Raisinheart Page 5

as anything and fairly quiet. I always thought they'd go their own way sooner or later, form a gang of their own, why not, but they never did. The two remained close to Fripperone for as long as I remained in that crappy little town. I never did understand why.

   

  This crew would make the rounds through the school at regular intervals several times a day, and if you were small, or made their shit list through some other means, you'd want to stay the heck out of their way. Danny Wheat and I used to dive into broom closets, anywhere, if we saw them coming and had a chance. One time of course they caught us and locked us in there. We just stayed put all afternoon until the janitors came and let us out, and considered ourselves pretty lucky.

   

  Danny and I never ran out of things to talk about, it seemed. This kid was so full of information I could listen all day even if I didn't grasp a tenth of the things he was saying. He knew about particle physics. He knew about light. He knew about hereditary genetics and micro technology and the agricultural techniques of ancient Babylon. He was the first person who ever got me interested in anything, really. None of my teachers had ever piqued my curiosity that way. After awhile I noticed a change had come over me. I started to pay attention in class. I started to read on my own. I started to think about things. Up until then, I don't know. I must have been unconscious or something.

   

  It turned out I wasn't as dumb as I thought. I always knew that my sister was the brainy one, so I thought I'd have to get by on luck, and so far that wasn't going so well. Now I was figuring things out, remembering facts and putting ideas together.  Danny was encouraging, too. He was happy to have somebody to talk to. Well, then his family moved away. That sucked. It was the end of the 'Wheat Twins' business at least, but on the other hand, now I was all on my own one more time.

   

  The next friend I had was the most unexpected. I was sitting in history class, trying to be fascinated by the list of British kings that the teacher recited, when the new boy came in and took the desk right beside me. My first impression was, oh god, not another one. He was a huge, sweaty behemoth of an Italian kid named Dennis Hobbs. I guessed he was another Fripperone but as it turned out, I was wrong. Dennis was a sweetheart dressed up like a football player, a friendly, soft-spoken guy who was not very good at school but was terrified of failure. He was so afraid of getting poor grades that he trembled all over his body the entire time he was leaning over and copying my answers on tests. When he got caught, he burst into tears and mumbled,

   

  "I don't care. I don't care", as the teacher escorted him out into the hallway and pointed him in the direction of the principal's office. I felt terrible for Dennis, and when I saw him later in the cafeteria I went right over and sat next to him. If you knew me you'd know that was very unusual. I was the guy always finding the farthest darkest corner I could possibly hide in. I really was a perfect target for bullies; small, weak, frightened, timid, alone ... a natural victim, like a wounded antelope out there on the plains. I sat right next to him and I apologized.

   

  "If I'd known you were copying", I told him, "I would've made it easier. I would've tilted my paper up on my notebook or something so you wouldn't have to lean."

   

  I demonstrated how I would've done with such exaggeration I even got a smile out of him.

   

  "Really", I said, "Anytime. I'm happy to help."

   

  It was a good move on my part. Hobbs was a favorite of Mr. Stones, who doubled as the coach of the football team and recognized a star player when he saw one. Dennis was the anchor of the offensive line, and the bulwark of the defense as well. The school team went from mediocre to pretty good with just the one addition. Dennis was not so quick in class but he was fast to notice what was going on with me, and it wasn't long before Mr. Stones left off picking on me. I realized, finally, that a textbook bully situation cried out for the textbook bodyguard response. Why I didn't think of it sooner, I could kick myself.

   

  It didn't work, though. Fripperone took it as a challenge. Although he was a teammate of Hobbs on the football team, as were everyone in his gang, and he had no intention of getting on Dennis's bad side, he still wasn't going to let go of the hold he had on me. It was just too much fun and he couldn't resist. Now when he caught me out there on the prairie, he teased me about my big friend.

   

  "Feeling pretty frickin smart now aren't we?” he taunted. "Now that we've got our frickin protector. Well, I don't see your frickin boyfriend right now. Where'd he go? What're you frickin gonna do without him?" All of that kind of thing followed of course by the usual physical brutality. To make matters worse, I had been doing so well in my classes that I was invited to an awards ceremony Wednesday where I was scheduled to receive a medal in Science. Fripperone found out about that and decided to hold his own "awards ceremony". This one was going to be held behind the train station on Thursday at six o'clock, and if I didn't show up to get my "award", he was personally going to "beat the frickin crap" out of me so bad I wouldn't be able to stand up for a week.

   

  For once in my life, I blabbed. All this time I had been so afraid to open my mouth and tell anyone - of course Danny Wheat knew all about all of this too, but he, like me, kept it shut. I couldn't believe my rotten luck to win a stupid award and have it turn into another nightmare. It came out unexpectedly. Dennis Hobbs had an English paper due, a five page essay about epic poetry, and there was no way, simply no way on this planet he was ever going to get that done. I volunteered to do it for him.

  "Piece of cake", I said, "only when is it due because I might not live long enough."

   

  Then I had to tell him about the awards ceremonies, both of them. I was thinking maybe I'd just run away from home. I'd been kind of planning on doing that someday anyway, so why not get a head start, even though at fourteen it might not be the best timing-wise.

   

  "We'll trade", Dennis suggested. "I'll be you and you'll be me. You do my English paper, and I'll go to Fripperone's little ceremony. I'll tell him I'm you. I want to see what he says".

   

  "No, no", I protested, "that will only make everything worse." I told him about the "boyfriend" comments and all of that. This only made him more determined.

   

  "In that case", he told me, "I'm going to be handing out some awards of my own."

   

  Which he did. I actually heard the story from Curly, who sat back with Rags and watched the whole thing. Dennis showed up and said he was me, like he'd promised.

   

  "Yo", he said walking up to the gang at the station. "Here I am. Where's my frickin award?"

   

  "What're you talking about, Dennis?” Fripperone retorted. "We're just hanging out here."

   

  "Not what I heard", Dennis told him. "I'll give you a minute to come up with my prize. Then I'm going to be giving you yours", and he went right up to Fripperone and stood in his face.

  "I'm waiting, Rick", he said.

   

  "Get outta here", said Fripperone. "We don't want no trouble with you. And anyways we got a game Saturday."

   

  "You might be sitting that one out", Dennis said. "On account of you not feeling so good."

   

  And he sucker punched him in the gut right then and there. Then he lifted his chin and smashed his frickin face in. Broke his nose in two places.

   

  "I heard about you, Fripperone", he said. "I heard you ain't shit. Now I know."

   

  Fripperone was moaning on the ground and clutching his bloody face. Jockstrap did nothing. King didn't even laugh. Curly and Rags didn't move.

   

  "Maybe you didn't get that bodyguard shit", Dennis told them. "This is how it works. Mess with Kruzel and you're messing with me. Understood?"
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  I never had a problem at school after that.

   

  I did a pretty good job on the epic poetry paper. Dennis had begged me not to make it "too smart" because he really did care if he got caught. I lowered my sights and pulled off a really inadequate comparison of Homer and Milton, whereas Homer was blind and Milton was too, and so forth. Dennis was thrilled to get a "C" on the report. This was a solid lesson that served me well in future endeavors, to deliver on expectations rather than on possibilities. Dennis assured me he had kept our deal a secret, but somehow word got around and I found myself offering my services to a host of kids in need, or at least in want. Some of my choices were strategic; I prepared a science report for Curly, complete with the seven proof steps demanded by the teacher, as well as a History of Lithuania for Cindy Ballworthy, who wasn't dumb by any means but was much too busy with her cheer-leading to sit around doing pointless schoolwork.

   

  And I almost started feeling pretty okay about myself for the first time in years. I even grew a few inches and gained a few pounds! I don't know if any of that was connected, but I developed some new routines. I walked to school and back instead of riding on the bus. I took to looking other kids in the eye and even saying hello sometimes. I raised my hand in class once or twice. I even called up Callie Hewitt on the phone and asked her to the spring dance, and didn't kill myself when she said 'no'. I thought that maybe, finally, a door had opened for a change. I was getting ahead of myself.

   

  One afternoon in April, I think it was the Fourth, I was walking