The intrusion of stinkbugs clumped on the ceiling in a back corner of the library, a splotch like crusty dried mud. Every now and then, a few bugs dropped onto the shiny green plant on the bookshelf beneath them.
Maybe in some schools, the library would have been evacuated. In Minnesota, with the school near so many cornfields that it might as well be planted in one, the librarian had simply left a note on the checkout desk that she had gone in search of a janitor. After a while, Will Nolan’s social studies teacher went looking for them both. Mr. Hanson probably wouldn’t have left the class of twenty-plus seventh graders alone if it weren’t first period and everyone still half asleep. Will was tempted to put down his head and nap, too, but instead he opened the book he’d been carrying around for weeks.
“Is that The American Revolution for Dummies?”
Will was a little surprised to see Eloy Herrera beside him. Eloy was new and hadn’t talked much in the two months since school started. Now he looked from Will to the distinctive yellow-and-black book Will was reading.
“Because that would be kind of awesome,” Eloy said.
Will tilted the cover so Eloy could read the title, Wrestling for Dummies. “Practice starts tomorrow.”
Will had been on the mats since kindergarten and was no “dummy,” but this year was different. This year he’d be joining the varsity and JV team, which included seventh-through twelfth-grade students. He’d wrestle with guys a lot older and a lot more experienced, guys who placed at state championships. Will wanted to prove he belonged. The book was one way to make sure he brought everything he could to the mat.
Eloy nodded, then just kind of stood there.
“That would be kind of awesome, though,” Will agreed. The American Revolution for Dummies would be more useful for the paper Mr. Hanson had assigned than the teacher’s insistence they use at least three references that were actual books and not websites. Teachers were so old-fashioned.
Eloy gestured at a seat opposite Will, and Will shrugged his OK. He’d taken one of the tables that sat eight so he and his best friends, Darryl and Simon, could spread out. But Darryl had sprawled on one of the couches while Simon poked at the stinkbugs with a metal pointer. Will would be shocked if either of them did any actual work that morning, so while Eloy sat and pulled out his books, Will rested his chin on his hands and went back to his.
Nose in chapter six, “Wrestling in the Right Mindset,” he read: A standard wrestling match lasts six minutes. If you stay focused and mentally tough for five minutes and fifty-five seconds, you’ll lose the match in the last five seconds. Will lost focus that way all the time during matches by thinking too much, caught up in what he should do or should have done until it didn’t matter anymore—he was pinned.
Focused and mentally tough. That was him from now on.
Until the potted plant, the one from the stinkbug hot zone, floated beside him.
He shouted and covered his head.
Simon waved the waxy green leaves near Will’s face again, adding a ghostly “ooo” while Darryl laughed.
Focused and mentally tough, Will reminded himself.
Stinkbugs were bad for crops, damaging leaves, stems, and fruit, but they didn’t hurt people; they weren’t biters or stingers. The smell wasn’t even that bad unless the bugs felt threatened.
“Stunts like this are why you’re not known for your good ideas,” Will said to Simon.
Darryl, Simon, and Will had met in kindergarten and had years of bad ideas behind them. Of course, the smack talk would have been more effective if Will’s voice hadn’t cracked. Stupid puberty.
Darryl smirked, then slapped Will’s book closed. “Why are you even reading that? You’re definitely making the team.”
Actually, all Will had to do to “make” the team was show up and not quit, but Darryl’s confidence was still a boost.
“You should join, too,” Simon told Darryl. “I’d pay money to see you in one of those bodysuits.”
Darryl reached to hook Simon into a headlock. “They’re called ‘singlets,’ and they’re not a joke.”
Simon ducked away, the plant sprinkling stinkbugs onto the table and carpet.
“Careful!” Will said.
Their antics drew attention from several now-less-sleepy people nearby, including Eloy, who watched Darryl cut left and right to block Simon against the table. But that only made Simon laugh and duck and spin and otherwise fake trying to get away—while still brandishing the bug-bearing foliage.
“Will looks like a Tootsie Roll stuffed into that thing,” Simon joked. “One of those miniature ones cheapskates hand out at Halloween.”
Darryl knocked him back against the table for real.
“Hey!” Simon said.
Darryl got in close to Simon, chest out. “Will’s one of us. You make fun of him, other people will think they can, too.” He glared at the onlookers, making them drop their gazes, and landed on Eloy, who only cocked an eyebrow before cutting his eyes to Will, making Will shrug. Darryl got touchy about stupid stuff all the time, and Simon had a knack for setting him off without meaning to.
While Will wasn’t wild about being compared to a tiny Tootsie Roll, it wasn’t as if Simon was wrong. The Lycra singlets were designed so an opponent couldn’t control a wrestler by grabbing his clothes; they were basically a tight tank top and bicycle shorts combined into a one-piece, and no one looked good in them.
“I was only joking,” Simon huffed.
“You’re always joking,” Darryl said through clenched teeth.
“We’ve got other problems,” Will said to distract them and because they did: Lots of stinkbugs were on the loose.
The library’s large windows let in a creamy, November-morning light that glowed softly on the warm brown of the octagonal table—and now on the gray-brown of the dozen stinkbugs on its surface. They bobbled like weather-worn boats on a calm sea.
Will reached for his book, carefully tilting stinkbugs off its slippery yellow cover.
Eloy pushed back his seat, except the chair legs stuck on the carpeted floor, and he ended up jostling the table.
“Nobody move!” Simon thrust out his hands, dislodging a last few die-hard bugs from the plant, which he finally set down—in front of Will.
“To heck with that,” Darryl said. He yanked Wrestling for Dummies from Will and made to smash bugs.
They’d all crushed stinkbugs before, on dares or by accident, but usually only one at a time. Will didn’t want to find out the nasal damage squishing a lot of them at once could do.
Will threw himself in front of Darryl at the same time Eloy said, “Are you crazy?!”
“No one asked you, cholo,” Darryl snapped back.
Will inhaled sharply. It felt like the world went into slo-mo.
Darryl’s face went red, like he knew he’d crossed a line, but his jaw squared, too—he wasn’t taking anything back.
Eloy narrowed his eyes like he planned to cross some lines, too, but Will just looked at the new kid in his jeans and maroon Golden Gophers T-shirt—a weird choice, since most people wore the Vikings’ colors, not the University of Minnesota’s. He was shorter than Will, which gave him a nice low center of gravity, and he looked solid, kind of shaped like a rectangle. He’d be hard to maneuver on the mat if he ever wrestled. Will wasn’t exactly tall, but Eloy made him feel like a beanpole.
Why the heck had Darryl called him a name like that? Will wasn’t sure it was actually a bad name, but Darryl sounded like he’d meant it to be.
It wasn’t as if Eloy was the only Hispanic kid in the school or even in their class. A quarter, maybe a third, of Triton students were Hispanic, enough that rooms had Spanish signs beside the doors like the one to the Laboratorio de Computación right behind him. As far as he knew, none of the Hispanic kids needed the signs; they all talked like everyone else Will knew. Mom said the signs were for some of the parents who didn’t speak great English yet, to make them feel more welcome at the school and get them to attend more events and stuff.
The silence had gotten too loud. The entire class was looking their way, and Will felt that he should say something, but his brain was stuck. Darryl was quick to lose his temper and sometimes blurted stupid stuff he didn’t mean the way it sounded, but Eloy didn’t know that.
“Listen,” Will said, though he didn’t have anything for them to listen to. He was probably freaking over nothing anyway. Darryl was a decent guy. Look at how he’d defended Will about the wrestling singlet. And Eloy didn’t look like he was going to cry or anything.
But it still felt like something was digging at Will’s gut.
“Uh, Will?” Simon pointed at Will’s chest.
When Will looked down, he was face-to-face with a stinkbug.