Eighth-Grade Superzero (24 page)

I put on too much of this stupid body spray and now it’s too late to take another shower. I brush my teeth for the fifth time, check my nose for boogers, and look at my watch; okay, now I really have to go. I don’t want to get to the Holiday Jam too early and stand around getting stale, but I don’t want to get there too late and have everyone turn to look at me as I walk in. Besides, they’re going to announce the election results right in the middle of the party; I can’t miss that.

At first I thought I’d completely messed up on the speech. My voice was all thin and mumbly half the time, and that was probably a good thing because I don’t think I made any sense. I was close, I think. I feel like when I was little and we’d rent a car to go to Sesame Place and I couldn’t wait to get there, and every time I’d ask, Mom would say, “We’re almost there, honey.” I think I’m almost there. I can be there in time to make a good president; I believe that. But I’m not sure who else does. There were some giggles, especially when I talked about love and when I brought up the Pukey thing, but afterward a lot of people said “Good luck, Reggie,” in the hall, and a few even came to my locker to ask about Olive Branch and tell me some of their ideas.

Before the polls had even closed yesterday, Ruthie changed the New World Order Collective to a club called Agents of Positive Change; she asked me if I wanted to be copresident, but she’s meant to lead that one. I’m going to work with Vijay and Joe C. on making this documentary about people at places like Olive Branch, sort of like a visual Listening Ears Project. I really have a lot to thank Dave for. I should have called him, or at least e-mailed him; I’ll see him tonight at the dance and I don’t know what I’m going to say. I’ll just wing it and pray for mercy. Story of my life these days, but it’s working out okay.

I try to sneak out without anybody noticing, but the creaky step gives me away and Mom, Pops, and Monica all rush out of the kitchen and go “awwww” and take pictures and hug me. (Monica kind of gives me a shake and makes a big show of sniffing.) I can’t believe Mom made it home this early; she must have really zipped out of there. She’s treating Monica to a movie, and Monica seems real enthusiastic about it even though Mom has already made her change her outfit twice. Pops pulls me aside and gives me a little extra cash; I don’t know why, the party is at school right down the street, but I’m not going to complain.

I get out of the house in one piece (barely) and walk/run to school. I stop to catch my breath, and there’s a tug on my sweater. It’s Charlie.

“Hey, Charlie!” I say. “What are you doing out so late?” I look around and see his mom a few feet away. She smiles and waves.

“I’m going home. I had a playdate with Anndalisa,” he says. Then he lowers his voice. “We’re getting married.”

I am proud of myself for keeping a straight face. “Really? Uh, congratulations!”

“Do you want to be my best man?” he asks. “I was thinking that we could wear superhero costumes.”

Okay, so I smile a little this time. “I’d love to be your best man,” I say. “But I think we should wear our regular clothes.”

“But I want to be a superhero!” he says.

“You are, all by yourself,” I say. “I was so proud when you told me you apologized to Anndalisa. That was the superheroiest thing ever!” He makes muscle arms, and I laugh.

“Charlie!” his mom calls. “We need to go. And Reggie looks like he’s on his way to something important.”

“No problem, Mrs. Calloway,” I say. I lean down a little to whisper to Charlie. “Listen. I’m starting a new project. About a guy in eighth grade and his friend in kindergarten and all of the different people they meet who help other people.”

“Yeah?” he asks. “Can I see it one day?”

“Absolutely,” I say. “And not only that, it’s a movie, and you can help me make it. We’ll be partners and make my house our studio. I’ll give you a key.”

The look on his face is so good.

“If you’re going someplace important,” he says, “how come you’re not wearing your shoes?”

Oh, no. God, please don’t make me have to wear those tonight. “Remember, we’re superheroes all by ourselves, no matter what we wear,” I say quickly.

He nods. “Yeah. It’s who we are inside that counts.” He smiles. “And what we are is brothers for real!”

We part ways, and by the time I get to the school doors, I’m cheesing like a fool. I walk in, buy a ticket, and go over to the lockers to wait for Joe C. Donovan strolls over to me, alone.

“Hey, loser,” he says. I ignore him.

“You know you hear me,” he says. “You’re such a punk.”

I look at him. Right at him. “I don’t have anything to say to you, Donovan. And it seems like you can’t think of anything to say to me, since you just say the same things over and over. Why don’t we agree to just stay out of each other’s way?” I keep my eyes on his. I will not look away first.

“You’re gonna lose the election, you know,” he says, sneering. “Bad. I don’t know why you want to humiliate yourself all of the time.”

I just shrug, and look beyond him for Joe C.

“You think you’re better than me,” he says suddenly. “You always did. But I saw you that day, watching us throw spitballs at Vicky.” He narrows his eyes. “You were just glad it wasn’t you. Punk.”

He’s right, and that memory will always make my stomach hurt a little. I know what I did — or didn’t do — and I can’t change that. But I also know what I
will
do, who I
will
be from now on.

“The difference is that I won’t do anything like that again,” I say.
So help me God, okay?
“I don’t have the same confidence in you.”

“You pretended to be my friend because your parents made you, but you never liked me.”

I start to say something, but I don’t. Because it’s true. I never really liked Donovan.

“Yeah,” he says, nodding. “Who cares? It’s a privilege not to be liked by a loser. That’s why I dropped you after you got with your new boyfriend. I could see it.”

If this were
Night Man,
Donovan would be getting smaller and smaller with every word, until he was just a speck. And then I would stomp him. But it’s not
Night Man.
I remember the promise I made to Charlie. “Listen,” I begin. “Or don’t. I want to say I’m sorry for the things I said to you that day with the shoes.”

“Like I ever cared,” he says. “Whatever, freak. Your jokes were weak anyway. You probably got them out of a book.”

How does he do that? He sees that he’s got me, and smiles. “You’re pathetic,” he says. “Wait till everyone hears that one.”

For a second, I panic. Then I wonder who he’s really going to tell. Justin? Sean? I think about the Donovan on the basketball court, the one that I’d be friends with. I know that I’m glad to have the friends that I have, the love that I have in my life, and I almost feel sorry for Donovan because he doesn’t.

Almost. I’m not that Christian yet.

“It doesn’t matter what you say, Donovan,” I say. “It really doesn’t.”

He just keeps standing there for a while, and I stand and look back at him, right in the eye. I can hear the music from the party, and more and more voices. Sounds like it’s filling up.

“Why am I wasting time with you, loser?” he says. He turns and walks off with quick, short steps — the way I walked when I felt exposed and stupid and just wanted to be invisible.

I look at my watch. Where is Joe C.? I wonder if I should just go in and look for him.

“Hello … Reggie?”

I turn toward a soft voice. It’s a girl with a huge pile of curly black hair and a body like Barbie’s. She can’t go to this school; I would have noticed her before.

“I’m Maria,” she says, smiling. “Maria Salvucci? Joe C.'s friend?”

Maria Salvucci. In the flesh. I smile and put out my hand.

“It’s really, really good to meet you,” I say. “Finally.”

She smiles again. “Joe C. wanted me to come and get you. He’s inside, doing the music. He was supposed to just do a couple of mixes, but it looks like they’re trying to get him to DJ the whole party.”

We go inside, and the cafeteria has been transformed. For a minute it does feel like we’re in a teen movie. Joe C. is up on a platform; he sees us come in and he waves, then he goes back to whatever DJs do with all of that equipment. The place is packed. A few people nod, and I nod back. Some of them shout “Good luck!” over the music. Maria goes over to sit next to Joe C. More than a few people’s mouths drop open as they stare, and I’m happy for Joe C. I need to remember to tell him that.

There’s a group of adults standing in a corner smiling at the kids. Mrs. Lowenstein goes over and inserts herself between Vijay and Veronica, who have melded into one person on the dance floor. I see Dave, and I take a deep breath and walk over.

“Hi, Dave,” I say.

“Hey, Reggie,” he says. He sounds pretty cheery, and I get the feeling that we could just talk and go on like nothing happened, but I know that I can’t do that.

“Dave,” I start. “I’m sorry. I, uh …” I’m not sure what to say after that.

“It’s okay, Reggie,” he says. “But thanks, I appreciate the apology.”

“Thanks for the second chance,” I say.

“I learned from the best,” he replies, smiling. “Gotta give as good as I get.”

I stand next to him for a while. He’s nodding his head to the music. “That’s your friend, right?” he asks, pointing to Joe C., and I nod. “He’s a star. Shouldn’t you be doing eighth grade things like shaking your booty with the ladies? And I know there’s a big announcement you’re waiting for.”

So he does know; Dave probably knows the whole story. Ruthie. Oh, well, I don’t mind.

“I’ve gotta admit, this politics thing is a surprise from you,” says Dave. “You’re a good guy, Reggie. Politics isn’t for the good guys.”

“ ‘Why do you call me good?’ “ I say. “ ‘No one is good but God alone.’ Book of Luke … I think.” I made a Bible joke! Maybe
I’m
going to be Dave when I grow up.

Dave laughs, loud and hard. “Touché,” he says.

“I’ve been hitting the Book,” I say.

“Yeah?” he says. “And?”

“And I have a lot of questions,” I say. “Enough to want to read more. And maybe e-mail you about it, if that’s okay.”

“Of course it is,” says Dave. “Always.”

“I mean, I still don’t get why we have wars, why hurricanes demolish whole neighborhoods, why babies go hungry,”
and why people are homeless,
I want to add, but I don’t. “But I guess I have to do something in spite of that. It’s worse if I’m not getting it
and doing nothing too. I mean, I can do something about the parts that I do get, right?”

Dave smiles. “You
were
paying attention!”

Paying attention. What if George could see me now? It’s weird how someone could have been in my life for such a short time but have changed it so much.

Maria takes over the DJ booth; about half the people on the dance floor stop and stare when she kisses Joe C.

Dave wanders off to talk to Ms. A. I try to scope out the room without looking like I’m doing it. Mialonie materializes right in front of me. She’s wearing something gold and glittery, and looks like that girl who hosts the
Top 20 Video Countdown.

“Hey,” she says. “How is it so far?”

I shrug, trying to play it cool. “It’s all right. You know, just a middle school party.”

She raises her eyebrows. “Oh, you’re too cool for that too?”

I start laughing. “Come on, Mialonie. We both know that I’m not too cool for anything.” She laughs with me.

“I have to go find Josie,” she says, “and then maybe we’ll dance?”

“Maybe,” I say. She leaves, and as I watch her go I wonder if we’re destined for eternal banter.

Ruthie and Hector walk up; Hector’s fly is open. I’m not going to tell him. I look at Ruthie and it’s like I have super-powered specs on. I can see all of the Ruthies that I know, the Ruthie that punched me in kindergarten and the Ruthie that held my head after I got hit in dodgeball. The Ruthie that talks about the future of the UN because she really cares, and the Ruthie that believes
in God, and me. The Ruthie that knows me, really knows me, and sticks by me anyway. The Ruthie standing in front of me who looks shiny and pretty and
good.
The Ruthie who is not like anyone else in this world. Right this second I wouldn’t mind being that superhero who sweeps the smart-mouthed heroine off her feet, bends her back for one of those big movie kisses just before the credits roll. But I’m just me; I take a deep breath.

“Hey!” Ruthie says. “I’ve been wondering when you were going to get here. Isn’t this nice?”

“Yeah.” I nod. “You look nice.”

“Thank you,” she says.

“Let’s dance,” Hector says to her. She looks at me.

“It’s funny, I don’t remember giving you the Cesar quote,” she says. “But I’m glad you could use it in your speech.”

“You didn’t,” I say. “Sometimes I learn things from other sources.” She hits my shoulder; a love tap, really, and I grin.

“Where’s Mialonie?” she asks.

I shrug. “She’s probably around. You guys go ahead, I’ll see you on the dance floor.”

“Save one for me,” she says. “We haven’t danced together since the African dance recital when we were seven. Remember? You were the only guy and had to dance with all of us.”

“I didn’t know how good I had it,” I say. We laugh, and they go. Hector steps on her feet right away, and I smile.

I sit down in a folding chair against the wall. A few more people say “Good luck” as they pass by. Sparrow and Vijay wander over, equipment in hand.

“Reggie!” yells Sparrow. “Reggie McKnight! Any final words of wisdom before we get the results?”

“Words of wisdom?” I repeat. “I don’t know about all that…. Um, it’s all good.” I give the camera a thumbs-up. Sparrow shrugs and slides away in her high heels.

“You’re pretty cool about the whole thing,” says Vijay, putting the camera down. “I’d be nervous. Or excited. Or something.” I just smile and try to lean back in my chair, but I almost tip over. “I bet that footage we gave Blaylock put us over the edge to win that grant money.”

“I hope so. You did a good job,” I say. I’m sure Blaylock will blame me into eternity if we don’t win that money. And I’m not Brian Allerton; my family can’t send me to private school.