Jim Shepard - Project X

He shakes his head, still thinking about whatever the other thing is.

“Roddy? Homework?” his mom calls up the stairs. We both jump.

“He’s just going,” Flake calls.

We listen for her leaving the bottom of the stairs.

“Do we know how much kick these guns have?” I go.

“Listen to you: Joe Pro,” he says. “How much kick.”

“Well, who knows,” I tell him. The headache makes me squint.

“Just hold on to it,” he tells me back. “Don’t hold it like a faggot and you’ll be fine.”

“I’m not gonna hold it like a faggot,” I tell him.

“Then we’ll be fine,” he goes. “Look, you better go.”

I get out of the chair. “What about the thing with Hermie?” I go.

He does a thing with his hand like bugs are around his head. “We gotta stall him for a week,” he goes. “Lemme think about it.”

“You think about it, too,” he tells me, after I say I’ll see him later.

I don’t come up with anything that night. Instead I spend a lot of time thinking about Bethany. I make up this little scene where she comes over and I go, “Hi. What are you doing here?” and she doesn’t say anything but she pulls me into my garage and then puts her hand on my face.

I whisper to myself. A hard-on that’s so hard it hurts comes and goes. We haven’t figured out what we’re going to carry the guns in, either.

When I get off the bus at school I’m so tired I have trouble focusing.

“What’s the matter with you?” Flake goes.

“Your mother kept me up,” I go.

“Your mother kept my dog up,” Flake goes. He puts his arm around me like we’re the best of pals and walks me over to the steps where we broke in.

“What’s the longest anybody ever had a headache?” I go.

“So listen,” he goes. “I think I solved the Hermie problem.”

“What’d you do?” I ask.

“Stop yawning,” he goes.

“I can’t help it,” I go.

“What if we tell him we’ll get him something supercool that he can fight Budzinski with?” he goes.

“Like what?” I go.

“I don’t know. Something supercool,” he goes.

“Like what?” I go.

“How should I know,” he goes. “Like nimchucks.”

“Nimchucks,” I go, thinking about it.

“We don’t have to actually get any,” he goes. “We just say we will.”

“Why can’t Budzinski take his nimchucks away from him and beat on him like he did with the stick?” I go.

“Ah, shit,” Flake goes.

“That’s what Hermie’ll say,” I tell him.

“Well, you come up with something, then,” he says.

“I’m just saying what Hermie’ll say,” I tell him.

The homeroom bell rings. “So come up with something,” Flake says again. We walk over and shove into the group that’s heading in. “I’m doing all the work here.”

When I see Hermie in the hall between first and second period he’s got a black eye.

“Shit,” Flake says when I see him before third period. “You talk to him?”

“I just saw him,” I tell him.

“We gotta find him at lunch,” Flake says. “And we gotta talk to him after school.”

I get my math test back.

“Hi, Edwin,” Bethany goes as I’m turning a corner. I almost go back.

My locker flies open like I never had any trouble with it in my life.

At lunch Hermie’s standing there with a tray by himself like he already knew what we wanted.

“Hey there, Herman,” Flake says. “Long time no see.”

“Hey,” Hermie goes.

“What happened to your eye?” Flake goes. “Walk into somebody’s boner?”

“No,” Hermie goes.

“They got brownies,” I tell him.

“I saw,” he goes.

“Wanna sit with us?” Flake asks.

Hermie shrugs. While we’re standing around looking for a place, Dickhead goes by and dumps an apple core on my tray.

There are no completely empty tables, so we sit with some ninth-grade girls. “Do you mind?” one of them says when Flake’s pack leans on her feet under the table.

“Wanna do my hair?” she asks another girl at the table.

“Yeah, maybe in French,” the girl tells her.

“So did we tell you we talked to Budzinski?” Flake says to Hermie.

“ He told me,” Hermie goes.

“He do that?” Flake asks, about the black eye. Hermie eats his mac and cheese and looks like he wants to drop the subject.

“Son of a bitch,” Flake says, like there’d been some agreement. “I’m gonna talk to that little prick.”

“Don’t talk to him anymore,” Hermie tells him. He touches his eye with his fingertip and eats more mac and cheese with his other hand.

“Well, he can’t just keep beating on you,” Flake goes.

“Don’t worry about me,” Hermie says.

Flake gives me a look. “So listen,” he says back. “We got some good news. We’ll tell you after school.”

“Why can’t you tell me now?” Hermie asks.

Flake nods at the girls.

“What do they care?” Hermie wants to know. It’s a good question.

Flake holds up his hand like we’ll all just have to wait. Hermie gives up and finishes his lunch.

“So what’s your good news?” he says after school. He doesn’t seem so thrilled just to be hanging out with us.

I haven’t talked to Flake since lunch so I don’t know. I haven’t come up with anything.

He looks at me and sees how much help I’m gonna be. He says to Hermie that we came up with the perfect thing to get even with Budzinski. It’s gonna really screw him good.

“What is it?” Hermie wants to know. He doesn’t sound excited.

“I don’t want to give it away, completely,” Flake tells him. “It’s pretty complicated to set up.”

Hermie just keeps looking at him.

“Anyway, it’ll take like two days,” Flake goes. “And it has to start on Monday. You in?”

“In what?” Hermie finally says.

“On this thing?” Flake goes. “You wanna get back at him or not?”

“Yeah,” Hermie says.

“All right, then,” Flake goes.

“That’s your good news?” Hermie asks.

“That’s our good news,” Flake says, frustrated.

“Why’s it have to start on Monday?” Hermie asks.

Flake makes a face. “I’ll tell you then,” he goes.

“Whatever. See you later,” Hermie goes. He waves to me and takes off. We watch him walk down the street by himself. He doesn’t look up once.

“Shit,” Flake says.

“Maybe I’ll talk to him again,” I go. “I don’t think he’s gonna do anything.”

“Shit,” Flake says.

I look at the phone so much after dinner that my dad finally congratulates me on my new hobby. I look at it all night but never call Hermie. Once it’s quiet, I go to bed and fall asleep and wake up after twenty minutes. Twenty minutes. I pick up the clock and hold it close to my face because it seems hard to believe.

I leave the light off. I go around the room looking at all the stuff like I’m deciding what to take on a trip. Some stuff it takes a while to figure out with only the light from the window. It’s like it becomes itself while I stare at it.

Then I go across the hall and check on Gus. The floor’s cold. His foot’s sticking out from under the blanket. I stand in my parents’ room and look at them. Birds that sing at night make noise outside their window.

I read the newspaper downstairs in the living room with one light on. There’s an article on chicken. The front page has a picture of some old guys in suits and ties running from something.

We’re going backwards, I realize sitting there. Now even midget sixth-graders think we’re assholes.

Back up in bed I watch the ceiling get brighter.