Curly-haired Muffin was rotund and obnoxious, and liked to dress up and design pretty clothes for himself. His wardrobe took up a lot of space and annoyed his roommates. Muffin’s nose struggled to peek out of his cheeks, which, in their turn, yearned to meet his shoulders. All the female teachers adored him. Their name for him was Li’l Cupid.
Crook was crooked because of a wicked disease that also made him walk sideways. His head relied on a stiff plaster collar for support. This did not prevent him from being able to run amazingly fast. Crook collected butterflies, so all through the summer, with the hunting season in full swing, he never parted with his net and specimen jars.
Elephant was enormous, shy, and retiring. He stuffed rubber toys in the pockets of his overalls and cried if left alone. Elephant’s head was covered in white fuzz. He was thought of as the baby of the Pack, even though few of them came up to his chin.
Bubble wasn’t quite sane, in the common opinion. Everywhere he went, he went on roller skates. His ears were open to the four winds, his bulk protected him in collisions. He called himself Wild Whirlwind and his only fear was of damaging the skates. He’d outlived seven pairs already but cried bitterly when saying farewell to each one. Under his bed he kept a box full of the busted wheels taken off his dearly departed friends.
Sportsman’s Pack occupied two dorms at the very end of the hallway. The larger of those they called Stuffage. Stuffage rarely earned visits from counselors and, consequently, rarely was cleaned. Hoover’s treasures, stored in the most unsuitable spots, fell out at the slightest touch. Elephant’s toys, chewed to a sorry state, collected dust under the beds. The dangerous clanking collection of Whiner and Crybaby nestled on the windowsill. Sticker sets adorned the walls, fighting for space with Crook’s butterflies. Muffin’s clothes could not fit inside his locker and spread out onto the chairs and headboards. A stinky hamster moved in under Humpback’s bed. A mysterious plant in a hanging pot took residence above the bed of Max the Siamese. The wardrobe housed their homemade weapons, which clattered like a bag of sticks every time they tumbled out.
They let the hamster out for walks. The plant dripped dirty brown water. Stickers fell off and disappeared in Hoover’s secret places. No amount of cleaning could save Stuffage from accumulating stuff.
The Pack remained a pack only while it reminded everyone of itself. By means of broken windows, graffiti on the walls, mice in teachers’ desks, smoking in the bathrooms. The notoriety flattered them and also separated them from their sworn enemies, the wheelers. But by far the favorite pastime of the Pack was the newbies. Mama’s darlings, still smelling of the Outsides, sissies and crybabies not worthy of nicks. Newbies provided unlimited opportunities for entertainment. There was scaring them with spiders and worms. Smothering them with pillows and stuffing them into lockers. Jumping at them from behind and screaming into their ears. Putting pepper and baking soda in their food. Gluing their clothes to the chairs or just ripping off the buttons. If all else failed, there was always a good thrashing.
An equally wide assortment could be applied to the sightless, especially those who, for some reason, wanted to stand up for the newbies. Strings stretched across hallways, beds and nightstands moved, clothes painted with stupid messages. Doors barred with chairs from the inside, thumbtacks on the floor combined with carefully hidden sneakers, items disappearing and others appearing in their places. Sky was the limit if you knew how to think up such things. The Pack did.
“There! There they are! Get them!” the boys yelled, tearing down the hallway in a multicolored avalanche. Their eyes were aglow with the thrill of the hunt, their sweating hands clenched into fists by themselves.
“Gotcha!” they exclaimed once the prey was cornered.
The prey, Grasshopper and Blind, prepared to fight. But it always happened the same way, whether they prepared or not. The screaming tide of punching arms and kicking legs engulfed them, flipped them over, dragged along, and ebbed, satiated. The hunters were running away, waving the captured fragments of clothing and emitting piercing whistles. Lame Siamese struggled to keep up with the rest. Once the clatter died down, Blind got up and dusted himself off.
“Oh well,” he said. “They still enjoy the advantage in numbers.”
Grasshopper, his face buried in his lap, didn’t say anything. Blind sat down beside him.
“Please don’t,” he said. “Didn’t you notice there were not as many of them today? Have you managed to clobber any of them?”
“I have,” Grasshopper said glumly, still not lifting his head. “But there’s no use anyway.”
“You only think there isn’t,” Blind said. He felt his cheek, which was starting to swell up, and winced. “There is too use,” he said forcefully. “Max wasn’t there with them, and that tells me a lot.”
Grasshopper looked at him inquisitively.
“How do you know which one is which? They’re identical.”
“They are, their voices aren’t,” Blind explained. “Max must have gotten scared. Probably because of that leg of his. They’re one person short now, don’t you think that’s significant?”
Grasshopper sighed.
“There are still too many of them for the two of us. We’ll never defeat them.”
Blind gave a derisive snort.
“‘Never’ is a long word. You seem to be fond of silly words like that for some reason. Think how we’re stronger than they are. And they are only more numerous than we are. One day, when we grow up, they are going to regret ever picking on us.”
“If we manage to live that long,” Grasshopper said. “Which, if this continues the same way for much longer, we won’t.”
“You’re a pessimist,” Blind said resignedly.
They sat back to back without speaking. A ceiling light went on, then another. Grasshopper’s ear was on fire.
“Could you feel my ear, please?” he asked. “It burns.”
Blind felt for his shoulders, then his neck, and then pressed his hand against the ear. The hand was cool and soothing.
“Blind. Think of something,” Grasshopper said. “While we’re still alive.”
“I’ll try my best.”
Blind was cradling the ear and thinking. Thinking of his promise to Elk. Promise me you’ll take care of him.
All the remaining lights switched on, illuminating the hallway.
Back in the dorm, under Sportsman’s guidance, the boys were installing a pan filled with water on top of the half-opened door.
“It’s gonna fall down,” Muffin warned. “On your own heads. Or someone else will come in before them. That’s what always happens.”
Muffin was sitting on his bed, nursing a finger damaged in the fight. He’d jammed it against one of the Pack, and this made his mood especially nasty.
“It won’t,” Sportsman assured. “We set it up solid.”
Whiner jumped off the chair and flicked a sideways glance at the pan.
“Genius idea, guys! So they come in, and Blind—bang!—right in the head! And then he’s like out cold, so we grab the mama’s darling—bang!—down the toilet he goes!”
He cackled. Crybaby was polishing the knives by the windowsill, but squeaked enthusiastic agreement.
They went to their beds and settled in for the long wait. The pan’s blue sides glistened, hanging precariously over empty space. This was fun. For everyone except Humpback. He was against the pan business, just like he’d been against the dead rat in the newbie’s bed, and the dog poo in Blind’s shoes before that. Humpback was a humanist. But they never listened to him.
“Let’s go,” Blind said and got up off the floor. “Or you’ll fall asleep right here. I thought of something, except I’m not sure if it’s going to work.”
Grasshopper rose reluctantly, still pressing the injured ear to his shoulder. He was sure that none of what Blind thought of ever worked, hardly for anyone.