At lunch Hermie’s standing there with a tray by himself like he already knew what we wanted.
“Hey there, Herman,” Flake says. “Long time no see.”
“Hey,” Hermie goes.
“What happened to your eye?” Flake goes. “Walk into somebody’s boner?”
“No,” Hermie goes.
“They got brownies,” I tell him.
“I saw,” he goes.
“Wanna sit with us?” Flake asks.
Hermie shrugs. While we’re standing around looking for a place, Dickhead goes by and dumps an apple core on my tray.
There are no completely empty tables, so we sit with some ninth-grade girls. “Do you mind?” one of them says when Flake’s pack leans on her feet under the table.
“Wanna do my hair?” she asks another girl at the table.
“Yeah, maybe in French,” the girl tells her.
“So did we tell you we talked to Budzinski?” Flake says to Hermie.
“He told me,” Hermie goes.
“He do that?” Flake asks, about the black eye. Hermie eats his mac and cheese and looks like he wants to drop the subject.
“Son of a bitch,” Flake says, like there’d been some agreement. “I’m gonna talk to that little prick.”
“Don’t talk to him anymore,” Hermie tells him. He touches his eye with his fingertip and eats more mac and cheese with his other hand.
“Well, he can’t just keep beating on you,” Flake goes.
“Don’t worry about me,” Hermie says.
Flake gives me a look. “So listen,” he says back. “We got some good news. We’ll tell you after school.”
“Why can’t you tell me now?” Hermie asks.
Flake nods at the girls.
“What do they care?” Hermie wants to know. It’s a good question.
Flake holds up his hand like we’ll all just have to wait. Hermie gives up and finishes his lunch.
“So what’s your good news?” he says after school. He doesn’t seem so thrilled just to be hanging out with us.
I haven’t talked to Flake since lunch so I don’t know. I haven’t come up with anything.
He looks at me and sees how much help I’m gonna be. He says to Hermie that we came up with the perfect thing to get even with Budzinski. It’s gonna really screw him good.
“What is it?” Hermie wants to know. He doesn’t sound excited.
“I don’t want to give it away, completely,” Flake tells him. “It’s pretty complicated to set up.”
Hermie just keeps looking at him.
“Anyway, it’ll take like two days,” Flake goes. “And it has to start on Monday. You in?”
“In what?” Hermie finally says.
“On this thing?” Flake goes. “You wanna get back at him or not?”
“Yeah,” Hermie says.
“All right, then,” Flake goes.
“That’s your good news?” Hermie asks.
“That’s our good news,” Flake says, frustrated.
“Why’s it have to start on Monday?” Hermie asks.
Flake makes a face. “I’ll tell you then,” he goes.
“Whatever. See you later,” Hermie goes. He waves to me and takes off. We watch him walk down the street by himself. He doesn’t look up once.
“Shit,” Flake says.
“Maybe I’ll talk to him again,” I go. “I don’t think he’s gonna do anything.”
“Shit,” Flake says.
I look at the phone so much after dinner that my dad finally congratulates me on my new hobby. I look at it all night but never call Hermie. Once it’s quiet, I go to bed and fall asleep and wake up after twenty minutes. Twenty minutes. I pick up the clock and hold it close to my face because it seems hard to believe.
I leave the light off. I go around the room looking at all the stuff like I’m deciding what to take on a trip. Some stuff it takes a while to figure out with only the light from the window. It’s like it becomes itself while I stare at it.
Then I go across the hall and check on Gus. The floor’s cold. His foot’s sticking out from under the blanket. I stand in my parents’ room and look at them. Birds that sing at night make noise outside their window.
I read the newspaper downstairs in the living room with one light on. There’s an article on chicken. The front page has a picture of some old guys in suits and ties running from something.
We’re going backwards, I realize sitting there. Now even midget sixth-graders think we’re assholes.
Back up in bed I watch the ceiling get brighter.
“Good morning,” my mom says when I come downstairs.
“Good morning,” I go.
“What do you want for breakfast?” she asks.
“The usual,” I go. She laughs.
She spends time trying to get me to eat something. I end up with a buttered English muffin on a dish in front of me. I ask for some orange juice, which cheers her up.
“Where’s Dad?” I go.
“Office,” she goes. “He’s got a big lecture he’s nervous about. Faculty lecture.”
I ask her what a faculty lecture is. It’s a lecture for the whole faculty, not just people in economics.
I pick up the English muffin, put it back down again, and drink some orange juice instead. “When is it?” I go.
“Friday,” she goes. She pours some beans into the coffee grinder. “I don’t know why, but I haven’t been feeling like coffee lately.”
“Where’s Gus?” I go.
“Being a sleepyhead,” she goes.
She drops into a seat across the kitchen table and nudges my dish closer to me. “Why do you always pick at your hand like that?” she goes.
“I don’t know,” I go. I stop doing it.
“So you want to hear my plan?” she asks.
She imitates me, with my mouth open.
“What’s your plan?” I ask.
“We go to the beach this weekend,” she says. “It’s supposed to be in the seventies. The water should still be warm enough for you guys to swim.”
“That’s a good idea,” I tell her.
“You’re still sleepy, too,” she says.
“What beach?” I ask.
“That one you like,” she tells me.
“By Grandma’s old place?” I go.
“That’s the one,” she goes.
“It takes like four hours to get there,” I go.
She holds my hand and turns it over and looks at the palm. “This is part of the surprise,” she goes. “I say we pick your father up and we’re all ready to go right after his lecture. Let ’im throw his tweed jacket in the trunk.”
“When’s his lecture over?” I go.
“Ten or so,” she goes. “It’s reading period.”
Little areas of my head feel cold, then tingly. “This Friday?” I go. “I got school.”
“We’ll take you out early,” she goes. “Get Out of Jail Free.”
“Unless you’re dying to stay in school,” she says when I don’t say anything.
Gus calls down the stairs, wanting to know where his sippy cup is.
“I don’t know, hon,” she calls back up to him. “What’d you do with it?”
I should say I have a test. Or something. My shoulders start bobbing like I’m using them to think.
“You’re gonna be late,” she goes. She tips her head at the clock. When Gus calls her again I get my pack and go.
When I see Flake I tell him that my mom wants to take me out of school on Friday to go to the beach. He nods. He’s excited because he had the idea of scratching You’re Next on the mirror in the boys’ bathroom. He did it with a roofing nail. He says it looks cool. “Check it out,” he goes. “It creeps you out. You look at your face and that’s what’s written over it.”
It would creep me out, I tell him.
“So you talk to Hermie?” he goes.
He doesn’t look fazed when I shake my head.