Chapter 9

I practically had to pinch myself to stay awake during third period. Miss Lynch was discussing the Continental Congress, and if she hadn't shown some gory slides of the battle scenes of the Revolutionary War, I would have been off to dreamland. Which is the last thing I wanted, since I absolutely had to be in Bowring's class early if I wanted even a fighting chance to get a back seat.

I figured if I got a back seat today, Mrs. Bowring was sure to forget the assignment she'd given me and I'd have another day to get it done before the hatchet fell. On the other hand, if I had to sit anywhere in her three-row radar range, she'd remember the two reports and it would mean the frying pan for the blue mackerel.

I really flew from Miss Lynch's class on the second floor to old lady Bowring's on the first. My feet hardly touched the ground. Sure enough–and what a relief!–I was one of the first kids in class and there were lots of seats left in the last few rows. I slid into my usual seat next to Joe/Jason, who was already in his, studying the script for his part in the Franklin Pierce Follies. The actors had tried out last night and as usual. Joe/Jason got one of the leads: he was going to play Franklin Pierce and already had the home-economics bunch sewing him a custom-made sheet for the scene where he appears as Pierce's ghost. Everyone liked Joe/Jason, especially Joe/Jason. "How does this sound?" he said to me and read the first line: "I've come back from the dead. What's new in town?"

"Great," I said. "Sounds great."

"Should I put more emphasis on 'new' or 'town'?" he said, re-reading his script. I was more interested in keeping an eye on the door to see it maybe I was going to get a real shot of luck; could Bowring please be absent just for this once in my lifetime?

Not a chance. She probably hadn't been absent since Franklin Pierce was President and they built, not this school, but the school that used to be here before this one. Sure enough, with books under each arm, in she came, glasses, white hair, flowered dress and all, and plumped all her stuff on her desk, ready for action.

At which time, Beef Adams, hair flying, shirt flying, face the color of a slice of bologna, came into class just as the bell was about to ring. He made his way to the back of the classroom, although it was clear as glass to me that the only seats left were the ones in the front, and believe it or not, he was heading right in my direction. Actually, he wasn't only heading right in my direction, he was heading for my seat, although it was obvious someone was in it. Me.

He planted his big beefy self smack in front of me and had the nerve to say, "This is my seat, so swim off, blue mackerel."

Old lady Bowring was checking through the attendance book and couldn't see back this far anyway, so she wasn't aware of what Beef was doing.

"What do you mean, your seat?"

"My seat," Beef said, and he pointed at the desk. There, carved fresh into the wood, were his initials–B. A.

While I'd been wasting my time drawing flags of the world in my notebook, he'd been monogramming school desks.

"Get up, Fish," he said again.

Now Joe/Jason leaned over and said to Beef, "Leave Neil alone, willya? You can see he was here before you."

Now here's where what I mean about Franklin Pierce Junior High School. Beef Adams was dead wrong, anybody could see that, and I was dead right, as any fair jury would admit. But Beef is an East-Ender and old lady Bowring's class was full of East-Enders. Right away, they overruled Joe/Jason and turned against me.

"Come on, Mackerel, Beef hasn't done his homework, give him a break," one of them whispered.

Another one said, "Go swim upstream, willya, Mack?"

And another one said, "Let's get a net and pull him out of his chair!"

While Beef had his group pulling for him, all I had was Joe/Jason, and it was no contest. With everybody cheering for Beef, he got a big surge of self-confidence and he leaned over and tried to lift me out of the chair with his big steaks-and-chops arms. I wouldn't budge. He pulled. I resisted. While Joe/Jason said, "Come on, Beef, lay off," in one trying-hard but single voice, four other guys and one girl were in there for Beef.

"WHAT..IS..GOING..ON..BACK..THERE?"

Good, grey grief! Had old Lady Bowring had her eyeglass prescription changed? How come she'd noticed us back here anyway? Her voice ricocheted around the room like they'd emptied a cage of parakeets in here. Now she was headed this way!

Even with Bowring coming at us through the aisle a mile a minute, Beef didn't stop. He had me by the shirt and trying to pull me up. I was holding on to the desk with both hands. He had his cheering section and I had my Joe/Jason and it made quite a commotion: a lot of furniture seemed to be shaking, and under my feet, the floor didn't seem all that steady, either.

"WHAT...IS...HAPPENING...HERE?"

Beef let go. I let go. Everybody shut up, one-two-three.

Bowring grabbed my shoulder and Beef's arm. Was she trying to perfume us to death? She squinted at us through her glasses.

"Come to the desk, both of you," she ordered. I expected fire to come out of her nose and mouth, or at least smoke. That's how mad she sounded.

I followed Beef up to her desk. He followed her. She asked what was going on back there. I mumbled, "Nothing." and Beef mumbled, "Nothing." She did not look happy with two nothings. She asked for Beef's assignment. Beef hadn't done it. She asked for my assignment. I hadn't done it. She turned blue. Well, not exactly, but she looked like she might.

She told us to get our books and to go sit in Mr. Guttag's office. She said she would have no fighting in her classroom. She said no one would accuse her of being permissive and encouraging wanton behavior. Nobody knew what "wanton" meant but we knew it wasn't good. She said she knew times were changing but they weren't going to change in her classroom. I wished like anything times would change and that it would be July or August when schools were closed. Instead, here were Beef and I, making our way to Mr. Guttag's office.

"Sit down, boys," said Mr. Guttag's secretary, who hardly looked up from her computer. "Mr. Guttag is in his private office now. He'll see you in a few minutes."

While we waited I tried to listen for screams to see if somebody else was really getting it in there, but the printer was making so much noise there was no telling. Besides, my stomach felt like high tide and I had to concentrate on keeping it under control. Beef just sat next to me relaxed as anything, humming (humming!) like he was sitting here waiting for the light to change, like he did this every day.

But Mr. Guttag did not seem to recognize Beef. He just stepped out of his office and strode over to us in three or four big steps and stood looking down at us as if he were trying to decide whether to throw us into a reptile pit or simply tie us to these chairs and beat us with chains for a couple of hours.

"Boys," he said. He made the word "boys" sound like the Gettysburg Address spoken by Lincoln to a million people. Even the secretary stopped typing to listen.

"Boys, Mrs. Bowring just called me on the intercom to tell me you caused a disturbance in class."

Mr. Guttag made "disturbance" sound like "holocaust." Then he paused. "She said that there was a...scuffle. Is that correct?" He made "scuffle" sound like "earthquake."

I nodded. Beef had stopped humming. He nodded.

"Boys. I want you to understand that we are not going to tolerate this sort of behavior in our school. I am putting this to you in the form of a warning, since this is a first offense. Let me make it clear by putting it to you this way: I expect you to behave at all times like gentlemen. Is that understood?"

I nodded. Beef nodded.

"In short," said Mr. Guttag, "I do not want to see you in this office again."

Right. I was for that, one hundred percent. I didn't want to be in Mr. Guttag's office ever again, either. Beef nodded. I nodded. Mr. Guttag shook my hand, then he shook Beef's hand. I was so relieved, I felt like doing a dance right outside the office in the corridor. No snakes! No chains! We were free.

"Don't worry," I wanted to say, "You'll never see me in this office again, Mr. Guttag!" But I was wrong.

I didn't know it then, but I was going to be back very soon–and the next time was going to be a lot worse.