Alone at 90 Foot (6 page)

Mostly we just sat around the basement, talking, listening to music, eating chips and Cheezies and Nuts' n' Bolts. Joanne's mother came down once
in a while to refill the bowls. One time, after she'd left, Joanne winked at me. She turned the lights real low. This was the agreed-upon signal. I looked at Landon who was sitting next to me. He turned to me. In the dim light his big face came down, looming closer and closer. But all I could see was the Cheezie dust all over his lips. He pressed them against mine. We stayed stuck together like that for what seemed an eternity. Luckily, Joanne's mother came winging down the stairs again looking for something she'd forgotten. She flicked on all the lights and pushed games at us, like Pictionary and Balderdash and stuff. I was so glad it was over I could have jumped up and kissed
her
. For the next two days, I couldn't get the taste of Cheezies out of my mouth. I guess my moral here, or whatever, is don't stuff your face just before you kiss.

“Okay,” Tony says. “Why don't we figure to go about eight. I'll tell John to pick Pam up. We'll all meet at your house.”

“Pam doesn't need to be picked up,” I say. “I can get there by myself.”

They give me this surprised look, like they've suddenly noticed I'm a living human being or something. Not only that, I can talk.

“So — it's okay with you?” Joanne asks.

“I guess,” I shrug.

May 28th

Danny Kim totally lost it in the library today. It was right after lunch. He came walking in, wearing these plastic glasses with giant bloodshot eyeballs that hung out on springs. With this crazy laugh, he jumped up on a table. Then, leaping from one table to the next, he made these sorry attempts to crack jokes. Saying stuff like, “Nice ring, let me have a closer look,” and “Here's looking at you, kid.” This was Mr. Ninety-Nine Point Nine Percent, Danny. Mr. Class President for the last three years. Mr.
Winner of the Debate Club, acting so bizarre, it was pathetic.

The major problem here is, you don't talk in our school library. You don't eat, drink, turn pages or push out chairs too noisily in our library. Whispering is pounced on and giggling is practically a capital offence. So when Mrs. Zimmerman, the librarian, came walking out of the back room pushing a cart of books and Danny was standing on our table, laughing stupidly, and we were trying to tell him to get a grip, she went ballistic.

“Danny Kim! Just what do you think you're doing?”

“Hey, Mrs. Z! Want to dance?” Danny did a little jig on our table. “I've got my party eyes on.”

“Get down! I want to speak to you right now! And that goes for everyone at your table!”

Joanne, Mandeep, Linda Yip and I looked at one another. We started to protest.

“But we weren't doing any — “

“Now!”

By Mrs. Z's hostile tone, it was apparent we didn't have a hope. So, following Danny, we filed quietly into her office. She closed the door behind us. For several moments, she didn't say a thing. She just stood there with her arms folded and this real intense look on her face. She stuck an upturned hand toward Danny. He gave her the glasses.

“Now, what is the meaning of all this?”

Danny's face lost all trace of humor. It was now the reverse. He looked so sad and so lost, I thought he was going to cry. “I was just trying to have some fun,” he told her.

Mrs. Z adjusted her glasses and glowered. At Danny, at Joanne, at Mandeep, at Linda and at me. “Trying to have some fun?” she repeated dryly.

“Yes,” Danny practically whimpered. “I guess it's not allowed.”

Mrs. Z pressed her lips together, forming a hard white line. She unfolded her arms and planted them on her hips. “Well, Mr. Kim, you guess right. That kind of — fun,” she sucked the word like it had a sour taste, “is
not
allowed. The library is a place for quiet study and intellectual enjoyment. It is not a place for twisted entertainment.”

“I know, but, you don't understand — “

“What is it about what I have just said that
you
don't understand?”

“I wasn't trying — “

“Mr. Kim, if you were a weak student studying for an exam — an exam that could make the difference between passing and failing the year — and you were prevented from doing so by the inappropriate behavior of one very loud student — what would you call that?”

Danny lifted his eyes from the floor. He looked
helplessly over at me. I mouthed the word rude.

“What was that?”

“Rude?” whispered Danny.

“Rude indeed! Not to mention inconsiderate and disrespectful! Would you be tolerant of a student like that?”

“I guess not.”

“What was that?”

“No.”

“You wouldn't?”

“NO!”

Danny's thunderous response compelled Mrs. Z to silence. But it was only temporary. “Of course, you wouldn't.” With these needle eyes, she slowly studied each one of our faces. “Now, I hope I have helped you ALL understand we have rules for a reason. They were not drawn up simply to amuse me and Mrs. Lofts. You must also understand that, when student behavior is inconsistent with these rules, action must be taken. By doing this, we are attempting to teach you responsibility. Responsibility to yourself and to those around you. With that in mind, you are all suspended from the library for one week.”

With this shocked expression, Danny looked up from the floor and at all of us. “But Mrs. Z! It had nothing to do with them!”

Shh, Danny. Shh. Holding my finger to my lips
I shook my head. Never mind. She'll really blow.

“Mr. Kim! As far as I'm concerned, it had everything to do with them! An enthusiastic audience is as much a part of the play as the actor! Now, all of you, off to your next class!”

I was right. She blew. We all slunk out.

You might think we would be mad at Danny. But we weren't. We felt sorry for him. We knew why he did it. Something Mrs. Z didn't know. Or if she did, she didn't care. We knew his brother, Wilson, had run away from home. Wilson was seventeen, three years older than Danny. He'd been to school off and on through junior high, but since he'd turned sixteen, not at all. Wilson had done some pretty manic things in his lifetime. Like fed the hose through their neighbor's window when they were gone for a weekend. And turned it on. Set his bedroom on fire when he was mad at his mom. Tied Danny to a tree in the Canyon because he did so well in school. And left him there. Crashed Darla Miller's party and annihilated her dad's wine collection.

Now he was charged with assault and theft. Which was the reason he had run away. Wilson and a friend had knocked two kids to the ground, roughed them up and stolen their bikes. The police found the mangled frames four days later in the Capilano River.

Danny's parents fretted day and night over Wil
son. First it was maybe if they put him in basketball, he would get along better with the other kids. Then, maybe if he went to private school, he would get better marks. Maybe if they bought him designer clothes, he would have more self-esteem. Maybe if they bought him a computer, he'd develop an interest. Maybe a car would get him away from his friends in Lynn Valley. Maybe, if they took him to Paris, the cat-poisoning incident would blow over. Maybe, maybe, maybe. Yes, Danny? Oh, ninety-nine-point-nine percent is good. Very good, dear. But what about your brother, Willie? Maybe if we take him to Bishop's for his birthday, just the three of us, he would appreciate what we do for him. Your birthday, Danny? Oh sure, you can have a couple of kids over for pizza. But we'll be going out.

Danny couldn't compete. No matter what he did, or how well he did it, Wilson always had one up on him. All Danny really wanted was to be noticed. Today, Mrs. Z noticed him.

I was making Hamburger Helper for Dad and me when he got the call. I knew it was Mrs. Z, because Dad said hello, then was quiet while he looked over at me. Frowning.

He continued frowning, in silence, for some time. “Thank you for calling, Mrs. Zimmerman. It will be dealt with,” was all that he said.

Dealt with? What's there to deal with?

“Dad, look, I can explain,” I said, before Dad had even hung up. “Danny snapped and we were just trying to calm him down.”

“By disturbing everyone in the library? By preventing the serious students from getting their work done? Don't you think that's just a little bit — “

“Rude?” I said, jumping right in. “Yes, definitely. It would be rude, inconsiderate and disrespectful. If it were the case. But like I said, we were only trying to help Danny.”

“Couldn't you have picked a more thoughtful way? For instance, one in keeping with library rules?”

I knew Dad wasn't really as mad as he was pretending. Mrs. Z had got him all hyped up. She made him believe it was his parental duty to harass me. I also knew what Dad really thought of people like Mrs. Z. By the book. No exceptions. No time to listen to excuses. I'd seen Dad's picture from high school. Just his long hair told me he wasn't exactly the conformist type. I couldn't help just a tiny smile.

Dad tried to disguise his own. “What do you mean, Danny snapped?”

So I told him about Wilson's latest crime. About what an embarrassment he is to Danny. How at home, Danny is always ignored in favor of Wilson. How unfair it is and that I wished Wilson would never come back.

Dad agreed that it wasn't fair. But then, life often isn't fair. Something I'd heard him say mega-times before. “You can't change the world, Pam. All you can do is offer Danny your support.”

Lifting two plates from the cupboard, I spooned out the Hamburger Helper.

“Still,” Dad said, as I set it before him. “I can't let this go unnoticed. I told her I'd deal with it.”

We thought about this as we ate.

“You could ground me,” I suggested.

“Okay. How about Sunday night? That still leaves your weekend open.”

Thoughtful of him, but, “Aren't we going to Nana's Sunday night?”

“Oh, right. I forgot. Hmm. Monday then?”

I considered it. “Yeah. I can't see why not.”

“Good. Monday it is.” Dad seemed relieved. We finished our supper. Dad stretched as he stood up. “And since we'll be at home, why don't you ask Danny for dinner?”

“Okay. And maybe Mandeep?”

Dad nodded.

May 29th

Danielle Higgins is lucky she's got a perfect body. Because other than that, she's nothing but a creep. She is rude. She's insulting. And if there's something she wants, she'll crush and grind anybody that gets in her way. That includes our teachers.

It's like she doesn't have a conscience. Like she figures the whole world is hers for the taking and all the rest of us should serve it up for her on our bended knees. And if we refuse, well, we just better watch out. I guess I'm lucky. She's never made
me a target. She's always looked right past me, or through me. I've never been any kind of threat. Like, no duh.

Not that she has to have a particular thing against you. Sometimes she'll pick on someone for no reason. Usually, just because she's bored. It's been Danny Kim this week. Nothing too direct, just these nasty little digs. Like when Wally gave us a math sheet, then left the room for a few minutes this morning, Danielle took one look at it and made this spluttery sound with her lips. No doubt, it was a bit beyond her. Bored, needing entertainment, she began to look around, chomping her gum, slapping her pencil eraser against her desk. Her eyes fell on Danny.

“Hey, Danny?”

Danny, who was already half finished, looked up through a blur. “Huh?”

“Is your dad out of work?”

He blinked. “What? No. Why are you asking me that?”

“Just wondering,” Danielle shrugged. She pretended to rediscover her worksheet.

“Why did you ask me that?”

Pretty well the entire class was looking at her now. We all wanted to know.

Danielle didn't look up. “Oh, just the fact that your family couldn't afford a new bike for your
brother. Made me think money in the Kim house must be tight.”

If it had been anyone else who had said it, nobody would have laughed. But because it was Danielle, half the class, all the boys, did laugh. It was beside the point whether they thought it was funny or not. It was the sexy Danielle who had spoken.

I could see Danny wanted to club her, but he's far too dignified for that. He went back to his worksheet.

Danielle also plays teachers against one another. Like when she's trying to bump up a mark. Like when she barely made sense on a social studies essay and brought it to the attention of Mr. Overhand.

“But Mr. O, I don't understand.” A flutter of her lashes. “On my last English essay, I got ninety-five percent. Mr. Bartell wrote comments like ‘fresh' and ‘distinctive.' I was only trying to refine my style.”

So, guess what? Smitten with self-doubt, Mr. O bumped her up fifteen percent.

Then there was the time she was just plain mean to Mrs. Lazarenko, our amazingly obese music teacher who conducts the choir from a chair. Danielle was determined that for one class, she was going to make her stand up. So she spread tacks, points up, on her chair. Mrs. Lazarenko came waddling in as usual, opened a music book on the piano, struck
a note, repeated it in voice and, as we waited for a reaction, settled into her chair.

There was no reaction.

“Alright class, ‘California Dreamin',' once through, beginning now,” and she bellowed the first few words.

Our mouths hung open, but no sound came out.

She stopped short. “Are you with me, class? Or is it up to me to give a solo performance?” She wriggled to sit up. The white flesh hanging from her arms rippled with the effort. She began the song again.

Still our mouths hung open.

“Come on, come on.”