Slob - Ellen Potter [24]
SLOB
I knew the handwriting so well—the neat, round curves, the slight hook on the top of the L. My right hand held the paper and my left hand pressed against my stomach. It’s funny how things can hurt and feel good at the same time.
“Owen?”
Hurriedly, I put the paper back in its hiding place and slid the drawer over it.
“Yeah?”
The door opened and Mom walked in, carrying a plastic bag.
“Hey, good-lookin’. How are you feeling?”
“A lot better. I think the peppermint really helped.”
“Did it? Wow.” She always sounds surprised when someone tells her that one of her remedies actually worked. “Have you been able to eat anything?”
“I had a few Oreos,” I said. I figured it was better to fess up than have her discover the near empty package of cookies tomorrow morning. “That was all I could keep down,” I added.
I could see she didn’t like that, but she was so happy I was feeling better and that my recovery was in part due to her peppermint remedy, she didn’t make a stink. Like I said, I’m not beyond lying on occasion.
“I have something for you.” She handed me the plastic bag. Inside was a box that said Li’l Inventor. It was a kit to put together this plastic robot dog.
“It says on the box that you can make it chase its tail,” she said.
“Great. Thanks,” I said.
She means well.
8
Don’t you love it when things work out exactly as you planned?
Mason Ragg rose up suddenly from his chair at the English workstation at 10:37, asked for the hall pass, and left the room. When he came back, he looked unusually pleased. He must have taken the cookies and not eaten them yet. Good. I wanted to be in the lunchroom when he did.
This time, I felt no panic. I didn’t even run out in the hall to check my lunch sack. I knew what I would find. Instead, I calmly worked away at the art workstation on a clay model of an Egyptian sarcophagus for global studies. Rachel Lowry even came over, and said, “Can I see that?”
“Sure.”
She picked the sarcophagus up and turned it this way and that.
“Cool,” she said and put it back down. Her fingerprints were on either side of the sarcophagus. I left them there.
It was a very excellent morning.
Then came gym class.
On the way down there, we passed Jeremy and Arthur and six other girls standing outside their classroom, looking angry and holding signs saying things like WE WILL NOT BE BULLIED! and GWAB RULES! and the ill-advised MR. SHACKLY SUCKS! All the girls had extremely short hair, except for Jeremy, and were dressed like boys. You wouldn’t think that there is that much of a difference in boys’ and girls’ clothes these days, but when you see a girl dressed in boys’ clothes, the difference is very clear. Boys’ clothes are a lot less interesting than girls’, for one. And also, they fit girls funny—baggy in some places and tight in others. Except for Arthur. Her red polo shirt and chinos fit her just fine. Also, the GWABs held themselves differently than other girls. They slumped more, I think.
Unfortunately, there were no network news cameras or famous anchorpeople, but Sybil Tushman was there with her camcorder. She has a daily video blog on her website called The Universe According to Sybil. It’s usually just Sybil talking about her older sister and how much she hates her but she also does some news segments about our school. Lots of kids in our school watch it, believe it or not.
“Lesby-girls,” hissed someone from my class.
The GWABs didn’t even bat an eye over that one. It wasn’t anything they hadn’t heard before, and anyway, they clearly had more important things on their minds.
I caught Jeremy’s eye as I passed, and she looked back at me, her face full of utter defiance. If I didn’t know that she was just a new member of GWAB, I would have guessed that she was the president. She has this leadership aura. She may not be supersmart, but if you stick her in a crowd of people, she just pops, like a zebra-striped jeep in a shoppingmall