Adam Levin - The Instructions

“How can you say that? How is it not?”

A lot of scholars did me wrong today, I said, and—

“How?” said Eliyahu.

I’ll explain some other time. For now, just trust me. What I’m trying to say is think of it like this: No one on the Side’s a scholar except for us, and the Side is good, right?

“We’re not talking about the Side. No one on the Side yelled, ‘Death to the Jew.’”

That’s true, Eliyahu, and I’m not saying… You’re right. It was a foolish thing to yell, I said. Let’s leave it at that, though. They made a mistake. They yelled something foolish.

“And so maybe they’re fools.”

I said, Maybe even foogs.

“You’ll makes jokes now?” he said.

Yes, I said. And so should you. These fools are with us, that’s all there is to it, and everything else is working out okay.

“It’s working out I have an in-school suspension.”

In a room less prisonlike than the Cage, I said, and with five new friends.

“Maybe so, but those others will be there, too,” he said. “I should have to sit all day in a room with a boy who bruised my face and crushed my hat?”

Two, I said. And if Shlomo’s back, then a third who’d like to do the same.

“That does not sound like something that I will enjoy. In the Office, that Co-Captain Baxter kept showing me his fist, his middle finger—”

Only because he knew it was safe, I said. I said, He knew you wouldn’t attack him in the Office.

“And why should he have been so sure?”

He shouldn’t have, I said.

“People look at me and think I’m weak,” Eliyahu said. “They push me around. I can’t hide it.”

Hide what? I said.

“That I’m an orphan — who are these chubniks saluting you?”

Isadore Momo and Beauregard Pate stood shoulder-to-shoulder with three other short, husky guys by the southern doorway of the cafeteria. Each one had a line of thick writing across his chest in Darker:

Beauregard

FIRED A BULLET THROUGH HIS RIGHT TEMPLE.

Chubnik X

LIKE AN OVERGROWN HALO.

Chubnik Y

VANISHED COMPLETELY INTO THE DARKNESS OF NIGHT.

Chubnik Z

ONLY HATE AND HATE, SOLID AS STONE.

Momo

I PUSH THROUGH.

They were showing me victory fists.

That’s Big Ending, I said to Eliyahu. I said, They’re with us, too.

“What’s with the shirts?”

I don’t know, I said.

Like an overgrown halo and I push through were familiar phrases, but I couldn’t place them. Vanished completely into the darkness of night also seemed familiar, except how couldn’t it?

“I was saying—”

You don’t need to hide that you’re an orphan, I said. I said, Anyone who knows you’re an orphan — and I don’t think that many people do — could just as easily be scared of you for being an orphan as think you’re weak for being an orphan. So the ones who do think you’re weak — don’t let them push you around.

“I know I shouldn’t let them, but I do.”

I said, Not always. I said, You led that hyperscoot. And before that you fought back hard in the two-hill field — I saw some of it.

“I was very verklempt then. I told you that. I didn’t know up from down. If I knew up from down, I never would have done those things. So what am I supposed to do? Be verklempt all the time? I think it would be worse than getting pushed around.”

I spotted June. She wasn’t at her locker. She was about a quarter of the hallway away, talking to a big-eyed girl with an almost-shaved head and clown-pants.

I said, Anything you do, Bathsheba Wasserman might hear about it.

“Sure,” said Eliyahu. “And probably from me.”

I said, So imagine she hears you’re getting pushed around.

“I should worry Bathsheba will think I’m a coward? Don’t manipulate me.”

That’s not what I’m saying at all, I said. If Bathsheba hears that you get pushed around, it’ll cause her pain. Protect her from that, I said. There’s June. Would you like to meet her?

“When can I talk to you?” Vincie said to me.

I’d forgotten he was there.

Just let me talk to June first, I said to Vincie.

“Oh God,” he said.

Oh God what? I said.

Before he could answer, we were saying hello. I kissed June’s cheek and she pinched my neck. “This is Starla,” she said to us, chinning air at the clown-pantsed girl. Then to Starla: “You know Vincie Portite. Do you know Vincie? Anyway — this is Vincie. And that’s Gurion, and I don’t know who you are.”

“I am Eliyahu of Brooklyn,” Eliyahu said.

Vincie’s face was all red.

To Starla I said: I hear you don’t think I’m dark enough.

June punched me in the shoulder.

“Gurion’s dark as fuck,” Vincie told Starla. “And bracelets for causes are not punkrock.” He pointed at a yellow plastic bracelet on her left wrist. It looked like one of those Cancer Foundation bracelets that said LIVESTRONG.

Starla made the noise “Tch,” and turned the bracelet so we could see it said LIVESTOCK.

“That’s subtle,” said Vincie. “And your name is really fucken pretty, too. I’ve been wanting to tell you that since kindergarten.”

“Is that why you’re always staring at me at lunch?” said Starla.

“Yeah,” said Vincie. “That’s the reason. Cat’s outta the bag now.”

Wait, I said. Since kindergarten?

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah. Just like I said. Cat’s outta the bag.”

“What cat?” June said.

“Don’t worry about the cat,” Vincie said. “The cat’s no concern of yours.”

“Gurion,” June said.

Vincie’s cat, Vincie’s bag, I said.

“Anyway,” Vincie said to Starla, “that’s a pretty fucken name you’ve got, that’s all I’m saying.”

“It’s the name of a song,” said Starla.

“I know,” said Vincie.

“Liar.”

“When you can’t decide what’s on your mind, it’s clear. I’m here. Starla dear. Please take me home.”

“You know it!” said Starla.

“Yeah, and it’s fucken hammy, don’t you think?”

“Vincie,” June said.

“What?” said Vincie. “Starla knows the lyrics are hammy. It’s got nothing to do with her. It’s her fucked-up grunger parents I’m laughing at. Who names their daughter after a Smashing Pumpkins song, right Starla?”

“I know!” said Starla.

“It’s still a pretty name, though. And a pretty song, too, if you don’t pay attention to the words too close.”

“Weird, right?” said Starla.

“Not that weird,” said Vincie. “My favorite kind of pretty’s always mixed in with a little fucked-up. You got a bike, right?”

“Yeah,” Starla said.

“You should ride your bike to my house around midnight and we’ll go to the railroad tracks and smash some bottles. I got all these bottles in the recycling in my garage.”

“Why don’t we just meet at the tracks?” said Starla.

“I can’t carry all those bottles by myself,” Vincie said.

“What if we just skipped the bottles?” said Starla.

“How the fuck are we gonna skip bottles if we don’t have any bottles?”

“What? No. Wait… Not skip them like throw them, skip them like forget about them.”

“Why the fuck would we go to the tracks if we didn’t want to break some bottles?”

“I–I don’t—”

“If we’re not gonna break anything, we might as well just hang out in my room.”

“What about your parents, though?”

“After midnight? Why do you think I got so many bottles? We could smash bottles on them and they wouldn’t wake up.”

“Okay,” said Starla. She was breathless.

“ Okay ?” Vincie said. “What’s wrong with you?” Vincie said. “I was exaggerating . I’m not gonna let you hit my mom with a fucken bottle.”