38

Unlikely Friendship

I hate this!”

Ted glanced over at Jake, who was complaining at the teacher’s desk.

“What’s wrong, Jake?”

“I don’t get it. Why do we have to do this anyway?”

“To exercise your brain,” Mr. Peters said, pointing at his head.

“Yeah, well, I know kids in other schools, and none of them have to do this kind of work. It’s too hard.”

“Would you rather get something easy?”

“Yes,” Jake blurted, surprised that he would be asked such an obvious question.

“Well, then you wouldn’t have to think.”

Jake rolled his eyes and stomped back to his desk. Mr. Peters followed him and leaned over his notebook.

“Can I help him?”

Mr. Peters and Jake glanced up at Ted, who was standing near Jake’s desk, swaying anxiously.

“Sure, Ted.” Mr. Peters was dumbfounded. “That…that would be great.”

Ted wondered who was most surprised at his offer—Jake, Mr. Peters, or himself. The teacher walked away and Ted pulled up a chair. Without making eye contact, he studied the page and pointed out where Jake had gone wrong. He drew an arrow from one part of the problem to another. Then he recalculated some of the numbers.

“Oh, I get it!” Jake exclaimed. Suddenly, he remembered that he shouldn’t display such enthusiasm. “Thanks,” he said bluntly.

Ted walked back to his desk with an air of satisfaction.

“Dylan?”

He looked up at Mrs. Evans, who was standing over his temporary desk.

“Come into my office, please.”

Dylan dropped his book and followed the principal.

“You’ve been working in the office very well over the past two days. I’m impressed by how calm you’ve been.”

Dylan lifted one shoulder.

“Dylan?” Mrs. Evans rubbed her eyes and exhaled heavily. “I have to talk to you about something. I know about the knives.” Dylan swallowed hard. His eyes shifted from her to his sweaty palms. “Your foster mother told me she found half a dozen knives hidden in various spots throughout your home.”

“I don’t need them anymore,” Dylan said flatly.

“Well, that’s good, but I’m a little concerned that you thought you needed them in the first place.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter because I don’t need them anymore,” he repeated.

“I’m also concerned that you went through my filing cabinet.”

Dylan glanced at her briefly and returned to studying his hands. “Yeah, well I don’t need them anymore, so we can drop it.”

“That’s not the point, Dylan. You invaded my privacy. You stole from me.”

“No!” Dylan cried indignantly. “You stole from me.”

“Okay, I can see that we aren’t going to get anywhere with this,” Mrs. Evans said angrily. “I’ve already explained why weapons are not allowed in school, so I’m not going to waste any more time talking to you about it. I’ll allow you to return to class tomorrow if you promise me that you won’t bring any more knives or weapons of any kind. Will you promise me that?

“Yes. I already told you that I don’t need them anymore.”

“Thank-you, Dylan. Now, continue with the work you’ve been doing, and at the end of the day, you can take your books back to class in preparation for tomorrow.”

Dylan was unusually quiet over the next two days. Mr. Peters enjoyed the change, but he was also concerned. Dylan was deep in thought most of the time, and he was slow to respond when spoken to. He got into small arguments over minor incidents, but for the most part, he was detached and uninvolved.

At the end of the week Mr. Peters stood at the window of his classroom and gazed out at the fine drizzle covering the schoolyard. “I love Fridays,” he said to himself.

The darkened skies had opened up that morning and left behind numerous puddles of various sizes and depths. Some of the students were marching through them while others huddled under the overhang. He noticed Ted, Sam, and a third, taller, boy leaning up against the wall, deep in conversation. A hood covered the bigger boy’s face.

“Who’s that?” Mr. Peters squinted.

Ted grabbed the taller boy by the shoulders and spun him around playfully. The three of them laughed.

“Hey, that’s Jake! Ted and Jake are friends now?”

The bell startled Mr. Peters out of his thoughts. Moments later, everyone proceeded noisily into the classroom. Most of them slid into the room in their stocking feet, carrying their indoor shoes. They gathered in the meeting area and talked quietly while tying up their laces. Everyone appeared to be in the room, and Mr. Peters was about to get started when Dylan flew in. He stepped over his classmates, soaking them with his dripping, muddy boots.

The teacher was just about to say something when Alex yelled, “Hey! Take your boots off.”

Dylan turned red. He spun around and flicked Lyle in the temple.

“Ow!” Lyle rubbed his head. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Go to your desk!” ordered Mr. Peters.

Dylan stomped out of the room, and Mr. Peters followed him.

Just as Dylan was about to throw the outside door open, Mr. Peters grabbed his arm. “What’s wrong, Dylan?”

Dylan turned and faced Mr. Peters. “I don’t need your crap anymore. Everyone is always picking on me.”

“I’m worried about you, Dylan.”

“Well you don’t have to be any longer because I’m leaving this stinking place. I heard the principal talking. She said I’m going to a new school…one that doesn’t suck!”

He threw open the door and it smashed against the outside wall. Mr. Peters was about to follow him, but the noise coming out of his classroom pulled him back.

A short time later, when all of the students were reading quietly, Mr. Peters glanced out the window and noticed a mysterious figure crouching in a corner of the compound. A giggle distracted him, and he turned to survey the room. He glared at Albert, who was swimming on the carpet.

“You’re not a fish, Albert.”

Albert turned red and flopped back into his seat. Mr. Peters turned back to the window. He rubbed the moisture off the glass and squinted through the mist. The figure was gone.