From the far end of the hall, a message comes rolling through the crowd. I keep my eyes on the books in my locker, pretending not to notice that people are saying my name. They are calling it to each other, person to person, till eventually a breathy tenth grader walking by me says, “Phone’s for you.”
I look up at the crowd of kids walking from the gym toward the lockers. A bunch of them point behind them to the open gym doors and the pay phone on the wall. Next to the phone stands one of those kids that’s built like a ruler. He holds the phone up with a long arm and yells, his voice bouncing down the hall, “You want me to take a message?”
I shake my head and try to shout, “No . . . I’ll get it,” but my voice doesn’t carry at all.
The breathy girl rolls her eyes and yells, “He’s coming!”
The crowd doesn’t exactly part as I push through, but it doesn’t push back against me either.
The long-like-a-ruler kid is saying into the phone, “Here he is . . .”
He hands me the phone and walks away. The hall is emptying out, and the bell rings. I’ll be late for English. I press the phone to my ear.
“Hello?”
I wait for the voice of Chris or Bean or whoever it is that’s calling to tell me my break from being whipping boy is over.
“Donnie?”
Maybe they got Bean’s sister to call.
“Yeah. This . . . This is Donnie.” I grip the phone, ready to slam it back down on the receiver.
“It’s Amanda!”
I drop the receiver. It cracks against the wall before I can pick it up again.
“. . . you all right, Donnie?”
“I’m fine. Sorry. Dropped the phone. How’d you get this number?”
“Karen got it last year. We used to call each other when one of us was home sick. How are you?”
I have no idea how to answer the question.
“I’m—”
I’m interrupted by someone yelling “Woo doggie!” into the phone. I have to pull it away from my ear. I press it close
again when I hear a familiar voice.
“What’s up, kid?” I don’t believe this. “Bobby?”
“Yep.”
I’m speechless.
“Dude, he’s speechless,” Bobby says to Amanda. She gets back on the phone.
“He’s just passing through, Donnie.”
In the background I can hear Bobby yell, “Yeah, that’s one way to say it.” Amanda laughs.
“We wanted to check up on you. How’s school?”
I shrug.
“Do you hate us? I didn’t want to tell you about . . . us.” I hear her whisper to Bobby, “He’s really mad!”
“I’m not mad,” I say, which falls only partly in the total-load-of-crap category.
Bobby gets back on the phone.
“School okay?”
I laugh.
“Sorry,” he says. “Stupid question.”
“That’s all right. School’s fine. Three more years, right?”
“Drop out now and it’s no more years.”
I can almost feel whatever it is Amanda has thrown hit him in the head.
“Ow! I take it back, Donnie. Be cool, stay in school. Don’t do drugs . . .”
“Donnie.” Amanda’s back on the phone.
“Amanda,” I say.
“You should come visit me.” There’s a muffled shout behind her, and then she says, “Us. You should come visit us.”
“Okay,” I say.
“Call me and tell me when you’ll come. Dad can talk to your mom, tell her it’s all right. Now, go to class.”
“All right. Bye.”
They shout good-bye multiple times, till I hang up.
Ha! I think. Phones for me.