Deborah Halverson - Big Mouth

As if sensing my impulse to flee, Shane hunched his head down, leaned his shoulders forward, and spread his arms wide with his feet staggered in some psycho-ballistic wrestling stance. He swayed forward like he was about to lunge in my direction, but before he could take a step, a commanding voice echoed down the hallway into the tense cafeteria.

All heads turned right. In strode Principal Culwicki, his wide green tie flapping up over his shoulder. Rushing after him was Mad Max, followed by a short, waddling man in an olive-green uniform and red armband.

Max was clutching a yellow file folder.

“…already told you Del Heiny won’t go for that, Maureen,” Culwicki was saying. “Even if they would, I am not putting a rotting pig on the football field. What does that have to do with science? Oh, there’s another one!” He stabbed his finger at a mustard slogan that the janitors hadn’t cleaned off the wall yet. “Good grief, Eckstein, are these delinquents getting in through the pipes? Rekey all the locks again. And have the janitors order more red paint. Oh, there’s another!”

Suddenly Culwicki halted. Max and the campus security officer dominoed into his back. Culwicki stayed solid on his feet, though, his eyes locked on Shane.

Shane slowly uncoiled and smiled at the wiry principal. “How’s it going, sir?”

Culwicki narrowed his eyes. “What in tarnation are you doing?” He stepped closer. So did Max, a puzzled look on her face. The officer furiously scribbled on his board.

Yes! Shane was finally going down. Maybe Dunk Week had been worth it.

Shane must have come to the same conclusion, because his smile disappeared. “I—”

“Stop. I don’t want to hear it.” Culwicki took a deep breath, then shook his head in utter disgust. “You’re the wrestling coach’s son, boy. You should know better.” He pointed to Shane’s left foot. “Move that foot an inch to the left. Your balance will be better. Honestly, if you’re going to show off your Sugarfoot stance, at least have the decency to do it right. I never want to see a horror like that again. You hear me?”

No!

Shane grinned. “Yes, sir. Wider stance. Got it.”

“Good. Now wipe that smile off your face. Wrestling is serious business. I said wipe it off! Drop and give me twenty. All three of you. Now! Have some pride.”

Shane’s smile disappeared instantly. He dutifully dropped to the ground, only pausing a moment. But in that nanosecond of hesitation, his eyes practically glowed with hatred. Okay, so maybe he didn’t get busted, but at least he was suffering some humiliation. How does it feel, tough guy?

Culwicki bent down and yanked off Shane’s cap. “And take off that disrespectful hat. Where’s your loyalty?” He threw it on Shane’s back as he cranked out his push-ups. “You know what? This is the third time I’ve caught you in a bad stance and had to assign push-ups. That’s three times too many. Come with me. I’ve got my old training photos in my office, I’ll show you the proper stance. I think your dad’s in some of the pictures, too.” Then he took off again, his green tie flapping wildly, the Olive Shirt scurrying after him. “Oh, there’s another one! This is an outrage, Eckstein, you need to do something about this. Oh! Another!”

Shane hopped to his feet and smacked a Finn in the back of the head. “Do the rest later. C’mon.” Together they all rushed off after our great Plum principal, stuffing their yellow hats into their back pockets on the way.

Max trailed them all. “Cyrus. Will you at least listen to me?” She waved her yellow folder. “The process of decay is science in action. It’s a key part of forensics, and forensics is hot. Just sign the approval and let me worry about the details. I don’t have to put it on the football field….”

They disappeared down the far hallway.

In their wake of silence, I started breathing again. With everyone’s attention on Culwicki, I’d been able to swipe away my tears without anyone noticing.

Anyone but Lucy, that is. After Culwicki and his entourage disappeared, I saw her standing in the cafeteria doorway, her brown polo shirt and hair making her a smudge of chocolate against the ketchup-red wall. Without saying a word, she walked across to me and lightly nudged me to my seat. I almost shoved her hand away. Then I almost hugged her. Then I felt the biggest urge to just blow right past her, dashing down the hall, away from her, away from everybody in the cafeteria, away from this whole lame school. But I couldn’t, because these stupid scrub doughnut legs didn’t have any dash in them. And guys didn’t dash, anyway. So instead I slumped onto my bench and stared at my corn dogs.

Gardo sat down on my other side. He smiled and laid a pile of ketchup packets next to my training corn dogs, trying to act like nothing had happened. That only made me feel even more pathetic. Are YOU Thuff Enuff, Sherman Thuff? Not in this lifetime.

Quietly at first, then more loudly, the Plums resumed their interrupted conversations. They looked over at me now and then, whispering to their neighbors. The janitors went back to their bickering and their mustard cleanup, and Gardo launched into some story about being elbowed in the eye when his teammate fainted at practice because he hadn’t eaten in a week and how Gardo wasn’t that stupid, no, he’d stashed a bunch of ketchup packets in his backpack to snack on in emergencies while he cut weight, blah, blah, blah …

Me, I just sat there like a loser, staring at my Tots. Lucy silently handed me the ketchup packets, but I just dropped them next to my paper plate. Eventually the bell rang and we all headed off to class, ending one more agonizing, demoralizing lunchtime for the underclassmen of Del Heiny Junior High #13, the school where boys would be boys, losers would be losers, and ninth graders had all the power, forever and ever, amen.

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“Everyone was talking about you after lunch today.”

Gardo and I were at Scoops-a-Million for my evening shift. Actually, I had taken over Grampy’s shift, because he claimed his psoriasis was acting up. No one wanted a guy with scaly, flaky elbows scooping their ice cream, so what could I do but fill in for him. And I’d have to do inventory for him afterward, too. Funny how the guy always managed to develop some gnarly disease on inventory nights. Arthur was working with me, but he was on break and there weren’t any customers. Gardo was gnawing a tiny pink taster spoon.