XXV

It was 9:03—class was about to begin. I took my seat.

Flip had a surprise for me.

“Hey, Billy!” Flip shouted. “Come sit back here between me and Bib!”

Bib screwed up his face, and said in a flattened monotone: “Yeah . . . Billy. . . . Come sit . . . with us.”

Oh my God! Bib Oberman! Did you hear that? Can you imagine? Bib, who is usually as tender as a tazer, darling as a dingo, and about as inviting as a riptide, wanted ME to sit with HIM! HOW THRILLING! Granted, it was Flip’s idea, and yes, Bib looked to be experiencing extreme intestinal duress, but why quibble?

YES! YES! YES! I’LL DO IT!

“BERNIE! Get Billy a chair,” Flip said sharply. And lo and behold, Bernie did it! He got me a chair!

And so I walked the ten feet, but million miles, to my new seat. Well, all right! Look at me! I’ve joined the exalted ranks of the Back Seat Boys. Not too shabby! ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS, and all that. I must say, the view was mighty empowering.

 

Flip gave me a knowing little wink.

“Yo, Bernie,” Flip called out again. “Billy doesn’t have a pencil. Give him yours, will you?”

“But . . . but . . . Yes, Flip. Here, Billy.”

I took it and gave him a saucy wink.

“Could you sharpen it, too?” Flip smiled sweetly.

“Yes . . . Flip . . . ,” he growled, without moving his lips.

When Mr. Reamer arrived and, in front of the class, again apologized for his absence that day, I smiled beatifically and said, “YOU ARE FORGIVEN,” then made the sign of the cross. He looked vaguely annoyed.

 

When class was over, true to his word, Flip escorted me to the seat of my American lit class. And when the bell rang fifty-five minutes later, he was there to pick me up and escort me to the next class.