Twenty minutes is a long time . . .
. . . between classes if you think about how much stuff happens in the regular passing period, which is only five minutes. Entire lives change during passing period. Relationships begin. People get dumped. Weekend parties are planned. With the extra fifteen minutes between zero and first period, I’d already changed out of my yoga clothes and was walking to art class while most of the seniors were still cruising the senior lot looking for a place to park.
“Wait up, Hud-man!” Gus jogged up from behind just as I was closing the gap between myself and Alana, who was about ten paces ahead.
“Do me a favor, Gus,” I began. Was I being a jerk because of my empty stomach? Or the fact that Gus just ruined my next move with Alana (which wasn’t exactly planned out to be honest)? “Don’t call me Hud-man and I won’t call you . . .”
“Call me what?”
“Gus-man.”
“No problem.”
We walked in silence long enough for Gus to notice Alana in front of us. He nudged me in the ribs with his elbow, which succeeded in making me even crankier.
“You going to hit that?” he asked way too loudly.
“Hit what?” The hungry pit in my stomach turned to nausea.
“You know.” He nudged me again and I pushed his arm away. “That.” He motioned with his chin towards Alana who was possibly within hearing distance. At that moment, I was grateful the human ear points forward, not back.
“No, I’m not going to hit that,” I whispered hoarsely.
“Mind if I do?”
He didn’t wait for my answer. “How’d you like yoga today?” he bellowed at Alana’s back. The vine on the side of her neck twisted as she turned to look behind her. “Bet you’re feeling pretty sore.”
“Oh hey,” she said. I desperately wanted to protect her from his lunacy without identifying myself as his friend but saw no way out. “It was fun,” she smiled. “Easy. I’ve been doing yoga since I was ten.”
“I thought this was a beginner’s class, didn’t you, Hud-man . . .” he trailed off, warned by the fierce look in my eye. “Hud?”
“It fits with my schedule,” she said. “I talked to Miss Senger before class, and she said I could go at my own pace. Your name’s Hud?” She instinctively reacted the same way most people do when faced with a conversation with Gus. Change the subject and pivot away from him as quickly as possible. I felt a sudden wave of sympathy. It couldn’t be easy being Gus, no matter how much confidence he dripped.
“Hudson, actually.”
“You were in my Art History last year.”
“Yeah. You came at the end.”
“My father has a wacky job. We move around a lot.”
“Wacky?” Gus reinserted himself into the conversation. “What does he do?”
“Auditing for a bunch of big companies.”
Neither one of us knew what that meant, so we scrambled for a follow-up. Conversation would have been easier without Gus breathing down my neck, but to be fair, he probably felt the same way. Maybe I should have claimed Alana when he asked me. Should have told him I was going to “hit that.” I just couldn’t imagine those words coming out of my mouth.
“Heard you’re homeschooling this year.” How is it that Gus always knew everything about everyone? “Did you suddenly get religious or spend time in the slammer over the summer?” He laughed hard at that and then turned to Alana whose blank face demanded an explanation. “The only people who homeschool are religious kids and incorrigibles.”
Alana beamed her saucer eyes on me. “If you’re homeschooling, why are you here?”
“I’m only taking two classes. I leave after art . . . next period.”
“AP Art?”
“Yup.”
“I guess we’re in the same class again.”
“So why are you homeschooling?” Gus insisted.
“Senior year’s a waste of time. I’m trying to start a few businesses and need time to work on my novel.”
I didn’t feel the need to mention college was not in my future. I also wished for a trapdoor to suddenly open and swallow up Gus.
“Novel?” Alana’s wide eyes opened wider than I thought possible. “You’re writing a novel?”
“A graphic novel.”
I wasn’t exactly writing one but was sure thinking about it, and I had been ever since I’d discovered the genre and been swept up in it. There’d been some false starts and stops, but they hadn’t led to much.
“I’d love to see it sometime. What’s it about?”
“What kind of businesses are you starting?” Gus interrupted, and I was grateful I didn’t have to explain the graphic novel that didn’t yet exist.
“I have two.” This was true. I’d gotten the idea for my dog-walking business after listening to my neighbor’s dog bark all summer long. I had three clients. My neighbor’s one-eyed Chihuahua, driven to near-psychosis by long, endless days of boredom. A three-legged Labrador whose owner had emphysema. And a snow-white, perfectly-coiffed poodle that wanted nothing more than to go outside, but lacked the delivery system to get him there until I came along. I’d printed some cards and knocked on doors of houses where I’d seen or heard dogs before. “One’s a dog-walking business.”
“Dog walking?” Gus guffawed. “Give me a break. Your mom lets you be homeschooled so you can walk dogs? Dude, you must have her twisted around your little finger. What a scam!”
“What’s your other business?” Alana asked.
This one was tricky, but I was proud of the idea even though I only had one client. It seemed to me like an easy way to sit back and collect money with little or no expended effort, not that walking dogs took much. “You know those commercials on TV where an old person falls down and calls for help by pushing a button they wear around their neck?”
“You’re the guy who runs over to their house to pick them up after they fall down?”
If there was any doubt, I knew then that Gus was determined to make me look bad in front of Alana. It was all part of the “guys trying to impress girls” thing. If we were reindeer, we’d be butting horns. If we were beta fish we’d be fanning our fins at each other. But we were just two awkward guys trying to outwit each other. Or at least Gus was trying to outwit me, and I was trying to out-class him.
“So I started thinking,” I talked right over him, doing my best to ignore his last dig. “There are probably a lot of old people living by themselves who have problems that aren’t exactly emergencies but fall just under the level of emergency.”
“Yeah,” Alana stopped outside our classroom. This would be where I hoped to get rid of Gus. “I’ll bet there are. So what exactly would you do?”
She didn’t go inside so we all just stood there. Five minutes before class started.
“I give them a prepaid cell phone and program it with my direct number. Then they can call me anytime if they need me for an emergency right below the level of a 911 call.”
“Hah!” Gus snorted. I purposely avoided looking at him.
“Cool.” Alana smiled, and a tiny dimple formed in the middle of her chin. Right in between two of her three zits. I’d never noticed it before, probably because I’d never been that close. “Like, what would that be?”
I truthfully didn’t know, and, actually, I was hoping there wasn’t such a thing as an emergency right below the level of a 911 call. My plan was to charge a monthly rate and not have to do any work.
“Wow. So much stuff,” I said as seriously and mysteriously as possible.
Alana looked a little skeptical. “How many customers do you have?”
I looked down at the ground, wishing lying came more easily to me. “So far I only have one,” I said. “But my mom’s a nurse, and she has some leads. There’re a lot of upsides to the business since my costs don’t increase much as new business comes in. Same with the dog-walking.”
“But you can only walk so many dogs at one time,” Gus challenged.
“I can take different group of dogs out at different times if more business comes in.”
Gus’s mouth opened then closed silently like a fish. I’d finally succeeded in silencing him.
“I love dogs,” Alana said. “But I never got to have one since we moved around so much.”
“Maybe you can come with me to walk the dogs sometime.” It came out before I could stop myself. Idiot! And with Gus right there as an eyewitness . . . “If you want,” I added foolishly, like she didn’t know she had a choice in the matter.
“Yeah, maybe,” she said. “Bell’s about to ring. You going in?”
There were four chairs to a table, and I spotted two empty seats side by side. I moved quickly to claim them, assuming Alana was right behind me, and set my backpack down before noticing she was already across the room sliding into another chair obviously reserved for her by the looks of the jacket hanging over the back. And the guy next to her . . .I knew who he was. A nice enough guy. Decent artist. Okay-looking if you like that clean-cut, athletic kind of look. Tall. Bryce Something. Not the kind of guy I’d picture with Alana, but then again, neither was I. All right, maybe she had a boyfriend, and that wasn’t the worst thing in the world. There were still nineteen other girls in yoga class, including Penelope. There was still a whole school year in front of me. Or was Bryce Something maybe just a friend?
Alana glanced across the room and gave me one of those four finger fluttering type of waves. The kind that little kids use. And old ladies. And pretty girls.
>>>
1. Start art project
2. Walk dogs
3. Work on graphic novel for real
4. Do a little homeschool homework every day so I don’t have to cram for bi-monthly meetings
5. Empty dishwasher and wash dishes
The cell phone ringing two inches from my right ear rattled me back to consciousness. How was it already noon? Caller ID showed Mrs. Dickinson, my one and only emergency contact client. I coughed a few times and cleared my throat to get the sleep out of my voice.
“Mrs. Dickinson, are you calling for help?”
“Why, yes dear. Is it okay to call now?”
“It’s okay anytime you need me.” This was my first ever call, so the adrenaline was pumping. I hadn’t expected to get a call so soon, or actually even at all. Mom took the car to work which left me only with my bike, but Mrs. Dickinson was just four blocks down the street.
“I know you said I was only supposed to call for emergencies but . . .”
“No. Actually, for emergencies call 911. Call me for anything just less than an emergency.”
How well could I market this business if my one and only client didn’t even understand its purpose? But in fairness, neither did I.
“Well, that’s what I meant. This isn’t really an emergency, but it’s just less than one. I need help with my email. I’ve tried and tried to get onto my account, but it keeps saying . . . wait a minute, I wrote it down . . . invalid password. I know I’m typing it correctly because it’s my name.”
“Mrs. Dickinson . . .” The clock on the wall showed twelve, and I still hadn’t eaten breakfast. My stomach was growling, and nothing on my list had been checked off. The list I so optimistically created when I got home from school that morning. Was it only that morning? Alana? Gus? That morning?
“Mrs. Dickinson. Just give me twenty minutes and I’ll be there.”
“Please hurry,” she said.
Mrs. Dickinson did have a dog that, as far as I knew, was never allowed further than her mailbox. A chubby but mellow cocker spaniel that would be a perfect addition to my existing team of three dogs. All I needed was to slowly work Mrs. Dickinson into the idea, convincing her the dog needed socializing and exercise.
“I’ll be there in fifteen.”
“Can you make it in ten?