“STINKING KID—COULD have gotten me fired. If I hadn’t seen you through the window . . .” It was Mr. Meltzer. He pulled me to the stairs, squeezing my arm so tight my fingers tingled. At least it wasn’t Mr. Doom. Mike said Mr. Meltzer didn’t hit.
“Bloom will kill you,” he growled. “Serves you right. I’d like to kill you myself.”
He was taking me to Mr. Doom! “I didn’t do anything. I just took a walk.” My heart banged around crazily.
He pulled me up the stairs and half-dragged me to the elevens’ room. So he wasn’t taking me to Mr. Doom after all. Thank you, Mr. Meltzer. Outside the door he stopped. “What’s this?” He tugged on Solly’s tie.
I’d forgotten all about it. “It’s my grandfather’s.”
Mr. Meltzer untied it and stuffed it into his pocket. He opened the door to the room, which was dim in the almost-dawn. Everybody was still asleep. One of Mike’s legs stuck out past the edge of the bed. It shook.
The bell clanged. They all sat up and started to make their beds. Nobody rolled over to get another minute of sleep. They were too well behaved. Or too scared.
“Get moving, all of you. Hurry up,” Mr. Meltzer yelled. “Make your beds and line up for showers.” He turned to me. “I’ll take you to Mr. Bloom after breakfast.”
He was taking me! My heart started banging again.
Everybody heard. Kids moved out of my way as I walked to my bed. I felt how comfortably my legs moved, how my arms swung at my side. After Mr. Doom was through with me, would someone have to carry me?
I followed everybody to the showers. Kids ahead of me stumbled because they were staring at me instead of looking where they were going.
“Stop looking at me!” I was going to be fine. What I’d done wasn’t so bad. I had come back, hadn’t I?
“What did you do?” Mike bounced up and down next to me.
“I snuck out.”
“It’s been nice knowing you.”
Mr. Meltzer stood over me during breakfast. That meant Moe couldn’t eat my food, even though he was next to me as usual. But it was a waste, because I wasn’t hungry.
The bell rang. Breakfast was over.
Mr. Meltzer put his hand on my shoulder. “You stay.”
“Here, kid,” Moe said. “My lucky penny. It’ll protect you.”
I took it. It couldn’t hurt.
“But don’t spend it,” he added. “I want it back.”
“Dave,” Mike said. “You need your strength.” He handed me something and slapped my arm. “Good luck.”
He’d given me half a roll. I ate it while everybody filed out of the basement. I could tell Mr. Doom I’d gone home last night because my brother was sick. Or I’d pretend I was a sleepwalker, and as soon as I realized I was outside the Home, I hurried back—because I knew it was against the rules, and I hated kids who broke rules. If he didn’t believe me, I’d get away from him. He was big. He’d be slow. I’d outrun him.
“Let’s go,” Mr. Meltzer said.
I didn’t move.
He yanked me up by my jacket. “Come on.” He pulled me toward the stairs.
I made myself as heavy as I could. On the stairs, I latched on to the banister, even though I knew it was cowardly.
Mr. Meltzer pried my hand loose. “Don’t make me carry you.”
I didn’t want him to carry me in to Mr. Doom. I stopped fighting him.
He knocked on the door of Mr. Doom’s office. Then he held me by the elbow, and we stepped inside.
“The new boy, Dave Caros. I caught him trying to run away.”
That was a lie! He caught me coming back.
“Sit down, son,” Mr. Doom rumbled.
I sat. Mr. Meltzer left and closed the door behind him.
“I wasn’t running away. I was just—”
Mr. Doom’s face reddened. “Did I ask you a question?”
“No, but . . .”
He reached for his yardstick.
“Sir. No, sir.”
His voice went back to a rumble. “I think we should have a chat. Don’t you agree?”
“Yes, sir. I agree, sir.”
He leaned back in his seat. “Mrs. Bloom and I love the finer things in life, the theater, concerts.” He rumbled a chuckle. “Mrs. Bloom’s little hobby is following the doings of high society.”
What was he talking about? But keep yapping, and stay away from that yardstick.
“So one might wonder at my choice of vocation. I admit it’s a sacrifice, but someone has to do the dirty work. Someone has to take in children like you.” He straightened his spectacles. “Otherwise, you’d have nowhere to go. However, it’s like putting a rattlesnake to your bosom.”
Bosom! I didn’t even want to laugh.
“Snakes bite, and chances are you’ll be bitten. What else can you expect from paupers and orphans?” He shook his huge head sadly. “But in a civilized society . . .”
This was like a Mr. Cluck lecture about how hard we were to teach. I settled back in the leather chair. I was still scared, but I could see I wasn’t in danger this second.
He droned on about how much he’d improved the HHB. I looked around the office again. We should have electric fires in our rooms. I looked at the knickknack case.
“You’re a typical orphan. I see . . .”
My eyes snapped to Mr. Doom and then back to the knickknacks. Papa’s carving was there! On the second shelf, next to a china donkey.
“Your father was an indigent, a bum. Your stepmother—”
“At least my papa wasn’t a thief,” I blurted out.
Mr. Doom’s face got so red it glowed. He reached for the yardstick. His spectacles slipped sideways. He looked crazy. I should have run. But instead, I went for the carving.
I didn’t reach it. The flat side of the yardstick smashed into my shoulder and threw me against his desk.
“Thief!” he yelled. “You call me . . .”
He hit me again. The edge of the stick tore across my neck and the end cut into my cheek and ear. Drops of blood fell onto the carpet.
I think I screamed. I ran to put the desk between us. He came after me.
“Your papa!” he hollered. “You compare . . .” The yardstick caught me in the chest. I staggered back. My head hit the corner of the desk.
For a second everything went black. When I opened my eyes, he was standing over me with the yardstick raised over his head. And I realized—he didn’t care what he did to me.