Chapter Twenty

Garrison

Tuesday, October 17

Dear Mrs. Herrera,

I have a confession to make.

I’m not who you think I am.

Okay, maybe in some ways I really am who you think I am. You think I’m a jock, and I am a jock. I play AAU football in the fall and travel lacrosse in the spring. Football’s my number one sport, but I have to give it up in ninth grade. My dad played college ball and even went to the NFL’s Combine in February of his senior year. But he didn’t get drafted, so he let football go and went back to school to get a business degree. Now he’s glad he did, because a bunch of his buddies who played in the NFL are starting to have some serious health problems from too many concussions and injuries. That’s why I can’t play in high school, even though the rules are changing and the safety equipment’s a lot better now.

There’s things about being a jock that I like, and some things that I don’t. The most obvious is that I like playing sports. I like the way I’m tired in a really good way at the end of the day. I feel used up, like I put everything I had out there. That’s what my lacrosse coach says, leave it all on the field, don’t save anything for later.

What don’t I like? Getting automatically lumped in with a group of people, like everyone who’s an athlete is exactly the same. It wasn’t like that in elementary school. I mean, there were some people who were good at sports, like me and Carson, and some people who stunk up the gym, like Stefan and Bart, but being good at sports was just one part of who you were. Just one part of who people thought you were. And I had friends who weren’t into sports, like Jason Donnell, who’s in Mrs. Logan’s homeroom this year, and nobody acted like we shouldn’t be friends because I played sports and he didn’t, except for swimming.

Last year nobody called me a jock, and this year everybody does. I’m in a category now, so people think they know all about me. They think I think I’m cool (I’m not), and they think I’m probably dumb (even though I’m in pre-algebra with Stefan and Ben), and they think every girl’s in love with me and that I’m into all the hot girls. Girls keeping texting me and asking me who I like and who I think is hot and who I’m taking to the dance. One girl texted me a selfie with her tongue sticking out. I think she was trying to be sexy or something, but it was sort of gross. My mom checks my texts, and when she saw that one, she was totally freaked out. She called the girl’s mom, and the girl’s mom yelled at my mom. She said that boys like me force girls to act that way.

I don’t even know what she was talking about. I don’t even like girls. I mean, not like that. Not yet anyway. But everyone thinks that I do or I should or that I should be all happy because a girl wants to text me a picture of her tongue hanging out.

You might think I’m the kind of guy who likes sitting at a crowded cafeteria table with all the other jocks and girls like the tongue-texting girl, but I don’t. I mean, yeah, I sit at that table, mostly because I don’t know where else to sit. That’s where people expect me to sit. One time I tried sitting with Ethan, Rogan, and Cole, but they acted all goofy, even though Ethan and I went to the same lacrosse camp this summer and played on the same team in fourth grade.

The good thing that happened that day? Ethan was talking about this book you gave him called Hatchet and how it was the most awesome book ever. The more he talked about it, the more I wanted to read it. The more he talked about it, the more I wanted to be Brian, a kid stranded on a desert island with only his wits and a hatchet to survive. That sounded like the coolest thing ever.

I went to the library, but Hatchet was checked out. Ethan had the copy from the book nook. That only left one copy. Your copy.

I took it on Friday afternoon, thinking that I’d bring it back Monday morning and you’d never know it was gone. It didn’t even feel like stealing to me. It just felt like borrowing without permission. I’m pretty sure there’s a difference. Besides, I felt like I had to read that book right away. It’s like I needed it to survive.

Remember the girl who sent me that text? The night before I stole Hatchet, she sent me another one. It was a picture of her in her nightgown. It wasn’t like she was showing anything, but it wasn’t supposed to be this innocent picture, either. I deleted it before my mom could see it, and I blocked her, but it bugged me even more than the first one. Why did she keep sending me this stuff? Did she think I liked it? Did she think I liked her? Why would she think that? I’d never even spoken to her.

I know I’m supposed to like getting those texts. You probably think I do. But I don’t. So when Ethan was talking about this kid getting stranded on an island in the middle of nowhere, I was like, Dude, take me there now. Seriously. Because I’d rather be roughing it on a deserted island than dealing with that girl and her crap.

I don’t have to tell you that it’s an awesome book. You might not think I’d be into camping or fishing or survival stuff like that, but I totally am. My dad’s big on camping, so he takes me and my little sister Florence on camping trips in the fall, after football season’s over. My mom stays home because she refuses to sleep on the ground.

You might not think I’m the kind of person who would read the same book three times in one weekend, but I am. It helped that my game got rained out Saturday and I didn’t have a lot of homework. And it helped that I could totally see myself in Brian’s shoes, except for the part about wanting to be rescued. Me, I’d rather be left alone for a while. I mean I know I’d get lonely. I’d miss my family and I’d miss playing football. But sometimes being alone just seems easier. Nobody’s saying, You’re supposed to be this way or You’re supposed to be that way. You can just be who you are, no comment.

Anyway, I meant to give Hatchet back on that Monday, but I left it at home by accident. I left it home by accident for a week. My mom says that sometimes I do things accidentally on purpose. To be honest, I might not have ever brought it back, but yesterday I heard about how you’re probably going to get fired because you’re letting some homeless kid hang out in your classroom. I hope that doesn’t happen, but if it does, I think you should read this book again.

I think you might need Hatchet more than I do right now.

Your student,

Garrison

PS I heard the homeless kid is Sam. Is that true?