Chapter Eleven
Long Island, 1979
Henry could not pay attention to a single word Mr. Shapiro was saying. He wasn’t very good at math, and algebra with all of its x’s and y’s and z’s only confused him, but that wasn’t why Mr. Shapiro’s voice had become only a soft drone that he barely noticed. No, the reason for his inability to focus on anything his math teacher was saying was that Sally Klosky took the desk directly in front of his!
Normally, it was hard enough in class to concentrate knowing Sally was in the same room as him, but before today she always sat on the other side of the room so he couldn’t see her unless he craned his neck so that he was looking behind his shoulder. He would never dare do that and risk having Sally catch him sneaking a peek at her. While it would be torture knowing she was nearby, he was still able to function, at least sort of. But now she was so close to him that he could reach forward and touch her. And he could smell her! He breathed in deeply an aroma of apple blossoms from her shampoo mixed with a whiff of the spearmint gum she was chewing, as well as a hint of her musty body odor. On any other girl maybe that smell wouldn’t be so wonderful, but coming from Sally it was the most intoxicating odor he could imagine.
Henry was convinced Sally Klosky was the most beautiful thirteen-year-old girl who ever lived, and anyone trying to argue otherwise just didn’t know what they were talking about. That would be like saying that Star Wars wasn’t the greatest movie ever made. Or Spider-man comic books weren’t the best. It just wasn’t something open for debate. Everything about her was perfect. Her golden, curvy hair that rolled past her shoulders like finely spun silk, her adorable button nose, her peaches-and-cream complexion, the tiny dimple in her chin, that slight overbite that would show when she’d chew on the end of her pen. And her dreamlike body. He would blush deep red whenever he thought of the way she looked in her tight T-shirt and shorts during gym class.
Sally Klosky had Henry’s heart and soul and was the only girl he could ever truly love, no question about it, even if he could only do so from afar. Except now it wasn’t from afar! She was at most two feet away from him. A mere twenty-four inches, maybe less! At first that knowledge had caused a feverish hotness to flush his face and for his heart to pound away so hard that it left him dizzy. Then he realized the opportunity that he’d been presented with, and he moved his desk and chair just enough so he could see her in profile, and then he went about sketching her. Henry might not have been very good at math, but he’d always been a wiz at drawing. People, animals, inanimate objects like cars and spaceships, it didn’t matter. He could draw anything. His art teacher liked to say he was a natural.
Henry had already finished four sketches of Sally, and was starting his fifth, and he had to admit they were pretty good if he did say so himself. It would’ve been impossible for him to fully capture her immense beauty—not even Rembrandt or any of those other old-time dead painters would be skilled enough to do that, but he was pleased with his results so far. He had plans for what he was going to do with them. Later that night he’d start working on a new comic book, and he’d make Sally his superhero. Maybe when he was done with it he’d summon up the nerve to show her his work, and maybe if he did a good-enough job, it would help him win her heart.
Henry was adding the finishing touches to his fifth sketch of Sally when his notebook was lifted away from him. He stared in horror as Mr. Shapiro held his notebook and looked over the sketches he had drawn. As his horror grew, he silently pleaded for Mr. Shapiro not to tell Sally what he had done. It would be worse than death for him if that happened.
Mr. Shapiro shifted his eyes away from the notebook to give Henry a severe stone-faced look, and Henry felt his heart just about stop as he tried to will himself to die, not thinking he could survive what was coming.
Mr. Shapiro, in an exceedingly dry voice, said, “Mr. Pollard, I was curious what you were so assiduously scribbling in your notebook, and you can only imagine my surprise to see that you were in fact taking copious notes from my lecture. It is always rewarding for a teacher to find a student so attentive.”
Henry blinked several times, not quite believing what he had heard. Mr. Shapiro handed him back his notebook.
Raising an eyebrow, Mr. Shapiro said, “I will assume that moving forward you will continue to pay rapt attention on the classwork. Isn’t that true, Mr. Pollard?”
At first Henry couldn’t make sense of what had happened, and then he understood the mercy Mr. Shapiro had shown him, and he nodded his head furiously.
Mr. Shapiro gave Henry one last severe look before continuing with his explanation of how x could be derived from y and z given the two equations. Henry felt like a condemned man who’d miraculously been given a last-minute reprieve, and he forced himself for the rest of the class to ignore Sally’s presence, not even allowing himself a whiff of her fragrance. When the class ended, Mr. Shapiro asked Henry to stay behind so they could speak for a few minutes. Once the rest of the students had filed out of the classroom, Mr. Shapiro signaled for Henry to sit in a chair across from his desk.
“You do realize this is a math class and not art?”
Henry gulped as he fought to keep from crying.
Mr. Shapiro let out a sigh, his stern expression softening. “You are talented, I’ll give you that,” he said. “But I can’t have you spending class time drawing your fellow students, no matter how pretty they are. If I were forced to flunk you, it would not only reflect poorly on you, but on myself also. Do we understand each other?”
Henry felt tears leaking from his eyes and worming their way down his cheeks. “I will try harder, Mr. Shapiro, I promise.” He choked down a sob before blurting out, “Thank you so much for not telling Sally. I might’ve died if you had.”
“Yes, Mr. Pollard, I understand. Death by humiliation. Not the most pleasant way to go.” He paused, then added with a wistful smile, “I assure you almost every single math teacher alive can sympathize. And Mr. Pollard, I assure you also that you will certainly be trying harder. We will pick a day where we will meet after school each week so that we can bring your work to a passing level. Agreed?”
Henry nodded energetically. “Any day you want. Can I go now?”
Mr. Shapiro gave Henry an uneasy smile. “Just one more minute,” he said. “This may be a difficult lesson to learn, but Mr. Pollard, in life one must temper one’s expectations. One must be realistic, or we open ourselves up to crushing disappointments. For example, I don’t foresee you ever being an A student in math, but with enough hard work you should be able to earn a C. There’s nothing wrong with that. No shame whatsoever. Everybody has different aptitudes, different strengths, as you clearly have a strong aptitude in drawing.”
“I understand.”
Mr. Shapiro’s wistful smile weakened. He left his chair and sat on the edge of his desk so he was closer to Henry, his smile growing sadder as he continued to stare down at his student.
“The same can be true with affairs of the heart, although there the disappointment may be even more painful. Youthful crushes are natural, but as painful as they may turn out to be, they’re ultimately fleeting. Miss Klosky is very pretty, no doubt, but have you considered talking with Miss Bower? She’s a very nice girl. Smart, a good heart to her.”
Henry’s cheeks burned red as he realized Mr. Shapiro was telling him that Sally was well out of his league and that he should instead focus his attentions on Nancy Bower, a pear-shaped girl with braces, greasy hair, and bad skin. At that moment he never hated anyone more than he did Mr. Shapiro. Tears of anger welled in his eyes, but he’d be damned if he’d let Mr. Shapiro see him cry. He did, however, want his math teacher to hear the biting hatred in his voice as he thanked him for his concern, and then he was out of his chair and rushing to the door. Mr. Shapiro tried saying something else to him, but Henry ignored whatever it was and slammed the door shut behind him as he stepped into the hallway.
He was so caught up in his hurt that he didn’t notice that Mark Angler, Brad Black, and Tony Fausano were waiting for him. These three had tormented him since fifth grade when they nicknamed him the hog ogre after their teacher had read the class the book, Zeralda’s Ogre.
He noticed them, however, after one of them tripped him and sent him sprawling to the floor. Before he could gather himself another of them ripped his notebook out of his hands. A coldness filled his head and his world came crashing down around him after he’d gotten to his knees and saw that Brad Black was looking through his notebook. Brad flashed him the nastiest smile Henry had ever seen.
“I knew a dummy like you wouldn’t be taking any notes,” Brad said. “What were you going to do with these drawings? Beat off to them later? Huh, is that what little hoggies like you do?”
In a blind rush, Henry was on his feet, charging Brad, but Mark and Tony grabbed him and held him back. Brad ripped the drawings from the notebook and walked up to Henry’s face, his nasty smile turning into an exceptionally ugly leer.
“What do you think you were going to do just then?” Brad demanded as he held a fist up to Henry’s face and his spittle flew into Henry’s eyes. “You were going to fight me? If you tried that I’d punch you in the face so many times I’d pulverize it, maybe even make it uglier than it is now, if that’s possible.”
“Please, just give me back my drawings,” Henry pleaded.
Brad snorted out a laugh, then turned and yelled out, “Hey Sally, want to see what the hog ogre was doing in class?”
To Henry’s increasing dismay, Sally was standing only twenty feet away with several of her friends. At this point, he was begging Brad and the others to please let him go and to give him back his drawings, and then he was silently begging God for Sally not to come over, but none of his begging did any good. Sally and three of her friends wandered over, but all Henry could focus on was Sally, and how her beautiful face was marred by confusion. He’d been trying to break free of Mark and Tony’s grasp, but he gave up then.
Brad handed Sally the loose-leaf notebook pages, and as Sally looked at them with an inscrutable expression, Henry prayed that she’d recognize how devoted he was to her and that his love for her was pure, and that she would recognize the goodness in him, even if he did look like a hog ogre. It seemed like an eternity before she stopped studying those sheets of paper, although it could’ve only been seconds. During it all Henry’s insides had turned into a cold queasy mush, and he prayed that she’d say something kind, or at least look at him with kindness. He didn’t care any longer whether his love for her remained unrequited as long as he could continue to love her. When she finally looked at him, she did so with an inscrutable expression, and then as she stared into his eyes, her face contorted into something that wasn’t so beautiful any longer.
“Yuck,” she said.
She ripped the drawings up and let the torn-up pieces of paper flutter to the floor. She must’ve walked away with her friends then, but Henry was blind to that. He pulled himself free of Mark and Tony’s grasp, which wasn’t so hard since they were laughing themselves to tears. Then he ran from them, and kept running even though he was badly huffing and puffing shortly after leaving the school grounds. He was a mess, tears and snot streaming down his face, but he didn’t stop running until he’d covered the full three miles from the school to his house.