Mr. Adams was on curb patrol. That meant we could pretty much do whatever we wanted as long as no one got thrown into the street and run over by a car. Mr. Adams was one of the youngest teachers at Lorne Crest. I guess he still remembered what being a kid felt like.
Mr. Adams gave me a high five when he saw me waiting with Jake and Pierre. “Hey, Lucas,” he said, “I was talking to my cousin, Jeanette, over the weekend. She teaches at Lasalle Regional.”
Uh-oh. Jeanette Adams had been my grade six English teacher. Now that I thought about it, she and Mr. Adams looked alike. They were both short, with dark skin and dark almond-shaped eyes.
“She told me your nickname, and to be honest, Lucas, it took me by surprise.”
My body stiffened. Uh-oh, I thought. Now the guys are going to know the truth: Before I came to Lorne Crest, I was as nerdy as Sandeep Singh. I tried staring at Mr. Adams, hoping that would make him stop, but he didn’t get the message. My face felt hot.
Jake rocked on the balls of his feet. “So what was Lucas’s nickname?”
I remembered the fun I’d had at Jake’s on Saturday and wondered if I’d ever get invited over there again.
Mr. Adams slapped me on the back. “Brainiac,” he said.
I gulped. Maybe I could talk my way out of this. “I—uh—don’t think so. Your cousin must’ve mixed me up with someone else.”
“I don’t think so either,” Pierre piped in. “Not with the mark he just got on our science quiz.”
Mr. Adams’s eyes narrowed. “I get it,” he said, nodding. “Jeanette must have you mixed up with someone else. Someone with a brain.”
That made the other guys laugh. “Luke’s got a brain,” Jake said, elbowing me, “only he hardly ever uses it.”
Pierre was pulling out an ad from one of the Plexiglas holders over the windows. The ad had a blue and white peace sign on it.
Georgie laughed as he read the wording: “Paix sur l’autobus. Paix sur la terre.” That was French for “Peace on the bus. Peace on Earth.”
“What a joke!” Georgie said.
Valerie shot Georgie a dirty look. Judging by the sticker on her Mp3 player, she was pretty serious about the subject of peace.
Once Pierre fished the whole ad out, he tore it into ribbons and passed the ribbons around. The rest of us scrunched the paper into balls and hurled them toward the front of the bus. Some of the kids at the front tried ignoring us; others threw the paper balls back at us. It was almost as good as a snowball fight.
Jewel chu’s eyes widened, and when she covered her mouth with her hand, I started to wonder what was freaking her out. As I turned around, I heard a chorus of “oohs” and then Jewel saying, “That’s so gross! How could she?”
Kelly Legault, who was sitting two rows behind me, had climbed onto Georgie Papadopoulos’s lap and was checking out his tonsils. At least that’s what it looked like.
That Kelly Legault was hot all right. I couldn’t help wondering what kissing a girl that way would feel like. Pretty good, I guessed.
“Free show!” Jake called out.
Then everyone at the back started clapping. Jewel Chu looked like she was about to throw up.
When the bus stopped at a red light, Jake nudged me. “Hey, Brainiac,” he said, handing me a tub of yogurt. “I dare you to dump this on that car’s windshield. Jake used his chin to point at a shiny black Nissan with tinted windows. It looked like it had come straight from the car wash.
One of the things about hanging out with the cool guys is that sometimes you have to make split-second decisions. This, I realized, was one of those times. If I said no, Jake would think I was a wimp. And who knew what kind of trouble I could get into if I said yes?
If only the light would turn green.
But it stayed red.
Pierre’s pale blue eyes were shining. “Go for it, man!” he said.
I took a deep breath and grabbed the plastic tub from Jake. “Just don’t call me Brainiac!”
Jake grinned. Then he leaned over and opened the window a little wider.
Now other kids were watching me too. I guess they were bored of gawking at Kelly and Georgie.
“Come on!” Pierre called out.
There were other voices too, egging me on. “Yeah, Lucas, do it!”
The last thing I noticed as I threw the tub of yogurt out the window was that it was field berry. It seemed like a weird thing to notice.
I’d aimed for the middle of the Nissan’s windshield. I couldn’t help feeling proud when I saw the yogurt tub explode as it made contact with the glass. A second later, the entire windshield was splattered with pink goop.
Jake clapped my back.
“Look what he did!” someone at the front of the bus called out.
The kids at the back were all laughing. They laughed even harder when the driver of the Nissan turned on his windshield wipers. Now there were goopy pink arcs on the windshield. “He’s only making it worse!” Pierre yelled.
Even though throwing the yogurt was probably the worst thing I’d ever done, it felt good. Liberating, I guess you could say.
But this other part of me was watching the traffic light. It was still red. Was it broken or what?
What happened next seemed to take place in slow motion—the way bad things usually do. The door to the Nissan popped open. A man with a flushed face, wearing a shirt and tie, got out.
I felt a pit at the bottom of my stomach.
The light was still red.
The man made a fist.
The light turned green. Gun it, I thought, hoping somehow the driver would hear my wish. But he didn’t gun it.
He yanked on the hand brake. The man with the tie marched over to the front of the bus. He raised his palm in the air like he was directing traffic.
“Hey, this is great!” Jake shouted. “Better than the movies!”
I wasn’t so sure.