Rhyme Schemer (7 page)

Instead of dying and being wrapped up,

it wraps itself up to live.

To become something new,

something with freedom.

Something pretty.

Unless it's a moth.

A moth still has freedom,

but it's

Ugly

Gross

Brown

Dusty.

It's just a dirty moth.

In that case, metamorphosis is kind of sad.

Little caterpillar wraps itself up

like a kid in elementary school

going to sleep

and waking up a pizza-faced middle school weirdo.

Robin is changing, growing wings

every day

in a chrysalis made of my notebook.

A revenge chrysalis.

(Which would be a good name for a band.)

If I squint, I can see his

Ugly

Gross

Dusty

Dirty

moth wings.

His pizza face.

His pale eyes

glowing with greed

at the laughs he gets

at my expense

that Mrs. Smithson ignores.

Just like fake moth eyes on ugly wings

Robin's eyes

better be hiding

his true self—

that he is still scared of me.

Because he should be.

Dad asked what was going on.

But he meant it like,

Hey, bro! What's going on?

Like a dude punching another dude's shoulder

at the beach.

So I said:

Nothing

Because that's what he wanted me to say.

If I am made of stone at home

no one can bother me.

If I am made of stone at school

no one can bother me.

Paul says even stones have to crack

to let out steam.

But what he doesn't understand is that

there is always someone

who wants to stick their head in a crack

and sniff around.

Hahaha.

But seriously.

Paul is so annoying.

Hartwick was looking at me

from his office across the hall.

I wanted to say

You can't look at me like that
.

I wanted to say

Hide those beady eyes back under your greasy lids
.

I wanted to say

Go away
.

But I didn't say anything

because the nurse was putting antiseptic on my lip

where it busted open

after I fell on it

in the hallway

when Robin tripped me

and said

Poetry boy can't write sentences

or walk, either
.

And Giant John laughed.

It's a shame, really,

how Mrs. Smithson ignores Robin

as he seeks revenge.

She is depriving him

of the ceiling stain

of Hartwick's tie-nightmare-of-the-day

of the SHOUTING ABOUT RESPONSIBILITY.

The moth-faced boy flies free.

Again.

My heartbeat in my lip.

Mom pinched her face up tight.

She made sure I didn't need stitches.

Philip high-fived me

when I said
You should've seen the other guy
.

Petey just rolled his eyes

and Paul sighed real big.

But there was no other guy.

Unless you count Robin

looking innocent

as Mrs. Smithson and Harry

bobbled by.

Robin says it's time for another Poetry Bandit

thing.

I told him to go rip out a page from the library.

He said no, that I should do it.

Blackmail stinks.

(Another good band name.)

I put it up before I gave it to Robin.

I think he grew three inches just from being mad.

He wanted to get “caught” putting it up,

by me.

I told him to go sign his name if he wants all the credit.

But someone had already thrown it away.

The teachers, they learn fast.

Mrs. Little looks at me sideways.

I know she wants to say something

but I don't want to listen

so I pretend I don't see

her eyes

in the corner of her face

like a hieroglyph.

It's not like I never had a fat lip.

That's what I want to say

to her hieroglyph eye.

Every time I look up and see her

she is staring.

And she doesn't look away.

It's like she wants me to see.

She's looking, searching, telling me something

that I can't hear.

Just like my lip keeps a beat

to a song I can't hear.

I'm glad for the books today,

heavy in my hands.

They go on the shelves,

one after the other.

I don't have to think.

I don't want to think.

Building a fortress

of books

all around me.