Slob - Ellen Potter [5]
“There now.” Mr. Wooly dropped the leash suddenly. “I think that helped you get the hang of things.”
He had a funny look on his face, as though he had suddenly become a little scared about what he’d just done.
“Unbuckle him, Mr. Esposito!” Mr. Wooly ordered angrily, like the harness had been Justin’s idea.
Justin rushed over and fumbled with the hooks while I sat back on my haunches, my face burning, my eyes focused on an indent on the mat where my head had been. It was slowly filling out, erasing what had just happened. When Justin undid the final buckle, he jumped up and away from me. The other kids were looking at me kind of funny too. They seemed nervous, like Mr. Wooly. I think they expected me to snap. It was a strange sensation. For a moment I felt really powerful. I felt large, but not in a fat way.
The spotlight was on me. I smiled. First at all the kids and then at Mr. Wooly. They didn’t know what to do. They all stared at their sneakers in shame, including Mr. Wooly.
That’s not true. That’s not what I did. That’s what Nima would have done. Here’s what I did:
1. Turned red as shrimp cocktail sauce
2. Lost control of all the muscles in my face
3. Cried
4. No, sobbed
5. No, bawled like a three-year-old in Wal-Mart
Mr. Wooly looked scared and also disgusted. Most of the other kids just looked disgusted. I had the opportunity to snap, to have a volcanic eruption of pure outrage, but I had botched it. Mr. Wooly told me to go to the locker room and collect myself. As I passed Andre, he slapped the back of my neck. I think it was meant to be reassuring, but then again he may just have taken the opportunity to slap me.
By the time lunch rolled around, I had collected myself, though my eyes were still swollen. I looked around the lunchroom for Izzy Shank, the kid I always sit with. He wasn’t at our usual table. It didn’t take a genius to see why. Mason Ragg was sitting there, all by himself, of course, since no one else would dare sit near him. More about Mason Ragg later.
When I sat down by Izzy, he looked at me carefully, noting the swollen eyes, I’m sure. He didn’t ask me about it, though. That’s one reason I like Izzy. He doesn’t make a big deal about things. He’s the least dramatic person I know.
I opened my lunch sack and pulled out my shredded-tofu sandwich (there’s not enough mayo in New York City to make that taste better than it sounds) and my bottle of pomegranate green tea. That was when I noticed that the recycled shower curtain eco-container was empty. It was even sealed back up, and those recycled containers are tricky to seal. They don’t snap closed nice and easy like Tupperware. You really have to work at it.
Anyway, the Oreos were gone. I stared and stared into the empty, sealed container and shook the sad black crumbs that were lying on the bottom. I couldn’t believe it.
“I can’t believe it!” I said.
“What?” Izzy asked. Izzy’s voice is as deep as a forty-year-old man’s talking into a bullhorn, by the way. I think it’s because of some glandular condition. I forgot what it’s called, but basically he’s huge. Six foot five, and still growing.
“Someone stole my Oreos!” I shoved the empty container at him and he took it in his hands, which happen to be the size of Jeremy’s whole face. He gazed into the cloudy-looking container like he was staring into a crystal ball. In a way he was. My future lay in that empty container.
“They sealed the container back up,” he said.
“I know!” I was momentarily pleased that Izzy had noticed too. That little fact had struck me as totally perverse. Who is so cool and collected while stealing that they take the time to seal a difficult-to-seal eco-container back up?
I looked around the lunchroom. Everyone looked suspicious but no one was eating any Oreos as far as I could see. I watched carefully all through lunch. Izzy did too. Nothing.
“Check teeth!” I hissed at him.
We paced through the lunchroom, trying to look inconspicuous as we searched for someone with black stuff caught