True Talents(21)

Miss Nomad couldn’t seem to stick with one approach for more than a couple of English classes. We did worksheets for two days in a row. Then we memorized stuff for three days. That was awful. I know a preposition when I see one—I sure don’t have to memorize a list of them. Then we sat and read. That was better. Then we sat and wrote, which was okay, too. Despite what I’d said to Miss Nomad, I did kinda like to write. Except when we had to do stuff about ourselves. One day she made us write an essay called, “Why I Like Being Me.” Give me a break.

But, whatever we did in class, I could usually expect to be doing something else a couple days later. So, the main thing that never changed about classes was that things always changed.

Most of the time, my teachers just ignored me. That was fine. If they didn’t talk to me, I didn’t talk back. I figured that if I stayed as invisible as possible, they just might forget about the first day and vote to send me back to regular school when the time came for my review. I even did all my homework, though once in a while Torchie burned it before I could hand it in. There was just one problem: The teachers didn’t always cooperate with my plan. Sometimes they’d slip up and ask me a stupid question. And I’d say something that would piss them off. But mostly they were learning to leave me alone.

As for my social life, it took almost three weeks—and one foolish moment on my part—before Torchie and the others shared their secret. I knew something was going on—a person would have to be as dumb as dirt not to notice all the winks, whispers, and meaningful glances they exchanged every Friday. They sure weren’t playing checkers. The first Friday night after I arrived, Torchie slipped out of the room around eight. He mumbled something about going to the bathroom. He was gone for hours. If he’d spent all that time in the bathroom, there’d be nothing left of him. Torchie snuck back in around midnight, moving with all the silent grace of a moose on a floor full of marbles. I was half asleep, but I glanced at the glowing hands of his desk clock when I heard him tiptoe in from the hallway.

He repeated the scene a week later. The clumps of snow clinging to the sides of his shoes made it obvious he’d been outside. I didn’t worry about it. I figured they’d tell me sooner or later. And if they didn’t, it was no big deal.

I spent more time thinking about the larger puzzle that was tickling against the back of my mind. I saw a painting once that showed a couple of guys climbing a hill. At first, there was nothing special about it. But if you stepped back and let your eyes relax, the whole scene turned into a picture of a grinning skull. I felt Edgeview was like that. Whatever I saw right now, it wasn’t the whole picture. I needed to step back and let my eyes drift, but I wasn’t sure how to do that. At the moment, all I could do was keep my eyes open and wait for things to fall into place.

But at least I got along with my roommate and his friends, and they treated me okay. The guys even tried to give me a nickname. Flinch said they should call me Squirt because I really had a knack for pissing off the teachers. Fortunately, the name didn’t stick. As smart as Cheater was, Flinch was brilliant in his own way. He didn’t have a million facts in his head, but he could think up stuff really fast. Flinch saw connections. Smart or not, he got in as much trouble as the rest of us. Not only was he pretty distracted most of the time, and as jumpy as a cat in a roomful of pit bulls, but he also interrupted the teachers a lot. They tended not to appreciate that.

As for Friday nights and the big secret, I don’t know how long—if ever—it would have taken before they told me. But on Wednesday of the third week I was walking down the hall when I heard the unmistakable sound of Cheater yelping in pain. I spun back and saw Bloodbath had just tossed Cheater against the wall.

“Watch where you’re going next time,” Bloodbath said. He grabbed Cheater with one hand and raised the other fist.

Oh boy. I knew this routine. No matter what Cheater did or said, Bloodbath would pound him for a while. I scanned the halls for the one thing that might save Cheater. No luck. There wasn’t a teacher in sight. But Bloodbath didn’t know that.

Trying not to think about how stupid it was to approach Bloodbath, I ran over and pointed back to the door of the nearest classroom. “Langhorn and Davis are coming out,” I said, trying to fill my voice with panic. It wasn’t hard.

Bloodbath flashed a smile at me. Then he punched me on the shoulder—I guess that was his way of saying thanks—and slunk away in the opposite direction.

“Thanks,” Cheater said.

“Anytime.”