11
“Wow,” said Jess, emerging from behind a yellow SUV. “That was just spectacular.”
“Dude is good,” said Stew, his head popping out from behind a shrub.
Freddie eyed them suspiciously. He grinned at Duncan, pressing him a bit harder against the hot metal of the Monte Carlo’s trunk.
“Friends of yours, loser?”
"Y-yes,” said Duncan. “We’re a band. The Blow—whoops, no. We’ve changed our name. We’re called Fat Barbie. We’ve been playing together for—”
“That’s way more information than I need, dork.”
Freddie shoved Duncan higher up onto the car and pressed his face against the rear windshield. Out of the corner of his eye, Duncan could see a small blond girl sitting in the front, watching the confrontation. She looked a little irritated.
Jess crept gingerly along the front end of the SUV.
“So,” she said, “Duncan was just wondering if he could ask you something, Freddie. It’s more of an offer, really—a good one.”
Freddie loosened his grip slightly. “What a friendly school this is turning out to be,” he said. He stared intently at Duncan ’s face. “Looks like you get yourself beat up from time to time. Maybe you shouldn’t sneak up on people so much.”
“You’re absolutely correct,” said Duncan. “There’s no question. It was foolish. I regret my sneaking. Won’t happen again.” He paused. “The black eye is actually from a band-related garage accident, though. A speaker fell and—”
“Don’t care, dingleberry. Not even a little.”
The tiny blond girl’s head poked out of the driver’s-side window. “What the hell, Fred? Get in the car.”
“Hold on,” called Freddie. “This dorkball is trying to ask me something. I’ve gotta say no, and then I have to make him regret asking. So I’ll be a minute.”
“Oh, no,” said Duncan. “No, don’t say no until you’ve heard the pitch. Really. It’s nothing too difficult. Minimal effort on your part. My friends and I, we have the greatest respect for your talent. You’re the man.”
“An artist,” said Jessie.
“A natural,” added Stew.
“We know,” said Duncan. “We’ve been investigating the local bully population, and you’re really off the map. What we saw today in gym? Let’s just say we were impressed, Freddie—and you’ve impressed the right people.”
Freddie, perplexed, loosened his grip a bit more, allowing Duncan to sit forward.
“I’ll tell you what I’m looking for,” he continued. “I need—for reasons that I can’t really disclose—a bully. A personal bully. It’s not like you’d be on my private staff or anything. I have no staff. I’m not made of money. But I’m looking to pay for à la carte bullying services.”
Freddie stared.
“And I’m not looking for someone to bully other people on my behalf, just so you know,” said Duncan. “Nothing like that. No, I need someone to bully me. Preferably around school, and at times that are mutually convenient. Starting, like, as soon as possible. All you really have to do is subject me to some prearranged abuse, and I’ll give you, say, forty bucks?”
Freddie kept staring.
“Fifty?” asked Duncan. “Really, I have very limited resources, and most of it goes toward sound equip—”
“That’s totally deranged, freak.”
“But you’ll consider it?”
“Look,” said Freddie, “like you said, I’m a bully. We have a tradition of taking lunch money, property, valuables. Whatever we need, we take. There are income streams available to me. I don’t need your cash.”
“Fred!” yelled the blond girl, again sticking her head out the window. “I think it’s great that you’re trying to make new friends and all, but let’s go.”
“Just a seco—”
“Now!” she hollered. “Stop the violence, madman.”
Freddie tossed Duncan from the trunk. “We’re done,” he said. “And if I bully you, it’ll be for pleasure.”
“So you won’t help?”
“I’m not helpful,” said Freddie, opening the car door.
“I can write a pretty mean comparative essa—”
Freddie slammed the door shut. The girl revved the Monte Carlo’s engine, and Duncan stepped aside. Then he watched them back up and pull out of the lot.
“Bummer,” said Stew.
“Total bummer,” said Jessie. “The thugs aren’t buyin’ that comparative essay stuff you’re sellin’.”
“I think I’m lucky to be alive,” said Duncan. “That crazy chick at the wheel saved my life.” He watched the Monte Carlo speed away from school. “But yeah, bummer. Now I’m finished.”
Duncan sulked on the ride home (though he tried to appear somewhat cool), sulked upstairs to his room (though he tried to seem stoic and emotionless), and sulked as he emptied the contents of his backpack onto his bed (alone, he was just himself: bummed). He fell into the chair at his desk, sulking, and played a somber mix of punk and power ballads on iTunes. Then he grabbed his journal from the mess of school trash.
ENTRY #12, SEPTEMBER 26
I hope you got your fix of my analytical skills in Entry 11, ’cuz that’s not on the menu today. . . .
EFTHS: where life can suck on a dime. As great as things were going—no, as f*#@!ng great as things were going—when I issued the previous update on my non-English-class life, that’s how galactically bad things are going now. Without going into all the whys and hows and whos (although you can pretty much assume it involves a girl, given the blunt emotional extremes and the use of partially redacted profanity), let’s just say that I am now feeling like Nick Carraway riding in the victoria with Jordan Baker. Except we’re not in a stylish touring car, but a crappy Chrysler product with 140,000 miles on the odometer. And there’s not actually a girl in the car at all, but more an idea of a girl.
“There are only the pursued, the pursuing, the busy and the tired.”
I’m those last three.
Duncan’s laptop made a fluttery beeping noise. An IM had arrived. He tossed the journal aside, then threw his pen at a bulletin board as if he were a circus knife-thrower. He sighed, then leaned over the keyboard to type.
He wasn’t really laughing. Duncan sighed. He was still more or less sulking. He typed lazily.
Again, Duncan was not really rolling or laughing. He was just trying to seem not completely self-absorbed and frumpy. Although, in fact, he was both.
Talia’s small pigtailed head peeked into his room. “Hey, Mom says you’ve gotta come downstairs to eat, okay?”
“Sure thing, T,” he said. “How was school today?”
“Fine,” she said. “We’re learning to play the recorder. There’s going to be a concert and everything. Can I join your band if I get good?” She smiled.
“Totally,” he said. “Our woodwind section is a little light.”
Talia skipped away. Duncan spun back to the keyboard.
Conversation over dinner was nonspecific, light, and surfacey. Except, that is, for a short exchange that involved Freddie.
“Hey, um . . . Mom,” began Duncan. “What’s the story with this new kid, Freddie Wambaugh? He’s one of yours, right?”
His mom brought a forkful of asparagus to a halt halfway between her plate and mouth.
“What have you heard?” she asked. “Did he do something to you? Are you all right?”
“Yeah,” said Duncan, looking at his food. “I’m totally fine. He did nothing. He’s in my gym class, that’s all. Freddie’s first day of soccer with Coach Chambliss left three people wounded and the rest of us permanently scarred. He’s a terrifying dude.”
“Well, I’m not really allowed to discuss other students with you, Duncan. And you know that.”
“Okay,” he said. “Just curious, that’s all.”
“But yes,” she added, “he is a sizeable person.”
A brief silence followed.
“High school is scary,” observed Talia.
“You have no idea,” Duncan and his mom said simultaneously. She ate her asparagus while he swirled his mashed potatoes.
“So can you tell me where Freddie’s from?” he asked his mother.
“Boundaries, honey.” She chewed. “Weren’t you just telling me about the importance of boundaries? Anyway, why not just ask him yours—?” She paused. “No, don’t ask him. Avoid contact.”
Another silence.
“Why is Coach Chambliss called ‘Coach’ anyway? Did he like the sitcom? Does he like expensive leather handbags?”
“He used to coach girls’ softball.”
“When?”
“About ten years ago, until . . .” She paused again, then rested her utensils on her plate.
“Until?” asked Duncan.
“Until an anger-management issue came to light.” She cleared her throat. “Anyone need more ham?”
“Freddie seems to have those,” said Duncan.
“Boundaries, honey,” said his mom. “Boundaries.”
