Stanzi—Monday Afternoon—The Catalog

Gustav sent me a postcard at lunch. It said: We are not eighty-nine cents’ worth of chemicals walking around lonely. Love, Gustav.

China and Shane sat together at a table with me, Lansdale, and Gustav.

There are no bomb threats yet today.

I have cataloged four pages’ worth of Ziploc bags. Mr. Bio says the buses are here. I don’t want to leave. I’m finding the answer. I’m working hard.

He tells me, “You have all week. This is your special project.”

I look at him as if to ask, Why?

“The principal said you were the one who should do it.”

“She thinks I’m guilty,” I say.

“She thinks it’s a mystery,” he corrects. “She thinks you’re the one who will solve it.”

“But there was no drill,” I say.

“We haven’t had one in a week,” Mr. Bio says. “Or maybe two weeks.” He scratches his chin. “Funny how you forget, isn’t it?”

“What about makeup tests? Don’t I have makeup tests?”

“We haven’t had one of those in a week or two, either.”

“How will they assess us without tests?”

“I don’t know. Maybe this is your test.” He gestures toward the box of evidence.

I look at my list of cataloged items. Frog livers, hex nuts, red food coloring, a condom, a baseball, a tube of lipstick, a clarinet reed, a tiny pair of Barbie boots, a dried flower, a war medal, a coupon for dog food, a tiny ship in a tiny bottle, a sock, a pin for an air pump, a pill bug, a compact of eye shadow, a protractor, a fork, a razor blade, a cigarette, a pocket Latin dictionary, a Led Zeppelin cassette tape, toothpaste, an arrowhead, a necklace with a panda bear pendant, a pacifier, hand sanitizer, a scrap of paper with the anarchy symbol on it, a nail clipper, a cello bridge, a dried-out bull’s eyeball, a miniature Slinky.

I look back into the huge box and I put gloves on and root through the other items on the surface. I see something shimmering halfway down. A small letter S covered in silver glitter.

I meet China and Lansdale on the bus. Gustav is still on the football field with his physics teacher, who will agree to give him credit for the helicopter if ever she can see it.

As the bus takes off, I can see Gustav in the pilot’s seat. Because it’s Monday, I can’t see the helicopter, so it just appears as if Gustav is floating, in the sitting position, in front of Ms. Physics. If that wouldn’t make you believe, what would?