Dweller - Jeff Strand [6]
At least his sandwich was good. Mom had made an outstanding dinner last night, and the leftovers were even better in sandwich form.
“What’re you drawing?” asked J. D. Jerick, through a mouthful of potato chips.
“Nothing.”
“Let me see it.”
Toby shook his head. He’d fallen for this before. J.D. had expressed an interest in his art, and Toby had proudly explained exactly how the robot’s jet pack functioned in zero gravity. Then J.D. had let out a donkeylike laugh, grabbed Toby’s notebook, and showed it to everybody at the table. Robots weren’t cool at Orange Leaf High.
“C’mon, I just want to see what you’re drawing.”
“No way.”
“I’m not gonna do anything.”
Toby closed his notebook. There wasn’t much he could do when he was overpowered by physically imposing bullies like Larry and Nick, but J.D. was a different kind of bully, and Toby wasn’t threatened by him at all.
J.D. made a lunge for the notebook, but Toby slid it out of the way. “Just let me see it, Zit Farm. What is it, naked pictures of the teachers?” He raised his voice. “You really shouldn’t be drawing naked pictures of teachers, Toby Floren!”
Toby gave him the finger.
“By the way, you reek. What have you been doing, swimming in the toilet?”
Toby gave him the finger with both hands.
“Loser,” said J.D.
Toby returned his attention to his notebook and his sandwich while the other kids at the table laughed. Why were they on J.D.’s side? Couldn’t they see that he was a complete cretin?
He sketched for a few more minutes, knowing that J.D. was watching him and wasn’t going to let the matter drop.
“What’re you drawing?” J.D. finally repeated.
Toby held up the picture: a hand giving the finger.
J.D. frowned, obviously not thinking that the drawing was very funny. Toby grinned, but stopped grinning when he saw Mr. Hastings staring right at the drawing from across the lunchroom. The teacher made a beeline toward him, and Toby knew that his day was about to get even worse.
Toby wanted to take a shower when he got home, but he wasn’t up to explaining the need for the shower to Mom. He also didn’t want her to think that he had a different, much more private reason for taking a shower at an unusual time. Though he supposed he could just make something up, he’d probably get caught in the lie—he had an active fantasy life, but his skills at deceit were almost nonexistent.
“I’m home!” he shouted out, hurrying up the stairs to his room and hoping that Mom wouldn’t ask him to sit with her in the living room and talk about his day.
“Do you have any homework?” Mom called up to him.
“Lots!” he called back. He dumped his backpack on his bed, then pulled out the unnecessary books. He had to do about twenty math problems, a 250-word essay on chapters six and seven of Robinson Crusoe, and study for a history quiz. No problem. He picked up the backpack, slung it over his shoulder, and headed back downstairs.
“Where are you going?” Mom asked. She was seated on the living room couch, half watching television while writing a letter. She wrote to Grandma once a week, every week, and had ever since she married Dad, even though she hadn’t mailed the letters for a couple of years.
“Woods.”
“I thought you said you had homework?”
He lifted his shoulder, bouncing the backpack. “It’s in here.”
“Oh, okay. Good.”
Toby grinned. “See how easy your life is, having a son who’s so diligent about his homework?”
“It is. It’s very relaxing.”
“Because, you know, there are a lot of dumb and lazy kids out there.”
“I know.”
“I’ll be back before Dad gets home.”
Toby walked about half a mile into the woods, to his favorite spot. Two trees had grown together at the base, forming a surprisingly comfortable seat where the trunks split apart. He set his backpack on the ground, sat on the trees, and began to work through some math problems. Math was his least favorite subject outside of physical education, but he liked Mr. Hesser’s nerdy sense of humor, and paid enough attention to ace every