Hello Groin (16 page)

Rolling over, I stared at nothing for what felt like hours until I finally fell asleep.

Tuesday morning I woke, still stuck in a funk, my homework not done, school two hours away and Keelie crouched over me whispering, “Good morning, Dylan. Mommy says we’re late and you have to get up quick.” For the first time in my life, instead of pulling her down for a hug, I almost pushed her away. But I managed to get a grip and fake enough big-sister-happy to convince her. Satisfied, she scampered out the door, and I headed downstairs for breakfast, where I piled about half a cup of sugar onto my oatmeal to get myself going.

Unfortunately, my sugar fix didn’t last long. As I biked over to
Joc’s, the streets felt as if they were all uphill. The weather had once again turned colder, the trees had lost most of their leaves, and the sky looked like a dull gray headache. Steering my bike onto Joc’s street, I wondered how her weekend had gone. She’d been out of town, visiting relatives, and still hadn’t gotten back when I’d called last night. With everything that had happened since Friday, it felt like I hadn’t seen her for weeks.

Coasting into the curb in front of her house, I looked up to see the front door open and Joc come bursting out, a grin all over her face. The minute I saw her my tiredness vanished, and then suddenly, without warning, all the feelings that I’d experienced during the kiss with Sheila rushed over me again, just
screaming
with sweetness. I mean, it was agony. Here I’d been hoping the feelings I’d had for Joc would be gone now I’d kissed another girl—that they would have somehow transferred themselves to Sheila. Which meant, of course, that I wouldn’t have to deal with them anymore, since I was absolutely never going to speak to her again. But instead, the feelings that I’d experienced with Sheila seemed to have transferred themselves to Joc, and the rush that came with them was so strong, all I could do was duck my head and swear nonstop under my breath while she swung onto the seat behind me.

“Holla bolla, moron,” she said, bumping her forehead against my back.

“Get thee to a nunnery,” I mumbled, trying to ignore the warmth of her arms tightening around my waist.

“Thanks a lot,” she said as I pushed away from the curb. “I spent practically the entire weekend in one. I haven’t even talked to Dikker since Friday. Hey, did you get your display done?”

For a second I drew a complete blank. So much had happened since I’d put up the display Saturday morning that I’d completely forgotten about it.

“Oh yeah!” I said. “I met Ms. Fowler at the library on Saturday morning, and I finished it then. C’mon, I’ll show you.”

Putting on a burst of speed, I zoomed over the Dundurn Street bridge. When we got to the Dief, I locked my bike, and we headed indoors to check out the display. As I wove through the crowded halls, I was pumped, everything going by in a blur. With a grin, Joc swung open the library door, and we practically ran toward the check-out desk. There it was—my display in all its construction-paper glory:
Absolutely Normal Chaos
for the girl’s brain,
Color of Absence
for her throat,
The Egyptian Boo
—

My jaw dropped and I stood openmouthed, gaping at the display case.
Foxfire
—it was gone. The flaming orange, open-book shape that I’d stapled so carefully into position Saturday morning was now missing. In its place were three closed-book silhouettes, their titles written in precise block letters:
To Kill a Mockingbird
,
Stranger in a Strange Land
and
The Farthest Shore
. The handwriting was Ms. Fowler’s; I recognized it immediately. Glancing at the boy silhouette, I saw
The Once and Future King
had been replaced with
A Separate Peace
. T. H. Whyte’s book had been moved to the boy’s mouth, and
The Joy of Sex
was nowhere to be seen.

“Hey,” said Joc, her voice bewildered as she scanned the display. “Where’s
The Joy of Sex?
I thought—”

“You thought right,” I said grimly. Turning from the display case, I headed for Ms. Fowler’s office. As expected, I found her doing paperwork at her desk, her head framed by the large globe on the counter behind her.

“Ms. Fowler,” I croaked, coming to a halt in the doorway.

She looked up. “Dylan,” she said, her eyes flitting across my face. She looked pale, dark shadows smudging the underside of her eyes.

“The display,” I said, still croaking, half in shock. “Two books are gone, and one was moved. I—”

“It was Mr. Brennan,” she said, rising from her chair. “He saw it this morning and said they had to be changed.”

Mr. Brennan was the Dief’s principal.

“Why?” I blurted.

Ms. Fowler hesitated, as if sifting through possible explanations. “He felt they weren’t appropriate,” she said finally.

“Appropriate?” I repeated, staring at her. The word did not compute. What did
appropriate
have to do with the display I’d just poured an entire week into—my gut, my
soul
? Backing out of Ms. Fowler’s office, I took off for the library exit.

“Hey, Dyl, where are you going?” called Joc, but I kept going. I mean, I was
pumped
. By the time I reached the front office, I was verging on nuclear. Walking past the secretaries’ desks, I headed straight for Mr. Brennan’s office. The door was ajar, and as I approached I could see him through the gap, seated at his desk and talking on the phone. Without hesitating, I raised both hands and thumped them against the door, pushing it wide open. Then I stepped into his office.

Mr. Brennan looked up, raised his eyebrows and said, “I’m going to have to call you back. There’s a student here I need to talk to.” Setting down the phone, he motioned to a chair. “Dylan, sit down,” he said. “I was hoping to get a chance to talk to you.”

I did not sit. Sitting was not within the range of possible options, since every joint in my body had fused solid with rage. Instead I stood and glared while Mr. Brennan watched me carefully, trying to suss me out.

“Why?” I croaked finally.

“Sit down and I’ll tell you,” he said quietly. For a moment I hesitated, then forced myself into the nearest chair. A look of decided relief crossed Mr. Brennan’s face, and he cleared his throat.

“You’re here because of the display,” he said.

I continued to glare at him without speaking, and his expression of relief faded. With a slight frown, he cleared his throat a second time, slowly and delicately.

“First,” he said, leaning toward me, “let me tell you, Dylan, that I think your idea is wonderful, and the display itself is well done. It’s a great metaphor for the way our identities are composed of the ideas we assimilate. I agree with Ms. Fowler entirely on those points.”

Blah blah blah
, I thought, slouching in my chair. This man had just gutted my soul. Trying to buy me off with compliments wasn’t going to work. Still, from the sounds of it, there had at least been a discussion before the damage was inflicted. And Ms. Fowler had tried to defend me against this...this
mutilation
. Gripping the arms of my chair, I continued to glare at Mr. Brennan, who was admittedly a fairly decent guy, even if inclined to verbiage.

Shifting uncomfortably, he cleared his throat again. “The problem, Dylan,” he said carefully, “is that we are a public institution. A public institution that serves fourteen- to eighteen-year-olds
and
their parents. This is a very diverse constituency, with a wide range of backgrounds. Whatever goes on display in this school has to take all of this into consideration.”

“We studied
Foxfire
in class,” I blurted.

“Yes, you did,” he nodded. “With Mr. Cronk, in a
senior
English class. I had no problem with that title appearing in your display. It was the position in which you placed it.”

“Why?” I spluttered. I mean, I was well past nuclear now. All across my brain, protons and neutrons were starting to fuse.

“It simply isn’t appropriate for a display in a public high school,” said Mr. Brennan. “For an art class assignment, yes.
For an English essay, fine. But not in the library, where every student is going to see it.”

“But I was doing the human body,” I protested. “Why is it okay to have a book title for an arm or a leg, but not...”

I faltered, and Mr. Brennan’s gaze wavered slightly.

“Well, for the groin?” I managed finally. “Not
Foxfire
,” Mr. Brennan said grimly. “And not
The Once and Future King
.”

“Have you read them?” I demanded.

“Yes, I have,” he said. “They’re both fine books. In fact, T. H. Whyte’s book was one of my favorites when I was a kid.”

“That was my boyfriend’s idea,” I said hotly. “The title
and
the position. He suggested it because of Lancelot’s miracle. And because Arthur is a king, but he’s so humble. Cam said that’s what a guy needs to be in that part of his body—humble, a servant-king.”

Shaking, I got to my feet, then added, “But don’t expect me to tell you why I picked
Foxfire
, Mr. Brennan. You know why? Because you haven’t asked me why I put it there. You judged my display and took down the most important parts without bothering to
ask
me what they meant. I’ve been in this room for five minutes now, and you still haven’t asked why I put them there.”

With that, I stormed out of his office. As I passed through the doorway, my hand knocked against the door, and without thinking I grabbed and slammed it. The sound of the crash tore through me, doubling my anger. Putting my face to the window in Mr. Brennan’s door, I yelled, “You can kiss off!”

Mr. Brennan sat frozen at his desk. As we stared at each other through the window, I was suddenly reminded of the time I’d seen Joc and Dikker kiss the library doors. While I wasn’t wearing scarlet lipstick like Joc had been, “Flaming Peach” was
enough to leave a statement. Puckering my lips, I planted a kiss on the glass.

“Kiss off!” I yelled again, the words reverberating through me. “Just kiss off!”

Then I turned and stormed past the staring secretaries. As the outer office door swung closed behind me, I came to a halt in the hall and stood staring back into the room. Anger was still pounding through me. I mean, it was
pounding
.

“Hey, Dylan,” called a girl standing nearby. “What’s going on?”

It was Britney Sauder, a member of the senior soccer team. She looked slightly bug-eyed. I guess it wasn’t every day that Dylan Kowolski came storming out of the Dief front office, yelling, “Kiss off!” at the top of her lungs.

“Brennan,” I spat in her direction. “He wrecked my library display.”

Then I stomped off down the hall. Fortunately it was empty, homeroom period about to start and only a few kids racing to make the bell. As I reached the library it went off, and for a moment everything was reduced to that harsh mechanical scream, cutting through the halls, the library, my head,
everything
.

Entering the library, I stood, once again staring at the display case. There it was, my carefully mutilated soul. No, not mutilated. Ms. Fowler had done her best. Just looking at it, no one would guess anything had been altered.

A soft rustling sounded behind me, and I turned to see her coming out of her office.

“Okay,” I said grimly, before she could speak. “Here’s the deal. Mr. Brennan changed my display without asking what it meant. So it’s not mine anymore. It’s his.”

“Part of it, Dylan,” Ms. Fowler said quickly.

“The most important part,” I said. “So here’s what happens.”

I had to take a deep breath before I could continue. I was still shaking and my voice was wobbly, but Ms. Fowler listened without interrupting or trying to calm me down.

“Either the whole thing comes down,” I said, watching her flinch, “or we put a big black censor strip through both their groins.”

Surprise darted across Ms. Fowler’s face, followed by something that was almost pleasure. “Exactly,” she murmured, her eyes darting to the display. “Yes, exactly. If you’ll wait a minute, Dylan, I’ll call your homeroom teacher and let him know you’re here, so you don’t get a late demerit. Mr. Leakos, isn’t it?”

I nodded, and she hurried into her office. When she came out again, she was holding the key to the display case, some black construction paper, a staple gun and a pair of scissors.

“You do the honors,” she said, holding out the paper and the scissors. Then she opened the display case, and I placed a sheaf of construction paper against the girl silhouette’s groin. Folding it lengthwise, I placed it there again.

“That’ll do it,” I said, and Ms. Fowler handed me the staple gun. Quickly I stapled the censor strip over the girl’s groin, then repeated the process for the boy’s. Taking a simultaneous step back, Ms. Fowler and I stood in silence, staring at the black strips. I mean, we were in awe.

“Yes,” Ms. Fowler murmured again. “Exactly.
Exactly
.”

“Thanks, Ms. Fowler,” I said. “I think I’ll be okay now. I mean, I think I can probably stop with the revenge fantasies.”

A tiny smile snuck onto Ms. Fowler’s lips and she asked, “Do you want to do the boy’s mouth too?”

I looked at
The Once and Future King
in its new position, speaking for Cam. “No,” I said quietly. “It belongs there just as
much. Thanks again, Ms. Fowler. I really appreciate what you just did. I mean, I
really
appreciate it.”

Blinking rapidly, she nodded, and I turned and headed through the empty halls to homeroom.

Chapter Fourteen

Within minutes I was called back to Mr. Brennan’s office, and we hashed it out again. He was actually fairly decent about the whole thing, and I could tell he felt badly about my being upset, but he wouldn’t apologize for changing my display before asking me what I’d meant by it, so I refused to apologize for blowing up at him. And when he asked why I’d placed
Foxfire
in the girl silhouette’s groin, I wouldn’t tell him. He owed me an apology first, it was that simple. I figured I deserved it.