Chapter Two: Break Some Rules
After seventh period, I stopped by my locker, grabbed my backpack, and ran to find my bus. It wasn’t that I was excited to play happy families with Elaine; I was just excited to get away from here.
All day, people had been bugging me about the hippy van. Not in a nice I’m-trying-to-get-to-know-you way either. More like an I’m-pumping-you-for-information-so-I-can-gossip -about-it-with-my-friends way. At this point, I just wanted the day to be over.
As I got onto the bus, my relief dissipated. The bus was jam packed, with three kids to a seat and no air-conditioning. With the screaming, cussing, and sweaty atmosphere, it was a claustrophobic’s worst nightmare. I was even beginning to miss the hippy van.
“Hey! Hey you! Are you really a flower child?” someone yelled, noticing me.
“No, I’m—“ I began wearily.
“Do you meditate and stuff?”
“No, I—“
“Who was that dude with the beard?”
“That was Tra—“
“Was that a fence dragging behind the bumper?”
Well. I hadn’t noticed that.
Exasperated, I backed into the seat behind the bus driver. For some reason, no one was sitting there, but I didn’t really question it until I sat down. Then I figured out why pretty quick.
The seat was plastered with hundreds of wads of chewing gum. Pink, green, blue, black—even colors I didn’t know existed were smeared onto that seat. I was surrounded by years’ worth of middle-school sugar and spit.
I gagged.
Forcing my lunch down, I stood up. Half the gum came up with me.
“Well, you’re in a pretty sticky situation.”
I looked up, surprised. A mousey looking kid with white-blond hair was grinning at me from across the aisle.
“What?”
“Sorry, sorry,” he said, shaking his head. “I have a weird sense of humor. Anyway, don’t freak out about the gum. Everyone’s sat there at one time or another.”
“I bet no one’s made the same mistake twice.”
The kid tried to reply, but I mostly just heard a squeak. At around the four foot eight mark, the kid was probably just another underfed sixth grader. I wasn’t complaining though. Sad as it was, he was the only person who’d been friendly to me all day.
“I’m in eighth grade,” I offered. “What grade are you in? Sixth grade? Seventh?”
The kid just smiled. “Nope. I’m an eighth grader too. Sure look it, huh?”
I just nodded. The kid didn’t really seem to care about his size, which was good. I didn’t want to have to avoid talking about it, like it was taboo or something.
“Being short is okay,” the kid continued. “You get a lot of girls hugging you, being so “cute”and everything. It’s annoying when they pick you up though. You know what I mean?”
I just nodded again. I wasn’t really sure how to respond to that. I’d never been picked by girls before.
“So, um…what’s your name?” I asked. “Mine’s Jonah.”
The kid’s eyes lit up. “Hey, you’re the flower child that came to school in the hippie van, right?”
“Yeah, well—“
I never got a chance to finish. The kid bombarded me with hundreds of questions about flower children, the van, world peace, and who know what else. I just sat there with my mouth open. It was like I had set off a bomb, and I didn’t like it.
“Look,” I said, interrupting the kid mid-sentence. “I’m not even a flower child, so you can save your breath, alright?”
The kid looked bewildered. “You’re not?”
“No,” I said firmly.
The kid didn’t say anything else for awhile, as if trying to register what I’d said. I guess after hearing all of those rumors it was weird to finally hear the truth.
Eventually, the kid recovered. “Wait, so if you aren’t a flower child, then why were you in a hippie van?”
“It’s a long story, uh…”
“Garret,” he said. “My name’s Garret.”
“It’s a long story, Garret.”
And so Garret and I talked the whole ride home.
* * *
“Jonah,” Elaine greeted me. “How are you?”
Elaine was sitting at the kitchen table expectantly, like she had been waiting for me to come home. I dropped my backpack onto the tile floor.
“I’m okay,” I said, trying to mimic her optimistic tone.
“Um, do you want a snack? I could get you an apple. Or some carrot sticks.” Her words were syrupy sweet, overwhelmingly so. Her smile was strained.
I almost said yes. I almost sat down at the table and played along like I was supposed to. But then I realized: How long could this last? How long could we keep pretending like everything was perfect?
“No thanks,” I blurted out. “I’m not hungry.” Elaine recoiled, like I had struck her. It had come out harsher then I had meant it too, but I was glad I said it.
My cheeks were getting sore from fake smiling.
* * *
The next morning passed in an uneventful blur. Since it was only the second day, the teachers insisted that we play name games and two-truths-and-a-lie to get to know each other. The only problem was, Runny Brook was so small everyone knew what everyone else ate for breakfast.
Except for me, of course.
I was the odd one out, the one piece that didn’t fit in. This truth practically glared me in the face as I stood in the cafeteria with my lunch tray, shifting from foot to foot.
Suddenly a familiar shock of white blond hair caught my eye. It was Garret from the bus, sitting at the back table.
“Please don’t let the table be full,” I muttered as I made my way towards him. If I was turned away, I’d have to sit alone like I did yesterday.
As I got closer though, I realized that space wasn’t going to be a problem. At the table was a small mismatched group—a sporty red-headed kid, a pale dude in a slim black shirt and skinny jeans, and at the opposite end of the table, a girl bent over a textbook.
Garret saw me first. “He-ey Jonah! What’s up?”
I tried to relax. “Nothing much. Is it okay if I sit here?”
“Yeah, that’s cool.”
Breathing a sigh of relief, I plunked down on the bench next to Garret. Garret’s friends stared at me curiously.
Garret quickly started making introductions. “Everyone, this is Jonah, the guy I met on the bus yesterday. You know, the guy who’s not a flower child.”
He looked at me pointedly as he said this, and I couldn’t help but laugh. What he lacked in size, Garret made up for in personality.
“I remember hearing about you,” the redhead said, grinning. “I’m Tom by the way, the coolest guy at this table.”
“Ha!” Garret cackled.
“Ignore him. Garret thinks that just because he gets all the girls, he’s a god.”
“I am.”
“Yeah, yeah. I bet if you weren’t so “cute and small”…”
The kid in black gave a cough that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. Tom reached over to mess up his hair, but the kid just ducked it and coughed even harder.
“This is Max,” Tom said. “He’s, like, too depressed to talk, so don’t expect to hear much from him.”
Max rolled his eyes.
“Um, hi?” I said, not sure how to take such an odd introduction.
“Hey.”
I had to admit, Max had gotten the whole dark-and-depressed look down. This was impressive, considering that there were only three clothing stores in town. Even the cool kids shopped at K-mart.
I was taking in the long black hair, black wristbands, and black sneakers when something distracted me. I blinked. What the…?
Max caught me staring and raised the bottom of his shirt. Showing off his hot pink belt.
“Pretty hilarious, right?” Tom drawled. “Some idiots made fun of Max last year for always wearing black, until he showed them the belt. That sure threw them into a loop.” Tom laughed at the memory.
“Like when Bryce and Cole took his mp3 player,” Garret pitched in, and Tom laughed even harder.
“What about his mp3?” I asked.
“Well, the same guys stole Max’s mp3, hoping to make fun of his “Emo” music or whatever. All they found was some Bach, Beethoven, and Mozart. It confused the heck out of them. Their faces…” Garret cracked up all over again.
I turned to Max. “Seriously? You’re a classical music buff?”
“Beethoven’s fifth symphony is my favorite,” he replied earnestly.
Huh. Well who would’ve thought.
“Max is what you would call a stereotype buster,” Tom explained. “That’s how he gets his kicks in, by messing with people’s minds. Like, you wouldn’t know it, but Max is actually supersmart. He gets even better grades than my angelic twin Sadie.”
“Your twin?” I began.
Before Tom could reply, someone slammed something onto the table. I jumped.
“What do you mean by angelic, Tom? I’m not freaking angelic!”
Tom smiled, turning towards the voice. “Yeah, Jonah. My twin. Sadie.”
I stared. I stared some more. Then I looked at Tom, then back at Sadie again. “Really?”
“Totally. Do you think I’d say we were related if I didn’t have to?”
I shook my head in disbelief. Tom, with his red hair and huge grin, seemed crazy and reckless. Sadie on the other hand, had a bland face, straight sandy hair, and no smile to speak of. With her textbook and school supplies laid out, she seemed like the responsible, studios type. A passive kind of person.
Until now.
“I’m not angelic, Tom,” she repeated, her lips twisted into a snarl. “I’m just not a total idiot like someone.”
“Oh of course not, Sadie,” Tom reassured her mockingly. “Of course you’re not angelic when you get A-pluses in every class and serve six hours of community service every weekend. Of course you’re not angelic for—ow!”
Sadie had risen from her seat and smacked Tom on the side of the head. Tom rubbed it, grinning ruefully.
“Jeez, Sadie! I was just kidding with you!”
“Take it back,” Sadie breathed.
“Why? It’s true! You’re like a model citizen!”
“I said take it back.”
“Why?” Tom repeated, guffawing.
“Because you’re an idiot and have no right to say—STOP LAUGHING!”
Sadie launched forward, fists swinging. My eyes widened. Sadie had seemed so serious, but now she and Tom were literally at each other’s throats. Garret explained.
“Yeah, Sadie and Tom hate each other. They like to hate each other.” He paused, as though thinking over his words. “It’s the only thing they have in common—well, besides the freckles.”
“Uh…shouldn’t we do something?” I asked, as Sadie’s punches grew more accurate.
“Nah. Usually Max will step in right about now.”
He was right. Just as Sadie closed in on Tom, Max grabbed her firmly by the shoulders. She thrashed and kicked, but he refused to let go until the gleam had gone out of her eyes and she became herself again.
We sat there for a minute or two while Sadie calmed down. I was in shock. I’d had some friends back in Dallas who complained about their siblings, but they never tried to murder them. This was taking it to a whole other level.
As I looked around the table, I struggled to sort out my feelings. I was sitting with a pint-sized lady’s man, a black-clad Beethoven lover, a potential murderess, and her twin. Anyone else would run off screaming.
Not me though. For some strange reason, I liked them.
* * *
My papers flew out of my binder, littering the school hallways. And, no, I wasn’t trying to make the janitors lives harder. I’d had my attempt at picking them up, but it had proved to be too time-consuming. I was already five minutes late to class.
I skidded down the hallway, made a left, turned right, then right again…and ended up in the exact same hall again. Honestly. I was seriously cussing out the architect who’d designed this building.
I wouldn’t be in this mess if they hadn’t changed my stupid schedule, I thought. Unfortunately, they had, and my new English class was nowhere in sight.
Urgently, I turned right and was relieved to find a different hallway. Thank god! I sprinted down the corridor, reading the room numbers as fast as I was running by. But then I saw something that made me stop. And it wasn’t Room 106.
The girl was in the classroom. The blind girl.
I pulled myself up to the classroom door window, not believing my eyes. It was definitely her though, from the black hair, to the ivory skin, to the walking stick propped up against her desk. She still looked plenty intimidating too, even facing profile. Her whole demeanor seemed to warn you to keep your distance.
Suddenly, she turned and looked straight at me.
I stumbled back from the window, a strangled cry escaping my throat. How did she know I was here? I thought, frantically. After being unable to find an explanation, I figured it must have been a coincidence. Still, there was just something really creepy about the way that she looked at me…
However, the creeped out feeling was soon overrun by curiosity, and I pulled myself to the window again. I had to admit, I was intrigued. Besides, I was already late; a few more minutes wouldn’t hurt anybody.
It was at that instant that a cold, heavy hand clamped down on my shoulder.
* * *
I whirled around and stumbled backward, into the door. “Ms. Porter! Um…uh…”
Ms. Porter, the evil teacher from first period, glared down at me. “Jonah, what are you doing in the halls ten minutes after the bell? You must have an explanation or were you…skipping class?”
Her words dripped with cold pleasure. I think this was the first time I ever saw her smile, and believe me, it wasn’t pleasant. Her thin lips were so tight from constant scowling that she literally had to stretch them over her teeth. It looked so weird I almost laughed, but Ms. Porter is the kind of teacher that you never laugh at, ever.
“Um…” I stumbled, tripping over my words. I couldn’t think, couldn’t talk. My thoughts were jumbled with nervousness, nervousness that I would say the wrong thing or that she’d use my own words against me. Ms. Porter sensed this and her smile drew back even further. I braced myself for detention, a meeting with the principal, a phone call to Elaine…
But then I remembered the schedule change.
I relaxed, and my mind cleared. “Oh, no, Ms. Porter, I wasn’t skipping class. I had a schedule change and I can’t seem to find Room 106. Can you tell me where it is?”
Ms. Porter’s smiled morphed back into its normal frown. I glowed in triumph.
“Take a left from the cafeteria. If you still can’t find it, go to the office for help,” Ms. Porter monotoned. Then she turned on her heel and stalked down the hallway, her heels click-clacking on the tile floor.
I stared after her, reliving the confrontation in my head. From the first day, it had been clear that Ms. Porter didn’t like me. Now it was more obvious than ever that she was just waiting to get me in trouble.
As I walked towards the cafeteria, I began to fantasize. What if there was some way to get Ms. Porter before she got me?
Two days later, Garret told me how.
* * *
“We’re gonna to pull a prank on Ms. Porter.”
I stared at Garret from across the bus aisle. He had to be joking. Either that or he was insane.
Garret didn’t seem to notice my attitude. “It’ll be huge! Everyone hates Ms. Porter, Jonah. If we get away with it…we’ll be legends!”
“Yeah, if we get away with it.”
Garret blinked at me, as though seeing me for the first time.
“Don’t be like that, Jonah! We won’t get caught, not if we’re careful. Besides, Max designed it and he’s practically a genius.”
I contemplated this as the bus rumbled away from the school. I didn’t want to be a killjoy, but I didn’t want to get caught either. Things at home had gotten uneasy since I started to withdraw from Elaine’s way-too-happy family. I knew getting caught pulling a prank would be disastrous.
But Garret persisted. “Come on, dude! You know how mean Ms. Porter is! She practically attacked you on the first day of school, remember?”
“And in the hallway,” I muttered.
“See!” Garret exclaimed. “You even admitted it yourself. So will you pull the prank with me, Tom, and Max? Sadie won’t help us, so we need another person.”
I sighed. It was obvious that Garret wasn’t going to let up, and he was right. Hadn’t I wished for a way to get Ms. Porter just a few days before? Besides, even with the risk, it sounded really fun.
“Fine,” I agreed, and Garret danced around in his bus seat. “So what is this prank anyway?”
“Now we’re talking,” Garret enthused. “It’s basically a trap. We’re going to set it up before school starts and let Ms. Porter do the rest.”
“And this trap is…” I prompted.
“…a box of Styrofoam peanuts, a closet and a Tickle Me Elmo toy,” Garret replied, straight-faced.
“What?”
“Just hear me out, okay,” Garret said, raising his palms. “Next week, we’re going to sneak into Ms. Porter’s classroom and put a Tickle Me Elmo toy and a box of Styrofoam peanuts in her closet. Then we’ll rig the box to tip over when the door opens, so when she hears Elmo laughing and opens the closet…”
“…she’ll get avalanched with packing peanuts,” I finished for him.
“Exactly. We’ll talk about this some more during lunch next week, so quit worrying. It’ll be easy.”
I hoped he was right.
* * *
All through the week, Garret, Max, Tom, and I prepared for the prank. At lunch, Sadie glared at us from behind her textbook, calling us “imbeciles”. She did, however, tell Max that his plan was “pretty good”. Which is a huge understatement, let me tell you.
Garret had been right—Max was a genius. The plan was simple, but had been planned out to a T. Even Sadie couldn’t find any kinks in it.
However, as I glanced out the window of Garret’s mom’s SUV on Friday morning, I still felt nervous. This was phase one of the plan: Get Garret’s mom to drive us in thirty minutes early for “tutoring”. It was finally beginning to sink in that the plan was now reality. It both excited and scared the crap out of me.
“Thanks for the ride, Mom,” Garret called as he opened the car door. Mrs. Winging just smiled, proud that her son and friends had chosen to embrace the wonders of education through morning tutoring.
If only she knew.
As the car drove off, we walked across the school lawn and slipped into the building. Another wave of anxiety passed through me as the double doors banged shut. There was no backing out now.
Determined to stay on schedule, Garret turned and scampered down the hall. The rest of us followed. My nerves had now kicked in big time, and I half-expected a teacher to pop up every time someone’s shoe squeaked. But no one came, and before I knew it, we were in the classroom.
Garret lost no time getting the plan in motion. “Tom, take your position as guard. We need to stay on schedule…move it!”
Tom scrambled out the classroom door and took his position at the end of the hallway. He was to alert us if a teacher was patrolling the hallways.
Garret searched through his backpack and pulled out an irregularly shaped plastic grocery bag. Impatiently, he ripped it open with his teeth, spilling hundreds of Styrofoam peanuts onto the floor.
“Jonah,” he ordered curtly. “Get the cardboard box out of my backpack.”
I pulled out the collapsed Fed-Ex box and began to set it up again. Meanwhile, Max had grabbed the “Tickle Me Elmo” toy from his own backpack, along with a screw driver. I saw him remove the plastic lid in Elmo’s back and start tinkering around where the wires were.
Using Tom’s duct tape, I reassembled the box, and Garret began shoveling the Styrofoam peanuts inside.
At last, a flickering smile crossed Max’s face. “It’s ready,” he said, lifting up Elmo. “I fixed the wiring in the back so when we flick the ON switch, it’ll keep laughing and laughing until someone disables it. Usually, it stops laughing after a couple minutes, but we need it to keep going through to first period so Ms. Porter will hear it.”
I stared at him with disbelief. Never mind the fact that that was the longest thing I’d heard Max say, but he really was a genius!
Still amazed, I turned my attention to Garret. He had finished loading the box with packing peanuts, and was cutting off two long pieces of string. I watched as he taped one end of each string to the front lip of the box.
“Grab that stool,” he directed, and I picked it up and carried it into the closet. Garret stood on top of it and placed the loaded box on the edge of the top shelf. Then Max handed him the tape, and Garret stuck the bottom of the front of the box to the shelf. That way, the box would tip over but wouldn’t fall off the shelf completely when the door opened.
Garret took the two pieces of string that were dangling from the front lip of the box, and taped the other ends to the top of the door, which was only partly open. The trap was set. When Ms. Porter yanked open the door, it would pull on the string, which would pull on the box, which would cause it to tip and drown Ms. Porter in packing peanuts.
Revenge is sweet.
For the plan to work though, we needed bait. Max handed Garret the “Tickle Me Elmo”. Garret was about to place it on the top shelf, when I heard a sound that sent shivers down my spine.
Click- clack
Heels on the tile floor.
Click-clack
A teacher? Maybe a secretary?
Click-clack
Ms. Porter?!
Click-clack
And they were coming closer.
Spastically, we grabbed our stuff and slipped into the closet, careful not to yank the door wide enough to set off the trap. We silently eased the door closed, sighing partly in frustration over our bad luck, but mostly in relief. At least we were safe.
Then I heard the second sound that day that sent shivers down my spine.
“What do you think you’re doing roaming around before the bell?”
Shoot. It was Ms. Porter.
“Uh, um...” A shaky, familiar voice filtered into the classroom from the hall. “I’m uh…
We’d forgotten Tom!
I heard Garret and Max inhale sharply when they heard the conversation further down the hall. My heart was racing and my head was clouded with blame. How could we have forgotten Tom? What kind of friends were we?
Then I heard the rest of Tom’s response and felt a little better.
“I, uh, came to talk to Mr. Richards. We have English paper due Friday, and I, um, have some questions,” he said slowly.
There was a pause. In the closet, we were all praying, praying that Ms. Porter would believe him. Our hearts pounded together like one throbbing drum.
“Alright, then,” she quipped. “Get going. Mr. Richards is waiting.”
At last we heard the sounds of her heels fading. We waited to ensure it was safe, then carefully emerged from the closet.
“Man, that was close,” I said, my voice shaking with relief. “That was crazy!”
“I know! I thought I was gonna have a heart attack,” Garret agreed.
“Too bad you didn’t. Imagine Ms. Porter opening the door and your dead body falling out.”
“Dude!”
We were all laughing about the near-miss when Tom entered the classroom, and he didn’t join in. His eyes were wide with fear and he seemed visibly shaken. The rest of us looked at each other, skeptically. The usual daring Tom looked scared, and that scared us all.
“Ms. Porter just scared the crap out of me,” Tom admitted, without even trying to hide it. “She’s already suspicious. Maybe we shouldn’t—“
“We’re gonna pull the prank, Tom,” Garret interrupted, determinedly. “So she scared the crap out of you…all the more reason to get her back.”
Garret glanced up at the clock. “We still have at least ten minutes and the pranks pretty much set up. We’re doing it.”
We didn’t disagree. Even though Garret was puny, he was a leader. That was something you had to respect.
Garret nodded seriously in response to our silent agreement. “Hand me Elmo.”
* * *
Everyone was in their first period class. As part of the prank, Tom, Max, and Garret and I tried to keep the volume in the classroom loud. We didn’t want people to hear Elmo in the closet until the very last moment.
Eventually, the bell rang and Ms. Porter glared at us from the blackboard. The noise level dropped considerably and everyone hurried towards their desks. My hands were fidgeting with anticipation. This was it!
“Okay, class,” Ms. Porter said, standing up from her desk. “Today, we will be learning about the process of cell division. Take out your spirals and—“
A muffled high pitch giggle pierced the air.
Students began to murmur and shuffle around in their seats. Ms. Porter glowered at us as if to say: Whoever did that should stop it this instant! But what Ms. Porter didn’t know, was that it couldn’t stop. Not unless you disabled it and flicked the OFF switch.
“As I was saying,” Ms. Porter continued. “Take out your spirals and start taking notes on—“
Another giggle. “I got tickled!”
The class started laughing now, all while trying to figure out who it was. I glanced at Garret and Tom, who looked like they were just barely containing themselves. I was struggling too, and I could feel a booming laugh stirring dangerously in my stomach.
Ms. Porter’s thin lips tightened.
“I won’t have this in my classroom. Whoever it is will get detention!”
“Give Elmo a break, please!” came the voice, followed by hysterical laughter.
Ms. Porter’s eyes narrowed and her nostrils flared, like a predator sniffing the wind. Her eyes flitted towards the closet door and lingered there.
“Again, again!” Elmo squealed, and Ms. Porter took five long strides towards the closet. The class quieted and all eyes settled on Ms. Porter.
“AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” cried Elmo stupidly. I scooted towards the edge of my seat, desperately willing her to open the door. Come one, come on… Then Ms. Porter’s lips curled decisively and she swung the door wide.
Whoooosh!
Hundreds of packing peanuts showered down on Ms. Porter from above, skidding across the classroom floor. Ms. Porter just stood there in shock, letting the peanuts nestle at her feet, on her shoulders, behind her glasses. No one dared make a sound. Everyone just watched as the last and final peanut fell from the box and bounced off Ms. Porter’s head.
“AHAHAHAHAHAHA!” shrieked Elmo, and he teetered off the top shelf, hitting the floor with a smack!
Ms. Porter snapped out of her daze and tried to grab Elmo, but his battery-powered body wriggled away.
“Again, again!” Elmo taunted, rolling on the floor.
Elmo continued to laugh manically, but this time, he wasn’t the only one. The class was practically in tears as we watched Ms. Porter struggle to shut down Elmo. Tom and Garret had doubled over with laughter, and even Max cracked up when Ms. Porter slipped on a stray packing peanut.
“HOW DO YOU TURN THIS DAMN THING OFF?!” Ms. Porter screeched, clutching Elmo’s convulsing body in her hands. No one offered her an answer. We were too far gone for that.
“AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”
* * *
The TME prank was a huge success. Everyone was telling everyone else; even though they already knew that they knew. In other words, it was absolute chaos.
Of course, Ms. Porter immediately sent Tom to the principal’s office for “suspicious activity”. Tom was interrogated, but he stood by his English paper story. When our English teacher was called up for questioning, he stood by it too.
You see, while Garret, Max, and I were putting the final touches on the prank, Tom actually went and talked to Mr. Richards. He wasn’t too happy about discussing grammar while we finished up the prank, but it ended up saving his neck. So Ms. Porter had no proof.
However, just because she didn’t have proof, didn’t mean that she believed him. She insisted on watching Tom’s every move, but it was still worth it. Nothing could top the sight of Ms. Porter screeching and clambering after a “Tickle Me Elmo”. Really, getting away with it was just a bonus.
So was the fact that, again, without even meaning to, I had done something from Mom’s Live Ten list. I had broken the rules… I had pulled a prank.
. At any rate, here I go: