“We don’t even know what we’re going to do about the doors,” Flake says as soon as I come into his room that night.
“I know,” I go.
He’s lying on his back in his underwear with his arm over his eyes. One of his bandages is soaked with dried blood.
“You bang your finger again?” I go.
He doesn’t answer. “I got the guns out by myself,” he finally says. “I think I know about the safeties and everything now.”
“Good,” I go. It’s nice to have some good news.
“Sit down,” he tells me.
There’s an open jar of peanut butter on the chair. I pick it up and ask where the top is.
“What is it with you and stupid questions tonight?” he goes.
I roll the jar under his bed. It keeps going until it hits the wall. “This place is a shithole,” I tell him.
“You mean this town?” he asks. He sounds worn out.
“You gonna keep your arm over your face all night?” I go.
“What do you care?” he goes. “You showing off your outfit?” It’s quiet. I move my feet back and forth while he lies there like he’s dead. “You gonna play one of your speeches?” I ask.
“No,” he goes.
His mom’s screwing around with the blender downstairs. She was setting it up when I came through the kitchen. Now it sounds like she’s trying to grind rocks.
“How was the dentist?” I go.
He grins without moving his arm off his eyes. “I need braces,” he goes.
“When’re you supposed to get ’em?” I go.
“Turns out I got an overbite,” he goes. He finally takes his arm off his face and sits up. His neck is against the headboard.
“Is that comfortable?” I go.
He looks away and shakes his head. “So did you see our friend today?” he asks. “Or that other fucking midget? Budzinski?”
“Nope,” I go. “But that doesn’t mean they weren’t there.”
He makes a face.
“So what’re we gonna do?” I go.
“First thing we gotta do is solve the door problem,” he tells me.
“When’s the assembly?” I go.
“Friday, fourth period,” he goes. “You finish the stuff we’re gonna bury?”
“Pretty much,” I go. “You?”
He gets up and roots around in his closet. There’s a little poop stain showing through his underwear. He throws shirts and shoes out into the middle of the room, then comes out with a pile of papers like a phone book.
“You’re gonna bury all that?” I ask him.
He looks proud.
“What is it?” I go.
“None of your fucking business,” he goes. The first page is all filled with writing. He holds the pile in front of me before he puts it back in the closet. He’s careful about how he hides it again. Then he throws the shirts and shoes back in over everything he’s arranged.
I had like five pages to bury, so now there’s that to feel bad about.
“A wedge,” he goes. “Jesus Christ. A wedge.” He’s still standing next to the closet.
I don’t get what he’s talking about.
He bunches his fingers together and makes a little move with his hand to demonstrate. “To seal up the side door. We do it from the outside. From outside the gym, in the hall. One of us brings a little wedge and a hammer. Bang, you drive it in under the door. Nobody from the inside can open it.”
I’m still looking at him, trying to figure it out.
“We wait till everybody’s in the gym. Then one of us does that,” he goes.
“Where do we get a wedge?” I go.
“A wedge,” he goes. “Anywhere. You make one. It takes two seconds.”
I think about it. It makes sense. “So we gonna test it?” I go.
“We don’t have to test it,” he goes. “It’s a wedge. What’re we, testing to see if a wedge works?” He flops down onto the bed again, happy. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before. I can’t believe even you didn’t think of it.”
I have a new headache or else the same one that just keeps coming back. “So this means we can do it Friday?” I go. But he’s already thinking about something else. He’s excited again. “You gonna have trouble with your fingers?” I go. Meaning with the guns.
He shakes his head, still thinking about whatever the other thing is.
“Roddy? Homework?” his mom calls up the stairs. We both jump.
“He’s just going,” Flake calls.
We listen for her leaving the bottom of the stairs.
“Do we know how much kick these guns have?” I go.
“Listen to you: Joe Pro,” he says. “How much kick.”
“Well, who knows,” I tell him. The headache makes me squint.
“Just hold on to it,” he tells me back. “Don’t hold it like a faggot and you’ll be fine.”
“I’m not gonna hold it like a faggot,” I tell him.
“Then we’ll be fine,” he goes. “Look, you better go.”
I get out of the chair. “What about the thing with Hermie?” I go.
He does a thing with his hand like bugs are around his head. “We gotta stall him for a week,” he goes. “Lemme think about it.”
“You think about it, too,” he tells me, after I say I’ll see him later.
I don’t come up with anything that night. Instead I spend a lot of time thinking about Bethany. I make up this little scene where she comes over and I go, “Hi. What are you doing here?” and she doesn’t say anything but she pulls me into my garage and then puts her hand on my face.
I whisper to myself. A hard-on that’s so hard it hurts comes and goes. We haven’t figured out what we’re going to carry the guns in, either.
When I get off the bus at school I’m so tired I have trouble focusing.
“What’s the matter with you?” Flake goes.
“Your mother kept me up,” I go.
“Your mother kept my dog up,” Flake goes. He puts his arm around me like we’re the best of pals and walks me over to the steps where we broke in.
“What’s the longest anybody ever had a headache?” I go.
“So listen,” he goes. “I think I solved the Hermie problem.”
“What’d you do?” I ask.
“Stop yawning,” he goes.
“I can’t help it,” I go.
“What if we tell him we’ll get him something supercool that he can fight Budzinski with?” he goes.
“Like what?” I go.
“I don’t know. Something supercool,” he goes.
“Like what?” I go.
“How should I know,” he goes. “Like nimchucks.”
“Nimchucks,” I go, thinking about it.
“We don’t have to actually get any,” he goes. “We just say we will.”
“Why can’t Budzinski take his nimchucks away from him and beat on him like he did with the stick?” I go.
“Ah, shit,” Flake goes.
“That’s what Hermie’ll say,” I tell him.
“Well, you come up with something, then,” he says.
“I’m just saying what Hermie’ll say,” I tell him.
The homeroom bell rings. “So come up with something,” Flake says again. We walk over and shove into the group that’s heading in. “I’m doing all the work here.”
When I see Hermie in the hall between first and second period he’s got a black eye.
“Shit,” Flake says when I see him before third period. “You talk to him?”
“I just saw him,” I tell him.
“We gotta find him at lunch,” Flake says. “And we gotta talk to him after school.”
I get my math test back.
“Hi, Edwin,” Bethany goes as I’m turning a corner. I almost go back.
My locker flies open like I never had any trouble with it in my life.