True Talents(55)

We’d won the first battle. But I had no idea what else Bloodbath might do.

On the way to our next class, Lucky found two more of the M-80s. Both candles had gone out. “You did it,” I told Torchie, patting him on the back. “That’s great.”

“Yeah, guess I did. I think putting all those fires out helped me, too,” he said. “The more I understand what I can do, the better I can learn to control it.”

I noticed wisps of smoke coming from his notebook. “Uh, Torchie,” I said, pointing to a smoldering spot next to his index finger, “this might be a good time to work on that control.”

“Oops,” he said, dropping the notebook. But instead of stomping on it, he just got that blank look for a moment and the fire went out.

As we reached our next class, I saw that Bloodbath didn’t deal well with frustration. He knocked a couple of the runts out of his way as he came into the room. The rest of them scattered like mice scooting from the path of a lawn mower.

Up near the front of the classroom, a woman in a gray suit wrote a note on a small pad. I wondered whether Bloodbath might be able to do enough damage even without the explosions.

Next to me, Cheater snapped the tip of his pencil. He got up and walked to the back of the room toward the sharpener, taking the route nobody ever took—going right past Bloodbath. I thought it was pretty brave of him, especially since he caught a quick punch on the arm as he went by. When he returned to his seat he glanced toward Bloodbath, then whispered, “Lunch. He’s planning something for lunchtime.”

There was nothing I could do right now. In the meantime, I tried to pay attention in class. The funny thing was, I didn’t get a chance to give the inspectors a good impression. None of my teachers called on me.

The rest of the morning, things were pretty quiet. As I walked toward the lunchroom, I wondered how long our good luck would hold.



DINNER CONVERSATION AT THE ANDERSONS’

Dorothy Anderson: Maybe we should drive out to Edgeview this Saturday and visit Martin. Or maybe even bring him home for the weekend.





Richard Anderson: What’s the point? We’ll just have a miserable time. If I want abuse, I can get as much as I want at work. I don’t need to spend two or three hours in a car for that.





Dorothy Anderson: But I’m sure he misses us.





Richard Anderson: Him? I doubt it.





Dorothy Anderson: Really, Richard, you shouldn’t be so—





Richard Anderson: Don’t you start. I have enough people telling me what to do.





Dorothy Anderson: But—





Richard Anderson: Just drop it.





CONFRONTATION

“Any idea what they’re planning?” I asked Cheater when we reached our table. We’d gotten sandwiches today. Apparently, there’d been some problems with the ovens. They’d all gone out right before first period. I guess Torchie really had doused every fire in the place. At least the workers had noticed the problem before the place filled with gas.

“Rumble,” Cheater said.

I glanced over to Bloodbath’s table. He was talking to a whole bunch of thugs who clustered around him. “He’s not that stupid,” I said. “If he starts a riot in front of the inspectors, he’ll just get tossed out of here. No reason for us to stop him. Life at Edgeview would be almost bearable without Bloodbath.”

As I spoke, a couple of the thugs left their group. They each sat down at a different table. More of them did the same thing, spreading around the cafeteria.

“I think they’re going to start a bunch of fights,” Flinch said.

“Oh no,” Torchie said. “Look who’s headed here.”

Bloodbath, the last to get up, had left his table. He was heading right toward us. I looked around. His gang was spread out among the tables. Even Lip had picked a spot—with the smallest of the runts, of course.

Maybe it was stupid of him to split up his group. But even with the six of us against him, I didn’t want to tangle with Bloodbath.

“Any ideas?” I asked the guys at the table.

That’s when I noticed Trash. He was staring at Grunge, who was at the table to our left. Trash’s teeth were clenched. He had a look on his face like—well, there’s no polite way to put it—he looked like someone who hadn’t been able to go to the bathroom in three or four days and was trying to get it over with real hard. After a moment, he switched his attention to another of the thugs.

“Hey,” Torchie said, “watcha doing, Trash?”

“Sshhhhh,” I said. “Let him concentrate.”

“Hello, friends,” Bloodbath said. “Mind if I join you?” He dropped into a seat between Cheater and Torchie, grinned at us, then glanced at the clock on the wall. Cheater raised his hands up in fists and flashed his fingers opened and closed. He did it twice. Twenty. That’s what he was telling me.