Читать книгу The New Kid - Temple Mathews - Страница 5
ОглавлениеChapter One: The New Kid
Will was on his back, falling through darkness, and the only thing he could think about was whether he had any reason whatsoever to go on living. He decided he did. There was someone he had to kill.
He was falling faster and faster, the updraft whipping at his clothes. He knew he’d have to get his body turned around to have any chance of surviving. He twisted his torso and wrenched himself sideways. The air was hot and getting hotter by the second. Soon it would be scalding. Dirt and debris shot up from below, pelting him in the face, as he plummeted through the dark tunnel, dropping fast as a sack of scrap iron. Tunnel entrances flashed by in a blur. He tried grabbing at the roots and outcroppings of rocks that zoomed by but he was going too fast. This can’t be it, he thought, this can’t be the end, it just can’t! Sure, he’d made stupid mistakes; he’d miscalculated the power and cunning of his enemy. But there was still hope, wasn’t there? He had to grab a root. It was either that or die for sure on impact. Impact on what he didn’t know, but no way could it be anything but beyond horrible.
Will heard his father’s voice echoing through the shaft.
“Let go, Will, you have to let go.”
But Will couldn’t, and his fingernails raked at the sides of the tunnel in desperation—and there, a root! For a moment he caught purchase, his hands grasping, palms burning, as the root slipped through his fingers until he wrist-wrapped it and was jolted to a halt, slamming against the side of the dank earth. He sucked wind and blinked away more swirling dirt. Maybe he was going to make it. Maybe he was going to live to see another day. But then he heard a hideous roar as something erupted from below. He was blasted with a wave of thick blistering air, engulfed in a torrent of fetid rain from below. He pulled on the root, his only chance at survival, and, feet scrabbling, tried to climb. Again he heard his father’s voice.
“Let go, Will. You must let go.”
But Will refused to let go and held on even tighter. And then the root snapped. Gravity yanked him backward and his head slammed into a rock. He was falling again and he saw the flames and molten lava below as he plummeted down and down. His ears nearly burst from the sound of an explosion and he felt the ground quaking, the earth splitting in two. The end was surely upon him. He thought he saw a face, the eyes swollen and pulsing with hatred, the mouth gaping open. Will screamed, his throat raw from the heat. This was it. In seconds he was going to die. The earth shook again, this time more violently.
“Wake up, Will. It’s 7:09! Get your skinny butt out of that bed! You don’t want to be late the first day at your new school, slacker!”
His heart still pounding from the nightmare, Will Hunter sat up, blinked twice, and the room came into focus. His nimrod stepfather Gerald was standing over him, one foot on the bed, shaking it with his foot. Hence the earthquake. His stepfather cracked one of his patented cannon farts, then did an about face and retreated into the hallway. Will looked around the room and saw the packing boxes that contained his life. Rising, he glanced out the window. The moving van that had disgorged all their stuff was gone. He looked down at the tracks the big Kenworth had left on the lawn when the movers backed it up to off-load his crates into the basement. He’d tipped the movers a couple of thousand each to ensure that they’d keep their mouths shut about the crates. To Will it was just part of doing business, because it was important that no one knew what his business was. If someone did find out it could prove fatal. The workmen’s trucks were all gone, too, and Will was confident that they’d done as he’d ordered and the house’s infrastructure had been modified to his exact specifications.
He looked around the neighborhood at the fall trees, the flowers in bloom. It was another town, another new school. Will was only sixteen but he’d already bounced around to so many schools he’d lost count. With a sigh he climbed into a pair of jeans, pulled a faded Caterpillar T-shirt over his head, then zipped into the bathroom to splash water on his face, run a comb through his hair, brush his teeth, and take a leak. Looking in the mirror he tried on a smile—best to at least try and appear friendly on your first day—but the smile looked phony so he settled on his usual stoic stare, grabbed his DC backpack, and bounded down the stairs two at a time.
In the kitchen he stopped when he saw his mother April at the stove. April—his favorite month. He saw her purse lying on the kitchen counter and quietly moved over and opened it. She only had five bucks in her wallet. Will took two crisp hundreds from his own wallet and slipped them into hers. He loved his mother more than anything on earth, and not a day went by when he didn’t wonder what she’d done in a previous life to deserve winding up with a dorky loser like Gerald. The guy was a total jerk whose cheese had definitely slipped off his cracker. He could barely hold a job and his fashion choices would have been intolerable had they not provided Will with the occasional belly laugh. Gerald would wear green jeans with red socks and a blue T-shirt. Or a turd-brown old-man jumpsuit with screaming yellow socks and clogs. April made excuses, saying Gerald was color blind, but Will was pretty certain the guy was just a garden variety idiot. After all, his biggest claim to fame was that he made his own beer. He was consistently flatulent and emitted massive blasts of gas that could knock out a junkyard dog. All in all, a great guy to have around.
Even though April worked full-time in market research she always took the time to make Will breakfast. This morning it was waffles with bacon and now he was careful to scuffle his feet so she wouldn’t be startled. She spooked easily. To tell the truth, they all did.
“Morning, Mom.”
She turned quickly, holding a plate, her eyes finding him with a quick smile that just about melted his heart.
“Will, I didn’t even hear you come in. I made you—”
“A waffle bacon sandwich, I know, my fave. Thanks.” He smiled back. “Gotta run.”
Will grabbed the concoction, took a bite, and was halfway out the door when her voice stopped him.
“Good luck at school.”
“Sure thing,” he said.
Then she frowned and touched his arm. “Will, I’m so sorry we’ve had to move around so much. My job . . . sometimes you have to do what you have to do.”
“It’s okay, Mom, really. I totally understand. See you later.”
Will gave his mom a quick peck and then exited. April had no idea that the real reason they moved around so much was because of Will, not her. He wished he could just talk to her. But then again he wished he could do a lot of things he knew were impossible. They’d been through one shitstorm after another and he wanted to keep things as stable as he could, for her sake and for the sake of the mission. Nothing was going to stop him.
The garage door opened and Gerald’s Saab came lurching out in front of Will, almost running right over his Converses. Sometimes he wondered if Gerald did stuff like that just to annoy him, or if he was actually trying to kill him. Will quickly turned and hoofed it down the driveway toward the corner where some kids lingered, trying their best to look as cool as anybody can possibly look while waiting for a school bus. Will had a car of his own, a “rice rocket” Mitsubishi EVO. With its MIVEC turbo engine and six-speed, paddle-shifted dual clutch sequential transmission his baby generally blew just about everything in its path off the road. But on his first day in a new school Will always chose to ride the bus because he wanted to be as inconspicuous as possible. For any other kid this would have been easy. But Will was different and he always stood out like a sore thumb no matter how he looked or carried himself. He kept trying though. Mainly because he wanted so badly to fit in that his heart ached for it.
Gerald’s Saab floated alongside Will as he walked down the sidewalk. A window powered down and Gerald’s grating voice came clawing out.
“Will, I don’t need to tell you how important it is for you to . . . toe the line this time.”
If you don’t need to tell me, then how about shutting your yap and putting the pedal to the metal, butt-wipe, thought Will.
“I get it, Gerald. I get it for sure.”
“You know, when one door closes, another opens,” Gerald added.
Will stared at the cracked sidewalk and clenched his jaw. He knew all about doors opening and closing. He’d had scores slammed in his face and he’d kicked down plenty more. He didn’t like where most doors led because in his case, they almost always opened to someplace where a body could discover a whole new world of pain. He balled his fists and felt the red anger building up in him. But he breathed deeply and instead of exploding, conjured up a semi-cordial look and tossed it in Gerald’s direction.
“Thanks, G. You rock. Got it, totally. Have a great day.”
Gerald more or less scowled, looking like he’d swallowed a toad or something, or like he had yet another batch of dynamite gas building up. You could tell he was just itching to pull the Swedish tank car over, jump out, and knock Will around a little just to teach him some respect. But he knew he couldn’t do that because no way would April ever stand for it. So he just sucked his saliva through his teeth, over and over—one of the many disgusting habits that drove Will nuts—until another gem of wisdom emerged.
“If you can’t make it work this time, you only have yourself to blame.”
Gerald apparently didn’t need a response to this because he sped off, leaving Will to choke on Saab fumes. His stepdad was pretty much always like this, giving him grief for all the stuff that had happened to them as they’d moved from town to town to town. He knew Gerald despised him but what could either of them do? He was married to Will’s mother so they had to keep the peace. But one of these days. . . .
Will walked down the street toward the corner, glancing around at the cozy pastel-colored houses, the white picket fences, the meticulously manicured lawns. It all looked so clean and neat and . . . welcoming. He gazed up at the local mountain, Mount St. Emory, a dormant volcano that stood guard majestically in the distance. It was pretty cool. Will decided he liked the look of Harrisburg and in the back of his mind, in a calm place, he wondered if the town was even infected. Of course he was reasonably certain it was—his calculations were seldom off—but he almost hoped that this time he was wrong, that this time he could spend a few months, or even just a few weeks, being a normal teenager, hanging out with the guys, skateboarding around, having fun just kicking back and watching something stupid on TV, wolfing down chips and bean dip and chugging Mountain Dew. A voice inside him said not gonna happen, buddy boy, and you know it.
Reaching the corner, Will quickly scanned the teenage faces. They were like a pack of wild animals taking stock of him, summing him up by appraising his worn Converse All Stars, his Gap jeans, his Caterpillar T-shirt, scratched Diesel watch, leather friendship bracelet, and faded DC backpack. They took great pains not to give him too much face time, averting their eyes to more important things like the weeds poking up through the concrete or the dried-out three-week-old squirrel flattened in the middle of the road.
High school rule number one: Whatever you do, don’t let anyone think you might like them. The kids sizing up Will were wired, of course, pod punks numbing their ear drums listening to rich artists pretending to be pissed off at the Man. If they only knew who The Man really was, they’d tune in to something else, anything else, hell, church music or Wayne Newton, just to drown out their own screams. Will kept thinking to himself, they don’t know me, they’ll never know me, they have no idea what I’m capable of or what I’ve been through. Then he laid it on himself straight: They didn’t know him because he wouldn’t, he couldn’t, let them, for their own good. It was nobody’s fault. It was just sucky fate. He wished that this time he could let himself make a friend. Just one friend. But that wasn’t too likely. Friends were for normal people, and the one thing that Will was definitely not was normal. One of the boys, an obese stoner with jowly cheeks, tore open a package of sour gummy worms and sucked them into his mouth with a slurping sound. As he chewed he glanced at Will like he was a bug on a windshield or something. Cute.
Then a pretty, self-assured-looking girl came running to the bus stop from the same direction Will had come. She looked strong and fast, and carried herself like she knew how to handle trouble should it ever come her way. She had clear blue eyes and dusty blonde hair with highlights, and wore navy blue cords and a long-sleeved Iron Maiden T. She gave Will a quick, neutral once over and quickly pretended he was pond scum or something equally appealing. And then their eyes met again as they both stole a second glance and their faces flushed with embarrassment.
Even though girls seemed drawn to him in a big way, Will was never all that smooth around them and, mercifully, the girl turned her back to him. But in a few moments he noticed she had angled her body and hung her head down so she could scope out Will through her bangs.
Will had been attracted to a few girls in the various towns he’d lived in but so far he’d been able to resist them. It wasn’t like he was a big King Shit or something, but he had to blow them off because if his enemies ever found out he liked a girl she’d likely wind up in pieces. If she was lucky. So getting close enough to fall in love? Was-n’t in the cards.
Trying to act cool and nonchalant, he took out his iPod and held it to his ear like he was making some important call on his cell phone. The only problem was he’d left his cell phone at home. He caught his mistake and jammed the iPod back in his pocket, then turned to see if she’d noticed his blunder. She had, and she half-smiled beneath her hair curtain. He wondered if she hoped she was the cause of his faux pas.
As the North Colone School District bus lumbered up the hill toward the corner, the kids bunched together in anticipation of boarding. But then a brand-new black on black Scion xB with smoked windows and cherry red spinners pulled up, pumping gangsta metal from Crimson at a gabillion decibels. Inside were two self-appointed alpha males, Duncan Walker and Todd Karson. Duncan was muscular and had short blond hair and green eyes and his skin was smooth and white. Todd was taller and darker in complexion but they both were unusually handsome, the kind of guys you’d see in a teen sports magazine ripping on a skateboard or dunking a basketball. They craned their thick necks out the car’s windows in order to be better seen by the group and smiled. Their teeth were perfect. But they had no manners, a fact that Duncan demonstrated as he hocked a green projectile onto the sidewalk and sneered at the bus riders.
“Check it out, pussies, the Dunc’s got his license to thrill. Guess where I got this puppy! I WON it on KXMC radio! That’s right. I was the last one still awake at the mall, my tongue jammed up this baby’s tailpipe! Some of us are winners, and the losers get to ride the short bus!”
Todd and Duncan barked out staccato laughs, and then Duncan leered at the girl Will was still pretending not to watch.
“Hey Natalie, you wanna ride? The backseat’s full, but you can sit on my lap. You better hurry, though, ’cause it’s filling up fast!”
Duncan pumped his lap up and down, an act which he apparently found greatly amusing as he cranked up the volume on his stupid donkey laugh. Natalie rolled her eyes as if she couldn’t believe how idiotic this guy was. Will just stared at Duncan calmly, studying him as though he were some sort of lab rat. Duncan stopped laughing and pointed at Will.
“What are you looking at, ass face?” he growled.
I’m looking at an idiot, thought Will. But he said nothing and with Herculean effort just stared dumbly at the ground.
“That’s right, a-hole! Keep your ugly mouth shut!” Confident he was victorious in this minor skirmish Duncan then stomped on the gas, the xB spitting forward into traffic looking like some freakish troll delivery truck. Shaking his head, Will quietly boarded the school bus, moved all the way to the back, and plopped down, putting his iPod earbuds in. He stole another glance at the girl, Natalie, and for a moment he thought he’d seen her before somewhere. But he couldn’t think of where or when so he pushed the notion out of his mind. She was just some girl. Period.
A large crow sat on a telephone line on Route 16. Common wisdom has it that crows are incapable of having human thoughts like hatred. But this crow felt power surging within him, and his pea-sized brain was on fire. This bird was pure malevolence, a meanassed sucker, a killer ready to spring into action. His black eyes flared slightly red and he swooped down off the line and glided down the road.
In the bus Will peered out the window, watching the town of Harrisburg go by. It was a normal-enough looking town, no better or worse than the others he’d lived in. Just like all those other towns, it had a polished surface that made it feel safe and welcoming. And, just like all those other towns, underneath was another story. Always another story, and usually not one with a happy ending. The hairs on the back of Will’s neck prickled and he immediately went on alert. His seventh sense told him that the wind of the Dark One was blowing. He glanced at the faces on the bus. Normal kids. Just normal teenage kids. But that could change any second.
BAM!
Something hit the top of the bus. Then something else hit. And something else. It sounded like gravel but it wasn’t. It was hail. Kids gawked out the window.
“Cool!”
“Holy crap, look at it come down!”
Flying right through the hail the crow located its target and tucked its wings in to gather speed. From its point of view the world was shades of brown, a sepia view of suburbia. As the bus roared along Will sensed the crow coming and looked out the window. The crow was flying erratically by the bus. For a split second Will dismissed it as just an ordinary crow but as it swooped right down at his window as though taunting him he concluded differently. Especially when he saw its eyes.
A few seats away Natalie leaned up and opened her window, reaching an arm out to feel the hail. Will sprang forward and dashed down the aisle, bumping whoever got in his way.
“Sorry, excuse me!”
“Hey, watch it!”
“What’s he doing?”
He reached Natalie’s seat and there was no time to do anything else but bull his way right over her to get to the window. The crow was rocketing right at the opening, emitting a horrifyingly un-bird-like cry, a guttural braying sound more likely to have come from a dying farm animal.
“Hey, do you mind?!” yelled Natalie as Will not only stepped on her foot, but brushed his face against her forehead and inadvertently elbowed her boob. She might have done more—like protested with a kick to his privates—but she must have finally seen the crow jamming right at the open window. She screamed. Hearing the scream, the bus driver glanced in his side mirror just in time to see it. BAM! Will slammed the window shut and the crow crashed into the safety glass, breaking its neck, splintering its beak, and cracking the window before bouncing backward onto the pavement. The bus driver yanked the wheel and the front tire smacked into the curb, sending kids flying from their seats. On the pavement, the crow’s eyes fluttered and its claws grasped for life, but life was saying adios, amigo. Blood spilled from the crow’s eyes and then it died.
Inside the bus, everyone had moved to Natalie’s side to see the action, gawking out the windows and marveling at the bird bleeding on the sidewalk.
“Cool! Did you see that?”
“Man, this is just like that old guy’s movie, Hitchlock!”
“It’s Hitchcock, dipweed.”
“Whatever.”
“Crows live longer than any other bird.”
“Not this one.”
Will was gazing at the cracked window and the pattern of blood that the crow had left there. It looked like someone had hastily painted a sloppy little symbol. In the shape of a pentagram.
Natalie was staring at Will, her eyes narrowing.
“How did you know that crazy bird was gonna—”
BAM! Another crow slammed into a window three rows back. And then another, and another. The bus was being swarmed by a murder of crows and they were out of their minds, diving and slamming into windows like kamikazes trying to sink a destroyer. The bus erupted with shouts and screams. The hail came down harder. A couple of freshman girls started to cry and the bus driver sat there in dumb shock until Will shouted up to him:
“DRIVE!”
The driver stomped on the gas and the bus lurched forward. A few more crows dive-bombed the bus, cracking the back window, and then the attack was over. The hail stopped abruptly. The bus was stone silent the rest of the way to school. As it pulled into the unloading area the shock began to wear off and was replaced by excited talk. Just about everyone on the bus shot at least one suspicious glance at Will. They all wondered the same thing: How the heck did he know that the first crow was going to attack? Will kept his head down and pretended to groove to music on his iPod, taking care not to return their gazes. Best to appear nonchalant. No big deal.
He tried to tell himself that the crows were acting crazy on their own accord, that it was just some freaky nature thing and had nothing to do with him. And he’d probably just imagined the bloody symbol. But deep down he knew better. He always did. It was the same story wherever he went. Things looked good and pure and wholesome on the surface, but underneath the whole place was evil and sucked beyond words. They already knew he was here in Harrisburg. They were here, too, and he would have to battle them. Demons. The crows had been a nice little twisted welcoming committee. Back on the pavement, the dead crow lay still for a moment longer, then rose on crushed legs, flew up into the sky, and banked toward Mount St. Emory.
Will looked out the bus window at Harrisburg High—HOME OF THE MUSTANGS!—as kids poured out of the bus and chatted excitedly, spreading the story of the hail and the whacked bird attack to all their friends. Will was the last one to exit the big yellow bus and Natalie was waiting for him, her eyes full of questions.
“Hi, I’m Natalie.”
“Um, I’m Will.”
“Nice to meet you, Will.”
He smiled thinly and started to walk away but she blocked his path, looking at him with her searching eyes.
“Can I ask you something? How the heck did you know about that crow?”
“I just . . . had a feeling.”
“Some feeling. Thanks. If you hadn’t slammed that window shut that freaky bird might have pecked my eyes out.”
“It’s no big deal.”
“Well, my eyes are a big deal to me.”
“I didn’t mean. . . .” Will was flushing now, flummoxed and inept. He could usually avoid chicks without too much trouble. But this girl—he was thrown off balance by her. Not only was she totally hot—in a natural way, an unconventional way—she also seemed mature for her age. She held a kind of sadness in her eyes and she looked haunted, like she’d lost something, or someone, important. Maybe Will was imagining it or projecting his own feelings on to her, but he couldn’t help feeling connected with her because of it. Then it hit him again, this feeling that he’d seen her before.
She looked so appealing, just standing there, defiant, ready for him to make the next move. Will told himself he had to stay aloof. Better for everyone that way. But hell! Given half a chance, he might really dig this Natalie. She was so pretty that his brain went numb. He stood there and the only thing he could think of was to ask her how long she’d had her shoes. Moron! Numbskull! He kept his mouth shut and stared at her kneecaps. Exasperated, she shook her head.
“Whatever,” she said as she left.
He watched her walk away and was inexorably drawn to her. He liked the way she got right in his face, liked the sparkle in her eyes, liked the way she wore her cords. He’d never had a girlfriend; just the thought of such a thing seemed way too perilous. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t dream. He was a guy, after all. Again he shoved Natalie out of his mind. It was time to take care of business, time to start in at yet another school.
A couple of white panel trucks were parked next to the school. Some painters had the shrubbery covered with drop cloths and were rolling out a coating of primer onto the masonry walls of the school. No doubt they’d come up with some innocuous institutional color for the place. Schools always did that. He guessed this one would be some shade of boring beige. On another wall, the main wall of the front of the school, the painters had already laid down a coat of primer and someone, probably members of the art class, had sketched a huge rough outline of a galloping mustang. Whoopee.
Then Will looked over at the parking lot where some cheerleaders were pinning paper roses to a homecoming float anchored by an ancient Ford flatbed truck. The dominant girl, who clearly knew she was the most beautiful, seemed to be asserting herself over the others and as she gestured for them to do this and that her eyes wandered over and found Will. She froze for a moment then, as if she was catching herself, blushed then tossed her hair like a filly and went back to bossing the other cheerleaders around. Will studied her, noticing how her skin shone in the sunlight, how her hair spilled onto her shoulders like she was in some TV commercial for shampoo.
Will pulled his eyes away from the cheerleader—don’t go there, you know you can’t go there, you gotta stop acknowledging girls—and further inspected the school. The old part, the anchor to the new additions, had to be the oldest structure in Harrisburg. A three-story ashlar edifice, it looked like the stones had been cut from some quarry in Europe where the sun never shone. The place had a look of finality about it, as though the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse would be right at home here. How fitting, Will thought to himself as he looked at the surrounding grounds. On one side of the school stood an imposing old-growth forest choked with towering pines. On the other side the ocean crashed against a rocky bluff. Perfect. Just perfect. Will’s nemesis always did have a flair for the dramatic. He glanced again in the direction of the cheerleader who along with her cheer squad had paused in her efforts on the float and was checking him out. As soon as they saw him look their way they turned up their noses to make sure he knew they wanted nothing to do with him, that he was beneath him.
Refocusing himself, Will eyed the school entrance and headed for it. He’d done this walk more times than he wanted to remember but never quite got used to it. He thought to himself, When you’re the New Kid, it’s like you’ve got a big neon sign flashing on your forehead blinking, “Check me out! I’m THE NEW KID!” At least that’s what it felt like. And sure enough, as the sea of kids parted and Will waded through, they whispered and pointed and scoped him out. Fresh meat. Most of the girls looked like they either wanted to run away or lay a big wet kiss on him. Half the boys acted like they wanted to beat the crap out of him and the other half wondered if he was going to beat the crap out of them. High school, you had to love it. Or maybe not. Duncan was hanging with some of his buddies by a bench and he glared at Will as he walked by. He used his fingers to make the “I’m watching you” sign. No, thought Will, I’m watching you. All of you.
Will checked in with the principal, a large oafish man with adult acne, small eyes, and a neck that was thicker than his head so his whole body sort of came to a point.
“Welcome to Harrisburg High, I’m Principal Steadman,” said the pointy head as it looked down at a folder. “Do you like to be called Willie, Bill, or William?”
“It’s Will.”
“Good for you.” Pointy-head—Steadman—smiled, revealing overlapping front teeth. Will mustered a smile in return and studied the man. He could be safe or he could be one of them. It was hard to tell, especially with adults. It usually took a while to smoke them out. Will’s enemies were nothing if not clever.
Steadman’s administrative smile evaporated as he opened a file, read a little, then tapped it as though he was a hot shot TV cop or something. Guys like Steadman made Will want to puke, but he thought it best to abstain for the time being. Steadman tapped the folder again.
“You know what this is?”
Will kept mum, figuring Steadman would get around to answering his own question sooner or later. They always did.
“It’s your permanent record, your transcripts from the schools you’ve attended. You’ve been around, haven’t you, William?”
“We’ve moved a lot, yeah,” said Will.
“And you’ve had some rough patches, haven’t you? It says here you blew up the boiler room in the basement of Wellington High School in San Diego?”
“Accidents happen,” replied Will, though he knew good and well his blowing up the boiler was a totally necessary act of self-defense and not any kind of accident.
“Yes, they do,” said Steadman, “and apparently they happen to you with frightening regularity. The bus crash on the Porter Bridge overpass in Corpus Christi, Texas. The gas main explosion at Jordan Manning in Greenhaven, North Carolina.” Steadman flicked the folder with his middle finger. He looked frustrated, like he knew he had to hand down some stupid edict but didn’t particularly feel like it. He was clearly conflicted. Either that or he really had to go to the bathroom. Finally, he sighed.
“I want you to know that I’m a fair man, and that as far as I’m concerned you have a clean slate to start with here at Harrisburg High School. Here’s your class schedule and your instruction packet. You’re responsible for reading it and following the rules. Here’s your locker number and the combination. It’s your responsibility to keep your locker clean and free from drugs, contraband, and alcohol. I run a tight ship but a fair ship, William.”
The name’s “Will,” thought Will, but he didn’t bother correcting Steadman. He just wanted this over. Everywhere you went there were rules, but they were trivial compared to the rules of his world, and those rules Will lived to break in the worst possible way.
Principal Steadman pinhead stood up, indicating the brief meeting had come to an end. He reached over and grabbed a couple of forearm crutches and then came around the front of the desk to shake hands. Will felt ashamed that he’d held even an ounce of malice for Steadman. The poor guy had multiple sclerosis. Then he remembered the time an enemy had come at him disguised as a blind drooling quadriplegic and decided he’d better stay on the alert even though Steadman seemed like a basically nice guy to whom life had dealt a crummy hand. Steadman shook Will’s hand and Will squeezed tightly, trying to feel for moisture in the center of the palm. They sometimes had mouths or eyes there. But Steadman’s hand was as rough and dry as a chunk of tree bark. Will left the office.
He passed dozens of kids as he made his way down the hall to his locker. They all stared at him and did their usual whispering and pointing thing again. He stood out like an orange on an apple tree. Does everybody know everybody else in this school? wondered Will. Of course they do. It’s your typical small-town, inbred, socially incestuous scene.
He found his locker and as he did he saw a crowd of boys gathering down the hallway, fidgeting with anticipation. Oh God, thought Will, not another lame locker prank. What’s it going to be this time? At Wellington High School in San Diego they’d filled his locker with pizza dough. At Kennedy in Corpus Christi they’d used rats from the biology class and Will remembered how angry he was, not because he was embarrassed but because they’d injured one of the rats and he’d had to take it to the vet. In Greenhaven, North Carolina, at Jordan Manning High they’d used an “anatomically correct” inflatable doll (always a favorite) and at Steele High in Brunswick, Vermont, they’d used horse manure. So of course nothing would surprise him. Knowing this sort of thing was inevitable and not wanting to disappoint the doofuses down the hallway he slowly dialed the combination and opened his locker. Out tumbled two dozen water-filled condoms. How original. The goons down the hall fell all over themselves laughing and high-fiving each other. Will sighed, trying once again not to let this kind of crap get to him. But it always did, deep down. He knew kids did stupid stuff like this to make them feel better about themselves; he understood the psychology, but it didn’t soften the blows.
“You’ll have to clean that up, William,” said Principal Steadman as he crutch-walked up to Will. “Don’t take it too personally. This happens with every new kid. Just buck up.” Steadman patted him on the arm and crabbed his way down toward the faculty lounge.
Will disposed of the condoms in a nearby trash can and then headed for class as the first period bell rang. He followed the school map Steadman had given him and walked with his head down and took a left at the second hallway past the trophy case. He noticed a commotion in his peripheral vision and told himself to just keep on walking. But he knew there was trouble in the air and he was drawn to trouble like a shark to blood. There was a banging noise coming from the boys’ restroom and two chiseled thugs stood guard by the door like gargoyles, muscular arms folded. As he walked by Will heard muffled voices and the straining high notes of someone who was not at all happy. Will stopped. He knew at this point he should just ignore whatever juvenile games were being played. Something told him this wasn’t a game, but he decided to ignore his instincts and walked on past the boys’ room. Let whoever was in trouble go ahead and suffer. It wasn’t worth revealing himself for.
He was almost to his chemistry class when he heard the scream.
