I managed to keep a straight face.
By the end of lunch I’d learned a few more nicknames. Reagan (Ray-ray) was a cute girl who seemed smarter than her boyfriend, Mike-Lite, who was apparently so called because he used to want to be just like Michael. His real name was Ethan.
Beast, who everyone in school recognized on sight, was perhaps the biggest high schooler I’d ever seen. He didn’t look like he should be able to stand, much less play football, but he must manage somehow.
Cyndra’s cheerleader friends from first block were Samantha (Sammy) and Monique (Mona)—also the same two who had kept walking by during break.
Cyndra brushed her hair and didn’t eat anything, laughing with her friends and flirting with everyone.
Michael didn’t mind. It was like he got a charge out of it.
Cyndra and her girls made me feel like a bug under a magnifying glass. They kept laughing, talking between themselves, and looking at me—letting me see it.
I resisted the urge to check myself. Just looked away, waiting for the bell and wondering how long Michael would want to pay me for this nothing act. If I would ever get what the point was.
When the bell rang, T-Man slapped my hand, slid it into another clasp, and bumped shoulders. I tried to look like I knew the move. A couple other jocks held little one-potato fists over my arm and waited for me to make one—then they dropped a quick bounce on mine, one after the other.
Michael and I sat, watching everyone file indoors.
“That was fun, wasn’t it?” he said, when they all moved away. “Power. It’s the ultimate.”
I guessed he was talking about my little game with Dwight.
“You would know,” I said.
He smiled. “Yeah, I would.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Clay was gone when I walked back through the cafeteria with Michael. We dumped our trays and headed upstairs.
Mr. Stewart’s AP History class is the only one that I never want to sleep through. He goes into such great detail, it’s like you know the people he’s talking about. You almost hate that they lived centuries before you. He was the only teacher I had this year who really seemed to care about the subject he taught and wanted to make sure you understood it. Like he was imparting some important, life-changing secrets and not just information about people who died a long time ago.
We were doing a section on ancient Greece and Rome. And the more Mr. Stewart kept talking about those Romans, the more I thought it sounded like something I could learn from. It’s stupid, I guess, but the way I was thinking about it was Michael was a Roman general or something, and I was a Barbarian—a Germanic tribesman. And we were fighting, only the Romans all knew battle plans and formations and had better technology, while my side had nothing but pure strength. It, of course, was a pre-done deal. I was a goner and would never understand what had felled me. And once it was over, would I want to become Roman myself? Or would I die fighting?
When the bell rang I stuffed my notes in my coat. There was only one class left—and since it was a study hall, I could get some sleep and avoid Michael’s gang.
“Hey, Jason”—Michael walked with me out the door—“after school I have football practice. Meet me in the parking lot after. Cyndra wants to get you some clothes.”
“As long as I get paid.”
“Everyone has their price.”
I shrugged and walked away.
In study hall I put my head down and slept. After school sometimes I go to the building supply store and lug around product for contractors who come in. The library’s open for thirty minutes after school, so I sometimes go in there and get on a computer or look at magazines, sleep, or watch Ms. Knickerbocker shelve books. Everyone calls her Ms. Knickers, which helps explain why watching her shelving books is a spectator sport.
But most days I end up in the old gym. Like most schools, Mercer has busted out all over the place as more students come in. A while back they built a new gym. It’s been here as long as I have, but still everyone calls it the new gym. Like it’s the jewel in the crown of the campus.
So the old gym is pretty much neglected. The special ed students go there for PE mostly, and sometimes if the weather is bad or there’s testing in the new gym, PE will meet there. They set up random events in there like the science fair and health screenings, but usually it’s completely empty.
Just the way I like it.
Most days Clay will hang out, too, waiting while I work out. I used to try to get him to spar or to let me show him a few things about fighting. But he won’t. Says that violence is never the answer, that you can’t solve anything with fists.
Usually, if someone said that, I’d think they were a coward. But Clay, he won’t ever back down. To him, the just cause is the one that doesn’t need a fist behind it. He says that in a confrontation, a witness or voice is what’s needed. That it’s not the same thing as fighting. He says violence doesn’t change the world; resistance to violence does.
He’s into Gandhi. And the Civil Rights Movement. And hippies and stuff. Obviously he’s completely na?ve. But he’s a true believer in that crap. And since we’re friends, we leave it alone. I think he’s learning a few pointers just hanging out with me, though.
I still felt like hitting something, so I headed straight for the corner farthest from the door.