Rhyme Schemer (11 page)

What kind of TV show does Robin live in?

What kind of TV show does Kelly live in?

What kind of TV show does Mrs. Little live in?

Do they have live audience laugh tracks?

A chorus of “awww”s?

I bet Mrs. Little has a funny theme song

running through her show,

that seems simple,

but then busts out with bongos.

Always a surprise.

Mom doesn't look up from her book.

She says,

Oh yeah, Friday we're all going to dinner

together

with my boss
.

Dad's eyebrows go up like helium-filled

caterpillars.

Paul says,
Everyone?

Everyone
.

Petey says,
Can I bring Lacey?

No
.

The game comes back on.

I think no one hears when I say,

But I have plans
.

Then Petey and Philip bust out laughing.

Got a hot date?

Got a bank to rob?

Now everyone joins in.

Job interview?

Skydiving?

Bus driving lessons?

They're hilarious.

Not.

Everyone needs to be there, Kevin
.

Mom's face goes pointy.

This could mean a promotion for me
.

Normal hours
.

More money
.

Everything we all want
.

So everyone comes. On their best behavior
.

Everyone
.

I put it on the shelving cart,

and then I leave.

Old lady hand on my shoulder.

Veins and wrinkles,

shiny rings,

but when I close my eyes

energy shoots from the veins

like from a superhero

whose power is to say

That's okay
,

but without using words.

There are people who talk

so much

all the time

forever

with words falling from their mouths

like crumbs

from a sandwich.

But then there are people who never talk

hardly ever.

Except with their eyes

and their head-tilts

and their lips that can smile and frown

at the same time.

Mrs. Little says so much

without ever

ever

SHOUTING ABOUT RESPONSIBILITY.

Do you think Kevin is a stupid loser?

That's what the note said

in perfect handwriting

though the paper was so wrinkled

it looked like my Easter shirt

wadded up at the bottom of my drawer.

Robin tossed it on my chair.

(The note, not my Easter shirt.)

A big box was checked

YES

Everyone signed it. Everyone except Kelly.

Someone even pretended to sign Mrs. Smithson's name.

At least I'm pretty sure it was fake.

Harry the mole signed it, too.

Eyes on me

is all she says.

Not
Don't pass notes, Robin
.

Not
See me after class, Robin
.

Not
Pay attention, Robin
.

Eyes on me
.

How can eyes NOT be on her

with Harry staring at us like that?

My pillow over my head.

My homework on the floor.

My window painted shut.

My door closed with a chair under the knob.

No one in.

No one out.

I breathe into the pillow, hot breath stinking it up.

Then I hear it.

Muffled.

The pillow hits the floor.

The homework is under my foot.

The window blinds rattle.

The chair goes back to the desk.

I am in the hall.

I am out.

Because I think I heard something.

Something I could not possibly have heard.

But then I hear it again.

Among the robot cat-slaughter sounds.

The days go by so long and so hard

The days go by so slow and so far

The days go by so stretched like a chord

From broken-down, slammed-around electric guitars

My words.

Coming from the guy who looks like the other guys.

They saw my paper.

They're singing my rhymes.

I am so happy I punch the air.

And it feels better

than punching Giant John

ever did.

It doesn't make sense that wearing a necktie

could make a difference

at all

in the world

ever,

but especially when it comes to my mom

getting a promotion.

And yet, I am strangled by blue with small red dots

the same colors my face will be

any minute now.

I didn't want to see poetry readings anyway.

Fancy people onstage

talking about flowers

and trees and ravens and feelings.

I don't care

about any of that stuff.

Jagged rocks don't care about people onstage.

Jagged rocks don't care about flowers.

Jagged rocks don't have feelings.

Except maybe they do.

Except maybe I do.

I.

Hate.

This.

Tie.

You know how when something bad happens

your ears feel stuffed with socks,

your eyes focus like microscopes,

your cheeks catch on fire,

time slows down,

and no matter how much you

wish

pray

promise

beg

a hole does not open up and swallow you?

Well, none of that changes

when you're at a fancy restaurant

with your mom's boss

and your brother

puts Tabasco sauce on your fries

and you don't notice until it's too late

so you punch him under the table

while you're choking and gasping

and spitting French fry chunks

everywhere.

And you knock your drink

into your mom's boss's drink

like dominoes

that land in his lap,

but cold and wet

and smelling

like the lady who works at the post office.

Mom is so angry.

Maybe angrier than ever before.

I can see it in her face.

The way her eyes don't match the curl of her lips.

The way her eyes suck in all the energy of the room.

The way her eyes are a vortex

trying to swallow me whole.

The bench is hard and the metal hurts my back

but it's better out here than inside

listening to Mom apologize for me.

Always the mistake.

Always ruining things.