Carl Hiaasen - Hoot

"Hi, Beatrice," he said.

School was nerve-wracking. Every time Roy entered one of his classrooms, the other kids stopped what they were doing and stared. It was as if they were surprised to see he was still alive, with all limbs intact.

After leaving algebra class, Roy heard a stupendous phony farting noise behind him in the hallway-Garrett. He took Roy by the shirtsleeve and led him into a bathroom.

"You look sick. You should go home early," Garrett advised.

"I feel fine," Roy said, which wasn't true. He still had a headache from the thumping Dana had given him on the bus ride.

"Dude, listen to me," Garrett said. "I don't care how you think you feel. You're sick. Really sick, okay? You need to call your mom and go home."

"What have you heard?"

"He'll be waiting after seventh period."

"So let him wait," Roy said.

Garrett tugged Roy into one of the toilet stalls and locked it from the inside.

"This is so lame," said Roy.

Garrett touched a finger to his lips. "I know a guy in Dana's RE. class," he whispered excitedly. "He says Dana's gonna snatch you before you get on the bus home."

"And do what?"

"Duh!"

"Right here at school? How?" Roy asked.

"Bro, I wouldn't hang around to find out. Hey, you never told me you busted him in the chops, too."

"That wasn't me. Sorry." Roy unlocked the toilet stall and gently nudged his friend out.

"So what are you going to do?" Garrett called over the top of the door.

"Take a pee."

"No. I'm talking about you-know-who."

"I'll think of something."

But what? Even if Roy managed to elude Dana Matherson this afternoon, the drama would start all over again Monday. Dana would resume the stalking, and Roy would have to dream up another escape plan. And that's how it would be every single day until school let out in June.

Roy had other options, none particularly appealing. If he reported Dana to Miss Hennepin, she'd do nothing more than summon him to her office for a stern lecture, which Dana would laugh off. Who could take seriously a vice-principal with one gnarly hair sprouting out of her lip?

If Roy told his parents about the Dana situation, they might be alarmed enough to withdraw him from Trace Middle. Then he would end up getting bused to some private school, where he'd be forced to wear the same dorky uniform every day and (according to Garrett) learn Latin.

A third alternative was for Roy to try apologizing to Dana again, this time oozing remorse and sincerity. Not only would that be groveling, it probably wouldn't achieve the desired effect; Dana would still hassle him without mercy.

His final option was to stand and fight. Roy was a practical boy; he knew the odds were overwhelmingly against him. He had quickness and brains on his side, but Dana was big enough to crush him like a grape.

Roy remembered the time he and his father had a talk about fighting. "It's important to stand up for what's right," Mr. Eberhardt had said, "but sometimes there's a fine line between courage and stupidity."

Roy suspected that fighting Dana Matherson fell into the second category.

While he disliked the prospect of getting beaten to a pulp, what worried him even more was the effect it would have on his mother. He was very conscious of being an only child, and he knew his mom would be devastated if something bad happened to him.

Roy had almost had a little sister, though he wasn't supposed to know about it. His mother carried the baby for five months, and then one night she got terribly sick and an ambulance rushed her to the hospital. When she came home a few days later, the baby wasn't there anymore and nobody really explained why. Roy was only four years old at the time, and his parents were so upset that he was afraid to ask questions. A few years later, an older cousin told him what a miscarriage was, and confided that Roy's mother had lost a baby girl.

Ever since then, he'd tried not to give his parents extra reasons to worry about him. Whether on horseback, bike, or snowboard, he refrained from doing some of the wild, daredevil stunts that boys his age usually tried-not because he feared for his safety, but because he felt it was his solemn duty as an only child.

Yet there he was this morning, on the school bus, insulting the same pea-brained thug who already held a mortal grudge against him. Sometimes Roy didn't understand what came over him. Sometimes he was too proud for his own good.

The last class of the day was American history. After the bell, Roy waited for the other students to file out ahead of him. Then, cautiously, he peeked into the hall: No sign of Dana Matherson.

"Roy, is something wrong?"

It was Mr. Ryan, the history teacher, standing behind him.

"No, everything's fine," Roy said breezily, stepping out of the classroom. Mr. Ryan closed the door behind them.

"You going home, too?" Roy asked.

"I wish. I've got to grade papers." Roy didn't know Mr. Ryan very well, but he walked with him all the way to the faculty lounge. Roy made small talk and tried to act casual while constantly checking behind him, to see if Dana was lurking.

Mr. Ryan had played football in college and since then he hadn't gotten any smaller, so Roy felt fairly safe. It was almost as good as walking with his dad.

"You taking the bus home?" Mr. Ryan asked.

"Sure," Roy said.

"But isn't the pickup on the other side of school?"

"Oh, I'm just getting some exercise."

When they reached the door of the faculty lounge, Mr. Ryan said, "Don't forget the quiz on Monday."

"Right. War of 1812," said Roy. "I'm ready."

"Yeah? Who won the Battle of Lake Erie?"

"Commodore Perry."

"Which one, Matthew or Oliver?"

Roy took a guess. "Matthew?"

Mr. Ryan winked. "Study a little more," he said, "but have a good weekend."

Then Roy was alone in the hall. It was amazing how rapidly schools emptied after the final bell, as if someone pulled the plug under a giant whirlpool. Roy listened closely for footsteps-sneaking footsteps-but heard only the tick-tick-tick of the clock mounted above the door to the science lab.

Roy observed that he had exactly four minutes to reach the bus pickup zone. He wasn't worried, though, because he'd already mapped a shortcut through the gym. His plan was to be among the very last to board his bus. That way he could grab one of the empty seats up front and jump off quickly at his stop. Dana and his cronies customarily occupied the back rows and seldom bothered the kids sitting up near the driver.

Not that Mr. Kesey would ever notice, Roy thought.

He jogged to the end of the hallway and turned right, heading for the double doors that marked the back entrance of the gymnasium. He almost made it, too.

"Let's be crystal-clear about this, Mr. Branitt. You didn't report it to the police?"

"No, sir," Curly said emphatically into the telephone.

"So there shouldn't be any paperwork, correct? No possible way for this latest travesty to end up in the press."

"Not that I can figure, Mr. Muckle."

For Curly it had been another long, discouraging day. The sun had finally broken through the clouds, but after that it was all downhill. The construction site remained uncleared, the earthmoving equipment sitting idle.

Curly had stalled as long as possible before phoning Mother Paula's corporate headquarters.

"Is this your idea of a sick joke?" Chuck Muckle had snarled.

"It ain't no joke."

"Tell me again, Mr. Branitt. Every miserable detail."

So Curly had repeated everything, beginning from when he'd arrived at the site early that morning. The first sign of trouble had been Kalo waving a tattered red umbrella and chasing his four attack dogs along the inside perimeter of the fence. He was shrieking hysterically in German.