The next morning, I button my collared shirt and plod downstairs, a knot squeezing tight in my stomach because I don’t want to go back to school.
In the kitchen, Bubbe pats the chair beside her. “I have five minutes before I leave. Sit.”
I sit and let out a sigh.
“Frosted flakes or shredded wheat?”
“Shredded.”
Bubbe puts the bowl in front of me and lays her warm hand on mine. “Middle school can be hard.” She looks in my eyes. “Harder for some than others. Lindsay told me what happened.”
“Oh, great.” I shove a spoonful of shredded wheat into my mouth. “No offense, Bubbe,” I say with my mouth full, “but you don’t understand.”
“I understand more than you think, David.”
I nod but know she doesn’t. No one does, except maybe that boy Lindsay told me about who got a swirlie and ended up transferring schools.
“Now that you’re famous, things should go better in school, no?”
No.
Bubbe taps her watch. “I’ve got to go.” She kisses my forehead and says, “You’ll do fine today, Davey.”
“Thanks,” I say, and dump the rest of my cereal into the sink. How will I possibly do fine when so many people saw me dripping toilet water and Tommy Murphy might still want to kill me?
In the courtyard, kids hang around in groups. They talk and laugh and shove each other. Even though I feel like I have a neon sign on my forehead that says Lameberg Got a Swirlie, no one seems to notice me.
Sophie runs over and gives me a hug.
I’m shocked that she doesn’t seem even a little repulsed by the germs that were on me from the swirlie.
Sophie hands me a brown paper bag. “It’s stale, but …”
The cupcake.
“Thanks,” I say, and look around for people making fun of me. No one seems to be.
When the bell buzzes, I walk slowly, like I’m heading to the gallows. That’s kind of what facing math class with Ms. Lovely and Tommy Murphy feels like sometimes.
“Hurry up,” Sophie says, yanking on my sleeve.
As always, Ms. Lovely stands at the classroom door. She’s smiling. At least, I think it’s a smile. Hard to tell through all those wrinkles. “Welcome back, Mr. Greenberg.”
When I’m seated, I turn and look at Tommy Murphy. He’s glaring at me like he’s pissed. What does he have to be mad about? I’m the one who should be mad!
Ms. Lovely leans over and quietly says, “I read the Inquirer article this weekend.” And she winks at me.
I sink low in my seat.
Ms. Lovely turns on the TV, and we stand for the pledge. I’m not paying attention to what Ellen Winser says, because I’m trying to figure out why Tommy could possibly still be mad.
That’s when I hear my name.
Ellen Winser is talking about me on TV. She says, “Our very own David Greenberg, a sixth grader here at Harman, was mentioned in the Philadelphia Inquirer this weekend.”
A gasp spreads around the room. Ms. Lovely beams.
I forgot that when Ms. Petroccia called my house, she asked if it would be okay to mention the article on WHMS news today.
Ellen talks about the article, then shows the Hammy Time video.
I get choked up watching Hammy, but kids laugh. And when it’s over, the class applauds. I can even hear applause from other classrooms, and it feels amazing.
Ellen Winser says, “When you see David in the hallway, congratulate him.” And they flash a picture of me in front of fake New York.
My neck gets hot.
“And in other news …”
Kids do stop me in the hallway as I walk to my next class. People I don’t know slap me on the back and say, “Funny video, man.” Gavin gives me a thumbs-up in the lunchroom, and a couple of guys from his table hoot and whistle when I walk past.
I feel pretty good as I move toward the back.
“Hey, Lameberg!” Tommy screams, and the guys at his table crack up. “Think you’re hot stuff, huh?”
Why can’t you leave me alone? I bow my head, but before I do, I notice that Elliott isn’t sitting at the Neanderthals’ table. I look around the lunchroom but don’t see him.
When I put my tray down, a couple of the kids nod, and the girl stops reading long enough to smile and say, “Funny video this morning.”
“Thanks,” I say, biting into my grilled cheese sandwich, but inside my head, I keep hearing Hey, Lameberg! Hey, Lameberg!
“Hey.”
I stop chewing and whirl around, expecting to see Tommy Murphy and the Neanderthals, which I realize sounds like a name for a band. I should probably suggest it to Dad.
Standing behind me is Elliott. He’s holding a tray and wearing the now stained shirt he wore on the first day of school. His eyebrows arch, like he’s waiting for me to say something.
“Mind?” he asks, nodding toward the seat beside me.
I shrug, and he puts his tray on the table and sits next to me.
At first I wonder if it’s another trick, but it doesn’t feel like a trick. And when Tommy yells, “Hey, Lameberg and friend of Lameberg,” and Elliott gives Tommy the finger, I know it’s not a trick. I know that Elliott has finally crossed back over from the dark side.
“Wow,” I say.
Elliott shrugs. “He’s a jerk.”
“I know,” I say. “But—”
“I was a bigger jerk for hanging out with him.”
“Look, don’t worry about it.” Elliott rips a ketchup packet open with his teeth. “You gonna eat those fries?”
I throw a few fries onto Elliott’s tray, and it feels like the most natural thing in the world.
He and I eat grilled cheese and fries and nudge each other’s shoulders every once in a while. We don’t say anything else, but it’s the best lunch I’ve had since coming to Harman.
When the bell buzzes, I realize that Dad was right. He said that I just had to give it time, that things would work out with Elliott. And it looks like they are working out.
Maybe this means things might work out with Mom, too.