Jack_ Secret Vengeance - F. Paul Wilson [8]
The caf was like a medieval kingdom with all sorts of fiefdoms. The jocks had their domain, which cut across classes but kept out non-jocks. The brainiacs had their groups, the bow-heads and big-hairs had theirs.
And then there were the pineys. They didn’t seem to fit in anywhere. Jack guessed it was because they looked different.
A dozen or so sat at two tables in one of the corners. All wore odd, mismatched, ill-fitting clothes—no Swatches, Puma sneakers, parachute pants, or Jordache jeans at that table. Their biggest sin, Jack figured, was being too poor to afford all that stuff.
Some kids, like Jake Shuett, seem to have it in for the pineys, calling them retards and inbreds. A lot of folks talked about brothers and sisters or first cousins getting together and having kids. Jack didn’t know if that was hot air or not. He did know that some pineys—Lester Appleton was a good example—sure didn’t look right.
He spotted Elvin Neolin, a pint-size frosh from his civics class, getting up from his seat next to a girl with snow-white hair. They exchanged nods as they passed. Elvin had ruddy skin, black spiky hair, and dark eyes. A lot of Lenape Indian in him from the look of it. Not much of a talker, but he seemed like a good kid.
But where was Weezy? He wanted to hear how her morning had gone. This “Easy Weezy” stuff could last only so long before everyone got tired of it.
Or so he hoped.
He found a table with the girls she usually ate with, but she wasn’t there.
“Where’s Weezy?” he said.
A couple of them glanced up and looked through him like he wasn’t there. Another said, “You mean Easy?”
The others giggled.
Jack gripped the end of their table and leaned on it. It took all his will not to tilt it and tip their lunches into their laps.
“No. I mean Weezy. Where is she?”
Maybe he was radiating something, because the nearest girl leaned away and said, “She disappeared between algebra and social studies. We heard she went home sick.”
“Hey, maybe it’s morning sickness!” someone else said, and this cracked up the table.
Jack stalked away before he said or did anything stupid. He wandered into the locker area that lined the hallway running between the main class building and the caf. There he saw Carson Toliver, in the flesh, closing his locker door, spinning the dial on his combo lock, and sauntering down the hall.
Jack felt his anger come to a boil but held it in check. No point in starting something he couldn’t finish. And no point in drawing attention to himself as Weezy’s defender. Who knew? Some odd accident might befall this guy, or something bad might happen to his precious car, and Jack didn’t want any suspicion—unwarranted, of course—aimed his way.
He had a few minutes before his next class, so he followed.
Didn’t take long for Jack to start shaking his head in wonder. The guy was amazing. Mr. Popularity. Girls would go, “Hiiii, Carrrrsonnnn,” as he passed and he’d wave and smile back to one and all, pretty or not. Jack could watch the googly-eyed, weak-kneed, ga-ga reactions in his wake. The heartthrob of SBR. Made him sick. If only they knew.
But girls weren’t the only ones after his attention. Guys looked for high fives, or even a simple nod, anything to be acknowledged by Carson Toliver, varsity hero. And Toliver ate it up. All he needed was a white suit coat draped over his shoulders and he could have been playing Don Fanucci from Godfather II.
Jack remembered with relish what the young Vito Corleone had done to Don Fanucci.
Then a surprise. They came upon Teddy Bishop and his goon buddy Joey hassling little Elvin Neolin, pushing him around. Jack had had a run-in with them over the summer. Nearly got his face rearranged. Everyone else in the hall was ignoring the scene, but as Toliver passed he made a sudden turn and shoved Teddy against the wall.
“He’s kinda little for a big guy like you to be messing with, don’t you think?” he said.
Teddy was a junior and probably weighed as much as Toliver, but he was