked.

Jericho nodded. He thought of the prestige of having one of those black silk jackets, the admiring glances in the halls at school, but mostly he thought of Arielle. He tried not to think of the rain and the mud and the stink of Rick's feet.

“Are you willing to do anything to be a Warrior of Distinction?” Rick demanded. “You have permission to answer.”

“Yes, sir! Yes, Master Senior Sharp, sir! I am willing to do anything to be a Warrior of Distinction, sir!” Jericho repeated the words that he and the other pledges had been chanting automatically since the whole process began. But he wasn't sure if he meant them anymore.

“Are you willing to do anything to help the others become Warriors of Distinction?” Rick demanded.

“Anything, sir.” Jericho just wanted it to be over.

“Then suck my big toe.”

“Sir?” Jericho wasn't sure if he had heard correctly.

“If you want to be a Warrior of Distinction, you must suck my big toe. Now!”

Jericho looked around desperately; he had no idea what the others were being forced to do. As he lowered his head close to the mud and closer to Rick Sharp's foot, Jericho wondered miserably how he could have sunk so low.

STILL, JERICHO HESITATED. BUT IT WAS DARK,
and no one could really see what he was doing, he reasoned. So he lowered his head, and felt his lips touch the top of Rick's toe. He held his breath and moved his mind to another place—any place other than where he was-and then he took the whole toe into his mouth and sucked it.

“Enough!” Rick shouted. “Stand up now.” Jericho stood stiffly. He was soaking wet, filthy dirty, cold, and angry. All he wanted to do was walk away from that yard. But what would everybody think of him if he quit?

The rest of the pledges, none of whom would make eye contact with the other, waited silently in the rain while the Warriors put their shoes back on. Jericho shivered uncontrollably. He wasn't sure if it was from the freezing rain, his humiliation, or his fearful anticipation of what was still to come.

Eddie walked away from the group and over to his car. He carried one shoe in his hand and he walked with a noticeable limp.

“What's up with Eddie?” Jericho whispered to Dana, who was covered in mud.

She replied with bitter satisfaction, “I bit his toe—crunched it like an almond! I bet he won't be wearing shoes for a couple of days!”

Jericho chuckled. “Serves him right!”

As soon as they were dismissed, the pledges left quickly. Jericho took a long, hot shower when he got home, trying to warm his chilled and aching body. He felt he'd never be completely warm or completely clean ever again. As the hot needles of water relaxed him, he thought of the last three days. Somehow he couldn't quite remember why he'd wanted so badly to be a member of the Warriors of Distinction. The pledge activities weren't really what he'd expected, but then they were all designed for a good purpose, weren't they? Jericho figured he could last two more days.

And tomorrow was the competition. He groaned as the water splashed over him. He tried to wash away the sick, helpless feeling, but it remained like a stone in his gut.

He thought about what Mr. Boston had told him and sighed as he dried off. Even if the pledging was hazing, it didn't make any difference. He couldn't tell anybody, and he couldn't quit.

He rinsed out his pink shirt and almost gagged at the sight of it. Picking up the phone, he hoped that this time Arielle would let him talk to her. He dialed. “Arielle?”

“I don't want to talk to you, Jericho.” She hung up the phone.

Jericho felt like the dog the Warriors made him pretend to be. He listened to the click, then the dial tone, and dialed her number once more. “Please, Arielle,” he began. She hung up once more. He decided to try one last time.
Ring. Ring. Ring.

On the fourth ring she picked up the phone, but said nothing.

“Please don't hang up on me,” he begged. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I was way out of line yelling at you like that.”

“Well, you got that much straight.” She said nothing else, but at least she hadn't hung up on him again.

He sighed. “Look, I've been stressed with all this Warrior stuff and I'm tired, and I just let loose on you. I hated myself even while I was talkin' to you, but I just couldn't shut up,” he said lamely.

“Maybe you ought to practice,” Arielle replied tersely.

“I deserve that. I promise it will never happen again. I can't stand it when you won't talk to me,” Jericho told her miserably.

She was silent for a moment. Then he heard her sigh. “Look, Jericho, I'm not going to have you or anybody tell me who my friends are or who I can talk to! You got that straight?”

“I got it.”

“And I will
not
be with a dude who treats me like a piece of property.”

“I understand—I really do.”

“I like you, Jericho, and I'm excited about the fact that in two days you're going to be a Warrior of Distinction,
but you were scaring me today. I don't like being underestimated, and I won't be put down by you or anybody!”

Jericho knew not to argue with her. So he said, “I'm so sorry, Arielle. It's just that I love your smile and the way you laugh, and it seemed like Eric was enjoying your laughter and your smile just a little bit too much.”

“My smile belongs to me and I can share it with whoever I want!” she said clearly.

“Will you still share it with me?” he asked meekly.

“Yeah,” she said finally. “I guess. How can I resist a dude who wears pink every single day? Besides,” she added, “being in that club will be good for both of us.”

“Thanks, Arielle.” Jericho breathed a sigh of relief. “You know you're my boo.”

“Don't be tryin' to sweet-talk me,” she replied, but he could tell by her voice she was not as angry. “I'll see you at school tomorrow.”

Jericho figured he could make it through anything the Warriors gave him to do as long as he had Arielle to show off for when it was over. He hung up the phone with new determination to endure—and maybe even enjoy—the last two days of pledging.

He picked up his trumpet then, trying not to agonize over the competition that he knew he would miss. He carefully shined its gleaming bell and played a song of his own creation to Arielle. He wasn't sure where the notes were going, didn't really care, but Zora took him to a place of green trees and romance, a place where he and Arielle danced in the moonlight, she dressed in dazzling white, and he in his black silk Warrior jacket.

THE ALARM STARTLED JERICHO AT SIX THE NEXT
morning. He got up quickly, ironed the pink shirt, grabbed a doughnut, and headed off to school before Todd and Rory even got up.

In Mr. Culligan's room, the pledges looked a little tired of the whole process, and a little embarrassed as well, Jericho thought, but they waited patiently for instructions for the day. Rick reminded them, as he did every morning, about the code of silence.

Then Madison announced, “Your service activity this morning will be to work with the janitorial staff. Any dusting, cleaning, or sweeping that you can assist with is always greatly appreciated. Remember that we are a service organization and we want to be helpful to every aspect of the school community.”