Parts & Labor (4 page)

I
started to cry again.

She
wiped tears from my face and hair from my forehead. For a second, I thought
she might cry, too. She fought not to cry in front of us. But sometimes, when
I couldn't sleep, I went downstairs and heard her crying in her bed. She did
that a lot since Dad. They had been together almost half her life. They had
met at the hospital when Mom was still a student nurse; Dad had been overcome
with smoke when he had gone inside a burning house to rescue a child. She
really missed him. I wish I could help her. I wish I could help all of us.
None of us were "coping," the therapist said.

Which
was therapist talk that meant we were a mess.

Maddy,
she was lucky; she was too young to understand, so she was still happy.
Scarlett, she needed to let it all out with a "big cry," the
therapist said, but she held it inside her. Me—I punch walls. Mom was right: sometimes the anger builds up inside me, and I think I'm going to explode. And
other times I want to curl up in my bed and start sucking my thumb again. But
I don't because that's not manly, and I'm the man of the house now.

"I'm
forgetting his voice," I said. "I wish I could hear his voice
again."

Mom sighed and her body sagged. "Me, too, Max."

"He
was supposed to call that night."

She
just nodded.

"It's
not fair," I said. "Why did Dad have to go to Afghanistan?"

"Lots
of dads had to go, Max. And lots of dads didn't …"

"Doesn't
make it any better for us."

"No,
it doesn't." She patted me. "It's only been five months, Max.
It'll get better."

"When?"

 

 

It
didn't get any better the next day.

Vic
and his gang had formed a gauntlet on the front sidewalk and harassed every kid
entering the elementary school. When I walked through, they stepped in front
of me and blocked my path. I was chewing on a peanut butter cracker.

"You
got my money, Max?" Vic said right in my face.

Time
to survive on my wits.

"Uh,
yeah. Right here."

I
grabbed my stomach and puffed out my cheeks and made a hurling sound like I was
going to throw up again and then I spit out the chewed-up cracker.

"
Blaaah.
"

They all jumped back. I grinned.

"Not
wearing your Legends today, huh?"

They
were momentarily stunned, so I hurried past them and into the school. I had
survived the morning gauntlet. But why did I have to walk their gauntlet every
morning? Why did all the kids? Why did Vic and his crew think they had a
right to bully us? Why do bullies bully? Was it just human nature for bigger
people to beat up smaller people, like football or pro wrestling? Or were
bullies mentally disturbed individuals, like when we drove through downtown and
saw all the homeless people wandering the streets and talking to no one, and Mom said they were mentally ill and needed professional help? Did Vic and his boys need professional
help? Or did they just need to get the snot beaten out of them by somebody
bigger?

I
couldn't help but hope they got the snot beaten out of them.

Especially
after they nailed me with a barrage of spitballs during English class. Mrs.
Broadus was sitting on her stool reading
Holes
to us—I really liked that
Stanley Yelnats; he was my kind of kid—and I was sitting at my desk and sneaking
peanut M&Ms and listening intently and totally enjoying the story when all
of a sudden four wet spitballs stung the side of my face like machine gun
bullets—
bap, bap, bap, bap
—and dang near knocked me out of my chair. Which
ruined the whole listening experience for me. Vic and his crew buried their
faces on their desks to prevent Mrs. Broadus from hearing their laughter.
Without looking up, she said, "Max, is there a problem?"

Mrs.
Broadus was a mother as well as a teacher, so she had that spooky mom-knows-all
thing going for her, too.

"Uh
…" I glanced over at Vic; he was giving me the evil eye. I turned
back to Mrs. Broadus. "No, ma'am."

Ratting
out Vic wouldn't be good for my health.

"Don't
eat in class. Wait until lunch."

"Yes,
ma'am."

When
class ended, Vic walked past my desk, pushed my book onto the floor, and said,
"See you in math class, Max."

One-third
divided by two …
hmmm
… two-thirds? … nope, that doesn't
look right … three-halves … that doesn't make sense … boy, Dad
would know the answer, he was good at math … he was good at a lot of things
… he was … I don't care about fractions. I was staring down at the
fractions quiz but the numbers became a big blur. I tried to wipe my eyes
inconspic … inconstip … inconpits … without anyone noticing, when—

"Ow!"

—something
sharp stabbed my face. Only it wasn't something sharp; it was something
rubber. A thick industrial-sized rubber band, which could really leave a
mark. I heard Vic giggling two rows over. I didn't need to look. He had shot
me with his clothes-pin-rubber-band-shooting gun that he carried in his
backpack. It really hurt. I felt my eyes water up. Sunny in the desk next to
me scribbled a note and showed it to me:
UOK?

"Yeah,"
I whispered. "My allergies are just acting up."

I
really did have allergies—cedar was awful in Austin—but I don't think Sunny bought
it. She gave me a sympathetic nod. I snuck a few M&Ms for solace. When
class was over, Vic walked past my desk, snatched the rubber band, and said,
"See you in the cafeteria, Max."

I
was getting down on the peanut M&Ms again when I walked into the cafeteria
and immediately fell to the floor. Vic had tripped me. I dropped the
M&Ms, and they rolled across the linoleum like marbles. I crawled after
them and stuffed them into my mouth as fast as I could (I had it from a reliable
source that germs could not stick to the candy coating) but Vic tripped Eddie,
and he fell on top of me. Dee stumbled into us, and Sunny into him. Vic and
his posse laughed like it was the funniest thing they had ever seen. They always
sat at the table by the door so they could harass every kid who walked in. The
two teachers who were supposed to be monitoring the lunch room were chatting like
old aunts over in the corner.

Dee and Sunny helped Eddie up. I was still on my hands and knees when I spotted a blue M&M
rolling across the floor; I lunged for it, but a big foot smashed it. Vic's
big foot. Man, I loved the blue ones.

"I
want my money, Max."

"I
want a new iPod."

I
stood up. Vic glanced over at the teachers then poked me in the chest with a
big finger. It sort of hurt.

"After
school, Max—you're dead."

Since
I had only a few more hours to live, I decided to enjoy a big last lunch. We went
over and stood in the food line. I had brought my lunch—Mom said we could only
afford to buy lunch once a week; I picked pizza day—so I bought two cartons of
chocolate milk then found an empty table across the lunch room from the
bullies. The others soon joined me.

Sun
Hee—everyone called her Sunny—had moved here from Korea a few years ago, but
she could speak English way better than Vic, who had lived here all his life. She
was wearing, what else, a yellow sundress. She had a MacBook.

Dee—his real name was D'Wandrick, which is why we called him Dee—wore a red Legend Jones
"1" basketball jersey that hung almost to his knees and red Legend Jones
high-topped basketball shoes with the signature "1" on the back
seam. Dee was decked out like a pro athlete, but he dribbled his milk way
better than a basketball. But he was really smart, like Sunny. He had an iTouch.

Eduardo—he
went by Eddie—had a worse weight problem than I had, but he was a math whiz.
He had an iPhone.

I
had an iPod. As in past tense.

Sunny,
Dee, and Eddie were in the "gifted and talented program" at our
school. I was in the "everyone else" program. But I hoped one day to
have a gift or maybe a talent. The confidential evaluation report Mrs. Broadus
mailed home to my mom (I wasn't supposed to read it) said I suffered from a
lack of "self-esteem." I wasn't sure what that meant. Sunny pushed
her glasses up and said, "That was rude."

"Sorry,"
I said. "I've got gas."

"Not
that. The bullies."

"Oh."

"How'd
you do on the fractions quiz?"

"Not
so good. I can't focus on fractions, not now."

Sunny
nodded and gave me a buddy pat. Even though she was a girl, we were still
buddies. I really didn't like girls, except Sunny. And Maddy and Scarlett,
but they don't count because they're my sisters. And Mom—you always make an
exception for your mother. I pushed up my glasses then took a big bite out of
my preservative-free-ham-and-cheese-on-stone-ground-whole-wheat-bread-with-Canola-mayonaisse
sandwich and spotted trouble three tables away. Vic and his posse were making
their daily rounds, terrorizing each table of smaller kids.

"What
was that about?" Dee said. "Vic saying you're dead after school?"

"They
chased me home yesterday," I said. "Vic smashed my iPod then
gut-punched me. I threw up on their Legends."

They
laughed.

"You
puked on their hundred-and-fifty-dollar sneakers?" Dee asked.

"A
whole day's worth of food."

"Wow.
That's a lot of hurl."

"Tell
me. They said I gotta buy them new Legends. Six hundred dollars. Or I'm
dead."

"You're
dead."

"Here
they come," Sunny said, nodding at Vic and his crew.

"Fudge,"
Eddie said.

"Where?"
I said.

"No,
not real fudge. Fudge, like, you know …"

"Oh.
Don't tease me like that. My heart's racing."

I
loved fudge.

Vic
led the bullies over to our table. Rod grabbed Dee around his neck and gave
him a noogie while Vic snatched Eddie's lunch box.

"What's
for lunch, Hobbits?"

Biff
cackled like Vic was a comedian or something. "Yeah, Hobbits."

"Give
me my lunch back, Vic."

"Or
what, Frodo?"

Biff
laughed again. "Frodo."

"Or
I'll throw up on you."

Vic
didn't think that was funny so he turned Eddie's lunch box upside down and
emptied his lunch onto the table then pounded his PBJ sandwich flat with his
fist. The PBJ spewed out the sides like … well, use your imagination.

"Puking
on our Legends cost Max six hundred bucks," Vic said.

I
was sucking my chocolate milk through a straw when he grabbed my hair.

"And
he's gonna buy new sneakers for us, aren't you, Max?"

The
chocolate milk tasted really good, and I liked to suck the whole carton in one
continuous swallow so I was holding the carton with one hand and still sucking
on the straw and trying to get out of his grip on my hair with my other hand.

"You
need to cut your hair, Max, you look like a girl."

"Yeah,
like a girl," Biff said.

"Is
there an echo in here?" Dee said.

I
finally squirmed free of Vic's grasp and finished off the first carton of
chocolate milk.

"Biff,"
Sunny said, "do you ever have an original thought?"

"Uhh
…" Biff turned to Vic. "Do I?"

"No,
you don't."

Biff
turned back to Sunny. "No, I don't."

"Dee, why do you wear Legend gear?" Vic said. "You ain't never gonna be no
athlete."

"And
you're never going to be an English major," Sunny said.

Vic
snorted. "Why would I want to live in England? They don't even play real
football."

Sunny
rolled her eyes. "ISWC."

If
Stupid Were A Crime.
Sunny and Eddie and Dee had texting capabilities, so
they often lapsed into texting talk. I didn't text, but I had learned the
lingo.

"Vic,
haven't you ever heard of cyber-bullying?" I said.

Vic
frowned. "Cyber-bullying? No. What's that?"

"You
do your bullying over the Internet."

"But
how can I punch you over the Internet?"

Dee rolled his eyes. "That's the whole point, you dope. You can't."

Vic
grabbed Dee in a headlock. "Who you calling a dope, dope?"

"Take
a pill, man!" Dee said.

Sunny
stood and cupped her mouth and yelled, "Mrs. Nelson! Vic is bullying
us!"

"You
better shut up, slant-eye!" Vic said.

"
Slant-eye?
That's an ethnic hate crime!"

"It's
a crime you hang out with these dorks."

She
pointed at us. "Hey, I'd rather hang out with these dorks than the best
kids in school." She turned to us and shrugged. "That didn't come
out right."

Mrs.
Nelson broke away from her conversation with the other teacher and started
their way, but she was taking her own sweet time, so Vic released Dee and emptied his lunch box and smashed his stuff, too, then he and his boys retreated to
their table by the door. Sunny sat down.

"I
wish someone would beat the snot out of him," she said.

It
was a universal hope at the elementary school.

"I
talked to a sixth-grader," Dee said. "He said he'd protect us for
five dollars a week."

Eddie's
face brightened. "That's a dollar and a quarter a week for each of us,
forty-five for the school year. That's a good deal."

"Five
dollars each," Dee said.

"
Each?
How much does that come to?" I asked.

"One
eighty."

"A
hundred and eighty dollars? There's no way."

"Cheaper
than six hundred for new Legends," Eddie said.

"I
don't think his services are retroactive," Dee said.

"What
does that mean?" I asked.