Read Runt Online

Authors: Nora Raleigh Baskin

Runt (11 page)

BOOK: Runt
10.69Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

“My goodness, what
is
that girl looking at?” Ms. Charles went on. “She almost looks like she's going to cry.”

But of course, if no one in the library was watching because the librarian was helping someone with the card catalog, thumbing through those stiff rectangular cards . . . and in those days, there were no metal strips. No security systems. No alarms—it was easy.

“You know, Fran,” Mrs. Greely said, holding up the book to her colleague, “I didn't even know we had this book in our library.”

“What is it?”


A Candle in Her Room
, by Ruth M. Arthur. I have the same exact book at home, isn't that amazing?” And when
she said that, the top of her head tingled the smallest bit. Was it shame? Or excitement? She didn't know. “I read it as a little girl. I loved it so much, I read it to my campers when I was a counselor at 4-H, and I had both my girls read it when they were young.”

“Oh, really? Did they like it too?” Ms. Charles asked, but kept one eye on the clock. “Nearly five minutes.”

Mrs. Greely stopped babbling on about the book. It was silly, after all. It was just a book. The girl on the computer was clearly crying—not sobbing so that anyone noticed, only a steady stream of tears was rolling down her face, almost invisible.

But she must have read the thirty-minute maximum sign. The girl stood up, pushed back her chair carefully, then leaned forward and pressed the sign-off button on the keyboard.

“I hope she's okay,” Mrs. Greely said, watching as the girl headed back toward the biographies.

“Who?” Ms. Charles said. “It's so noisy in here, I can't hear myself think.”

THE CRUCIBLE

“Are you okay?”

Elizabeth looked up from where she was sitting, cross-legged, on the carpeted floor behind the nonfiction stacks, Biography/SP–TS. Funny, she didn't know Ethan that well, even though they'd been in the same class since kindergarten. They probably had never spoken directly to each other, not once before.

“No,” she heard herself saying. She was feeling one of those kinds of moments when nothing seems entirely real. How had she gone from being so thrilled, seeing her poem in the anthology, to humiliating herself in front of Miss Robinson, to sitting with Freida at the wedding, to feeling the ground fall out from under her when she
came across the person2person page with her picture.

It took Elizabeth a long time to even comprehend what was going on.

She saw the photo.

That was her face, at least it looked like it was. But that wasn't her name. It was a mean name. It wasn't true, was it? The horror of it slowly began pressing in on her lungs and heart. Her breathing quickened but her air supply diminished. Before she could read the profile of this unknown but familiar face, Elizabeth scrolled down to the posted comments. There weren't that many, but there were enough, all from different names with odd person2person profile photos, famous athletes, to dogs, to movie stars.

No one seemed real but they all had something to say about Smelly-Girl. She felt her mind lifting out of her body until she was nearly watching herself at the computer terminal, staring. The Elizabeth that floated above was safe, while the one in the chair began to cry.

“Elizabeth?” Ethan said. He rested his hands on his knees to be closer. To see if she was still breathing.

“Did you see it?” she asked him.

• • •

The voices in the library were loud, but they were distant. The sounds were amplified like millions of fingernails scratching a chalkboard, not making any sense, not human, not real. Far away.

• • •

It was then Ethan realized what had happened. It was the fake person2person page that Maggie had made. She published it right before the storm, and it stayed there just long enough for most everyone to see it before the power went out. Elizabeth must have just seen it.

“Yeah, I did,” Ethan said softly.

“Why?” Elizabeth asked.

Ethan noticed her face was marked with tear streaks and when he did, he put it together. He shot the photo. He was the reason this girl was crying.

“It was a mistake,” Ethan answered. “I didn't know what it was for. She asked me. I didn't know what it was for.”

Elizabeth seemed confused. “What?”

“Nothing. I mean, I don't know. I don't why
they
do that.
She
did it. Why
anyone
would do that. Are you okay? I mean, that's stupid. I keep asking you that.”

Ethan let his legs give out and he slid down onto the
floor beside Elizabeth. It was strange to be this close to her—well, to any girl, really—but here on the floor, alone but with all these people around. It was the same face as in the photo but it wasn't. The photo was flat, two-dimensional. It didn't feel, it didn't see, it didn't hear.

Here was the same face, alive, crying, knowing all those people had made fun of her and called her names.

Funny names. Funny jokes. Ethan had tried to guess who was who, which of his friends had used an Adam Sandler profile picture, who had used a SpongeBob cartoon. But not once had he thought of this face, of Elizabeth's face, and how she would feel when she saw it.

“Look, it's just stupid. It's just some dumb joke. It could have been on anyone. Just stupid kids being stupid.”

Ethan felt only the tiniest relief that he himself had not posted a comment. It wasn't fair. Was that how Matthew felt sitting in the principal's office? Getting in trouble for something someone else did. Something Stewart did.

“But it was me,” Elizabeth said. Her body looked so crumpled. “Not someone else.”

“Well, you know what they say?” Ethan said.

It was such a beautiful day out, as it had been nearly every day since the storm. Unseasonably warm, almost balmy, and the sun was shining like early spring, not late fall. As if the natural world had no idea how much damage it had done to human society.

“No, what?” Elizabeth could barely lift her head, but she did. She was looking for anything, and she was looking to Ethan to find it.

“Well, they say, Don't get mad, get even.”

“They do?” She wiped her eyes.

“Well, I think they also say, Revenge is a dish best served cold.”

“What does that mean?”

Ethan didn't really know. He shrugged.

“You think I should get revenge? How? On who?” That's when Elizabeth realized everybody knew who had made the person2person page.

She figured she had only one guess. “Was it Maggie?”

Ethan didn't even have to answer that question.

“Jeez, I didn't say that,” Ethan said.

“You didn't have to.”

“Anyway, two wrongs don't make a right, you know.” Another saying of his father's.

Two huge tears seemed to just appear and drop out of Elizabeth's eyes. “There are a lot more than two wrongs in this world,” she said.

Ethan had to agree with that.

HOUSE ARREST

Okay, let's see here. Can
we talk this one out? Just bear with me for a second. Yeah, just a second.

Why?

Because. Well, because I think I must be going crazy.

So, okay—you still with me? Okay, good—so, okay, this morning, when I woke up, I came to the abrupt realization that it wasn't actually, technically the morning anymore. I knew this because my room was covered in sunlight. Just bathed in it. It was blinding and confusing and I didn't know what to do.

You know how sometimes you wake up on the weekend and forget what day it is and think that you are late for school and get completely frantic for a second and wonder what chain of events could have possibly led you to forget to set your alarm clock when you never forget to set your alarm clock? And then you realize that it's Saturday and that you can sleep all day if you want to and that you don't have to worry about missing school or if there could be any homework that you may have forgotten to do or if you are going to see He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named on your way to homeroom today?

Well, that was me this morning. Except it was Tuesday. And school was still going on.

Now, you ask me—yes, I know you didn't really ask me, just go with it—you ask me, why, Matthew, did you wake up at noon, on a Tuesday, when we all know that you wake up at 6:12 a.m. every school day so you can have enough time to shower, have breakfast, watch a little bit of SportsCenter, and still be able to get to class on time?

Aha. It's that last part that is the kicker. There is no class.
Not for me. Not anymore. Because I got peed on and then I got suspended.

Yes, you heard that correctly. I am not allowed to go to school. Not even if I wanted to. Take that.

But I will not let them, the enemy, get me down. No way, not on my watch.

Just because there is no school, I will not change my morning routine, even if it was technically the afternoon.

After I woke up, I immediately took a shower because I always take a shower immediately after I wake up and I don't understand people who don't and are still able to function and engage in everyday life interactions.

Then, after I got out of the shower, I put on my old pair of Power Ranger pajamas—What? Nobody was around, and they are still comfortable—and plopped down on the couch. I was in it for the long haul.

My mom brought me eggs and bacon and a cup of coffee,
wrapped me in a blanket, and asked me if I needed anything else. My dog, Eli, was laying at my feet. The TV remote was in my hands and it had full batteries, while both cabinet doors, miraculously, were open so that the cable box could be reached. I then put on SportsCenter because SportsCenter is always on.

By this time it was probably one in the afternoon. I should have been in humanities class, sitting next to Cady Meshnick, who lets out what she considers to be silent farts all class long and thinks nobody realizes. I'm on to you, Cady, just know that. I see through your game.

What? Oh, well, that brings me back to my original point.

You see, I must be crazy. They told me that I was in trouble. That I'm suspended and that this is supposed to be punishment. This, here, being at home.

But this is awesome. I love this.

I'm away from all that. Away from silent farts and oblivious teachers and people who pee on other people. Away
from the schoolwork and the weird janitor who always lingers too long around me and the convoluted web that is the middle school social scene.

I'm away from all that crap.

I wish I could get peed on all the time. Well, I probably take that back. But, three days of no school, sleeping in as late as I want, and playing video games all day, well, that ain't half bad. I could get used to this life.

So you ask me—Matthew, how are your parents handling all of this? They are fine with you sleeping in and doing nothing all day? Isn't that too good to be true?

I'm glad you asked.

So, let's see, ”the incident” happened Monday at lunchtime. (I've taken to calling it “the incident,” by the way, because it's easy to say and catchy and makes me sound like I actually did something bad.) And then my parents found out about it Monday in the late afternoon, after Mrs. Meadhall finally came through on her bluff to call them.

And they reacted just as I expected. I take that back. They reacted exactly the opposite of what I expected. They were furious, but not at me.

• • •

It was my mom who came to school to pick me up. My dad was at work. He didn't find out until later, and his reaction is not exactly fit to print.

“Did you even get my son's side of the story?” Me, my mother, and Mrs. Meadhall sat in the principal's office with the door closed.

“Yes, of course we did,” Mrs. Meadhall said.

My mother hadn't even had time to hear my side of the story. I had to sit here and wait for her to show up. I figured she was going to be really mad at me for getting in trouble. I sunk as low in my chair as I could as Mrs. Meadhall told her I punched Stewart Gunderson in the face. I was somehow able to interject
why
I had punched Stewart Gunderson in the face.

My mother didn't even blink an eye. “Well, clearly there's more to the story. Is Stewart Gunderson getting punished?” my mother said.

“That is not something you need to concern yourself with, Mrs. Berry.”

“But this isn't fair. Matthew didn't start it. Did you hear what he just said?”

Mrs. Meadhall didn't answer. Instead, she just kept repeating the same sentence over and over. “We do not tolerate fighting of any kind at this school.”

“And getting urinated on is not fighting?” my mother tried. I have to give her credit. She probably wanted to use another word altogether.

Mrs. Meadhall was silent.

“This is a done deal, isn't it?” my mother finally said. “You didn't call me in here to talk about this—you've already suspended Matthew, haven't you?”

Mrs. Meadhall was super quiet. Then she admitted, “Yes.”

“Let's go, Matty.” My mother stood up and as I told you before, my father's reaction wasn't as accepting, but there wasn't anything he could do either.

I haven't been allowed back since.

And to tell you the truth, it really sucks.

Preston Middle School

100 School Road

Preston, New York

Principal Meadhall

Dear Parents,

As our Preston school district returns to its regular schedule this coming Monday, there are several issues I would like to address. First and foremost is our children's safety. The police and fire department assure me that all the roads have now been cleared of downed trees and power lines and that our school buses will be able to move freely on their routes.

After careful consideration of the available options, the Board of Education and I have decided to cancel spring vacation in order to make up the days missed during the blackout. We realize that many of the student body and their families may have had travel plans during this time, but we expect full attendance. We have all been inconvenienced, and this change in the calendar is minor in comparison to what others have had to contend with due to Hurricane Helen.

BOOK: Runt
10.69Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Other books

The Second Siege by Henry H. Neff
Alien Adoration by Jessica E. Subject
Amy Chelsea Stacie Dee by Mary G. Thompson
Mine to Take by Cynthia Eden
The Black Palmetto by Paul Carr
The End Game by Catherine Coulter
Maxed Out by Kim Ross