Deborah Halverson - Big Mouth

Gardo was skipping lunch because he had to make weight for his upcoming practice game, or meet, or whatever wrestlers called it, so he was fetching more ketchup packets for me. My six corn dogs would be good capacity training for my stomach, but I hadn’t grabbed enough packets to reach the recommended ketchup ratio for that many breaded wieners. And ketchup ratios were important, because Del Heiny was adamant about students getting their proper vegetable allotment each day. The company worked closely with the D.Caf.Nuts to make sure everything sold in the cafeteria was ketchup-dunkable. Laminated cards taped down on each tabletop advised just how many packets to use per corn dog, Tater Tot, etc. To reinforce the Del Heiny Healthy Eating Initiative, the cafeteria’s red walls were stenciled with large slogans like A TOMATO A DAY KEEPS THE DOCTOR AWAY and THE WORLD IS YOUR TOMATO and VEGGIES — THEY’RE NOT ALL GREEN.

Crouched at a nearby wall under the slogans were the school’s three janitors, all dressed in dill-green coveralls. I probably didn’t need to worry about them patrolling for contraband cola today. They had more interesting things on their minds than my measly soda. Between raspy, cancerous coughing fits, they were bickering about who got to glue the humongous tomato decal over the yellow smudge left by the MUSTARD LOVERS UNITE! tag, which had been squeezed across the Del Heiny company logo.

Two kids in yellow shirts passed by the janitors. “Go, Mustard!” one shouted. His buddy high-fived him. Some kids following him laughed despite the janitors’ glares.

The next voice that boomed out wasn’t so welcome. It belonged to Shane Hunt, the biggest jerk on the planet. “I feel the need to dunk me a big…fat…scrub doughnut.”

Oh, great. My mouth went dry. Last week Shane had declared it Scrub Dunk Week in the cafeteria and then promptly ordered a different eighth grader chucked into a trash can every day. Starting with me. I still had a bruise on my lower back where the edge of the can had dug in. And now here he was, looking for another victim. Apparently the idiot didn’t know how long a week was.

Except for a few snickers from the huddled janitors and a “Make it a slam dunk, Shane!” from Shane’s table in the ninth grade section, the cafeteria was silent. Like Moses parting water, Shane swaggered down the center aisle with the Finns, both looking like they had a medical condition as they tried to make their bulky bodies swagger like his too-short one. All of them had their yellow baseball caps on backward. Plums unlucky enough to be in the aisle scuttled out of their way. One poor slob spilled his tray, sending Tater Tots every which way. Shane grinned and stomped the Tots.

“You missed one!” a janitor called out.

Shane darted his eyes around the floor, then pointed near Wayne’s — or was it Blayne’s? — left Nike. Whichever, the sneaker raised, then came down hard. A piece of Tot squilched sideways and splatted against Shane’s jeans.

“Sorry, Captain, sir.”

Slowly, dramatically, Shane wiped off the splooge, then cleaned his hand on the Finn’s red wrestling shirt.

“Let’s see,” Shane said, gazing around him. “There’s an empty trash can. Now which of these jiggly doughboys will it be today?”

At every table except Shane’s, Plums cast their eyes downward and held as still as possible, hoping not to call attention to themselves. Me included. It was useless to do anything else. The janitors loved Shane’s shows, so they weren’t going to stop him. And no one was going to run and tattle like some kindergartner. Jasper Finch stupidly tried to rat them out to Principal Culwicki last Wednesday, but Culwicki was a college wrestling buddy of Shane’s dad, so nothing came of it except Jasper getting a lecture on the character-building merits of good-natured pranks. And now Plums call him Jasper Fink.

With my eyes locked downward on my white shirt, I couldn’t see Shane’s roving eyes, but they must have landed on someone because suddenly he sounded almost chipper.

“I’ve got a better idea,” he said. “Grab that for me, Blayne.”

The Finn tried to whisper, but I’m sure most of us heard it: “Captain, sir, I’m Wayne.”

“That’s what I said. Now grab the stupid extinguisher.” Louder, Shane announced, “Dunking doughnuts is so last week. It’s time to move on to sundaes !”

Next to me, the janitors rose to their feet and rubbed their sandpapery palms together.

“Duck…duck…duck…”

I peeked up to see Shane thunking random scrub heads. Head by head, he was moving toward my table.

“Duck…duck…”

He was now two tables away.

“Duck…duck…”

One table.

“GOOSE!”

Lunging forward, Shane grabbed Willie Dean’s collar and yanked him backward out of his seat. He pushed him into the waiting arms of Wayne. Or was it Blayne? Whichever, the other Finn snatched the nearest garbage can and whisked off the lid like a waiter revealing fine cuisine.

Willie dropped to his knees and pleaded for his life.

I cringed. My mind flashed back to the embarrassing piggy squeals I’d cut loose with last week when I was Shane’s doughnut dunkee…and to the tears I’d cried as he ordered his Finns to drop me into the can. The memory made my stomach lurch.

“I said no dunking.” Shane sounded annoyed. “Hold still.”

Shane lifted the extinguisher and aimed. Szhhhhhh! Fire retardant exploded out of an extinguisher, decorating the metal trash can lid with a pile of fluffy white that looked like whipped cream on a sundae.

“Perfect!” Shane shouted. “Test complete. C’mere, scrub. ”

The Finn held Willie on his knees while Shane lined up the extinguisher over his head. Willie started to cry. It was awful. Totally completely awful.

I’m so glad it’s not me being whipped.

That thought made me cringe even harder. I was a terrible person, absolutely horrible. Last week it was me, only I was getting my big butt jammed into a can of half-chewed food, empty milk containers, and goopy ketchup packets. I’d tried so hard not to cry, but my throat went all tight and the stupid tears spilled down my cheeks anyway. I’d been totally powerless to stop it. And as I was dropped into the can, I saw the backs of dozens of kids’ heads as they looked away, trying not to witness my shame — just like I wanted to do now. But I knew they saw it. And the whole time, they were probably thinking, I’m so glad it’s not me.

My face got hotter as I relived the humiliation, which made my eyes tear up again, which made me more upset, which made me even happier it wasn’t me being whipped, which made me feel like a total jerk, which made me royally pissed off, which made me want to—

“STOP!” My outburst surprised me, as did the fact that I’d bolted to my feet.

Shane’s head whipped my way. “What did you say?”

My throat went tight. “I said…stop.” The last word came out broken, as if puberty had just kicked in.

“That’s what I thought you said, Fat Boy.” He straightened then shoved Willie aside, dismissing him. The kid scurried away like a crab at the beach. “I think you need a lesson in how to talk to your superiors, scrub. ”

No one else said anything, not even the janitors. And that was the way it would stay, I knew. Shane and his thugs were outnumbered big time, yet they were in charge. My goose was cooked.

Tears pooled in my eyes. Please no, not again. I’d die if I got canned again.

My only hope was to run. I quickly stretched my neck up to see over Shane’s shoulder and— yes! — I had a clean shot to the emergency exit if I could somehow get by him. I snorted involuntarily at that thought. Dump trucks couldn’t outmaneuver hot rods.