Tap Out (4 page)

“Tony?” She blinks and tilts her head. “Really? You'd like to plot the points on the axis?”

“Yeah.”

“Please, go ahead.” A smile breaks across her face, and I slide out of my seat. Kids watch me go, no doubt wondering what the fuck is up. I don't answer questions in class, don't speak unless spoken to, and even then may not reply. It's sad because I actually used to love school.

The board has this built-in grid, like a giant piece of graph paper, and next to it she's written all sorts of letters and numbers. I grab a piece of chalk and glance at them like I actually know what they mean.

“Class, while Tony plots the points, do the same on your own paper. We'll compare when he's done.”

My head throbs and my stomach knots when she says this. But it doesn't matter. I have to get an excuse for bailing on Rob. I need detention. I stay tight to the board so she
can't peek. Sagehorn's hovering over kids' desks, giving help. I add the last touches and set the chalk on the lip. My heart pounds, vibrating my throat. Maybe I should erase it? Clean the board and make up an excuse? But Dave's words echo. I'd just have to figure something else out.

“Tony, are you finished?”

I jump at the question and turn around, now keeping my back tight to the board. Sagehorn's smile has faded. “May we see your work?”

I look around the room. They're all waiting, some with eager faces like Sagehorn. Others have smirks. They know, and I feel awful. I take a step to the left, toward the door and look down at my shoes. I examine them for smudges while the class absorbs the naked woman spreading her legs. There's a group gasp, a few laughs, and then Sagehorn screams, “No!” She runs to the board and erases the image with her palms, looks at them like they're covered in shit, and then turns to me. “To the office! Now!”

I nod and step out of her room. The hallway is quiet, but behind me the room is bursting with noise. My pounding heart lowers into my stomach. I was hungry, but now I feel like I might hurl. I rinse my mouth in a nearby fountain and then walk into Principal Ostrander's office.

His secretary is on the phone. She eyes me, and I have a seat. We've danced this dance before. “Yes, he's with us now. I'll let John know.” The phone clicks as she hangs up, and a long sigh follows. Sounds like my mom's.

The secretary walks into Ostrander's office and closes the door. A minute later it opens, and he's standing in the doorway, red-faced and sweating. His gut balloons in front of him. Fucking dough-boy in a suit. “Get in here!”

The Big O smells like Old Spice and sweat. Tangy. I sink
into a chair while he shuts the door and grumbles. “What in the hell is wrong with you?”

I don't answer. He doesn't really want me to.

“Drawing filth like that, in Mrs. Sagehorn's class of all places.” He moves to the side of his desk and stares at me, face hanging limp around his neck. “I expect shit like that from . . .” His voice drops, like he's talking more to himself than me. Pisses me off though, how he doesn't finish. He's always doing that, at least with me.

“From who?” I sit up and lean on my elbows.

His eyebrows dart together. “Watch yourself with me. Understand?” He straightens, smoothes his tie. “From someone with no
direction
.” He says the last part as if he was searching for another way to say
white trash
, but with less sting.

“What's that supposed to mean?” I ask, only because I want him to elaborate. To see if he can.

He smiles and ignores my tone this time. “Oh, I think you know. Lot smarter than the rest.” He watches me, waiting for my reaction. I know exactly what the fuck he's talking about. My scores on those tests years ago. He brings them up whenever he can, as if their existence will somehow change something. Everyone thought the same years ago, and look at me now. Here I am because I drew something nasty and now must be punished. He's trying to get me riled, but fuck the Big O. I'm not losing it. I just want my detention.

He clears his throat. “Smarter than the rest, but you love that Vo-Tec.”

I shift in my seat. Something's different, and I don't like it. “It's fine with me if you want to be a grease monkey when you're smart enough to go to college. Just not on my dime.” He waits. He wants me to look at him, show that
respect. Just like all my mom's former boyfriends. And current. Fuck that. He sits in his chair, and the thing wheezes from the strain. “Pull shit like that again and you can kiss the program good-bye.”

I look up now and open my mouth for air, feeling like I'm in a choke hold. The fuck did he just say? No more Vo-Tec? Can he do that?

“What? What?” He's almost laughing. “Think I can't? Watch me. It's not like this is your first offense.” He leans forward. “Remember the pot last year. You and Tuckerson all red-eyed in the bathroom?” He leans back and looks up at the ceiling, and the anger has started to boil within me. “Or the fight after homecoming? You know we have footage.”

Fuck this motherfucker. I bite the inside of my cheek and press my palms into my knees to keep my legs from bouncing. None of this has anything to do with anything. Fuckwad has no clue about who I am, but he sure can paint a picture. He watches me, and I concentrate on breathing. I just wanted detention. Not all this. If I blow, it'll get worse, and I refuse to get suspended. My mom would probably let Cameron give me a good once over if I did.

“So do we understand the situation?”

I nod because it's what he wants.

“Good. Because one more mistake and that's it.” He leans across his desk and looks through some papers. “You've got study hall next, right?”

I don't respond because he's staring at my fucking schedule.

“Normally I'd give you after-school detention, but with the bussing and all . . . and since you just sleep through study hall according to Mr. Stevens, I think a different arrangement is in order.”

My body snaps upright, but Big O doesn't seem to notice.
Fuck, he can't be serious. What the hell am I gonna do instead of detention? My body goes limp, and I let out a sigh. I'm fucking past angry.

“Cleaning duty every study hall until Christmas.” He slaps the paper.

Shit. I've seen kids doing this, pushing a broom and taking out trash. Fuck me. I look at my schedule, scan the empty spaces that represent my free time and do the math. Something like thirty hours of sweeping and mopping for three minutes of drawing. I fucking hate the corners I get backed into. If I'm so smart why can't I see one or two moves ahead?

“One more thing.”

What else does he want to grind into this punishment?

“I know you're friends with Rob O'Connell and that he's been working with Dan Rayburn. Coach Dan. He used to go here.”

I'm already fucked up from holding my shit together, so I don't know how I'm supposed to feel about this.

“Well,” Big O sits back and takes a breath. “Coach and I are working together to help out Rob, give him a future.”

Rob hasn't said anything about this. I almost blurt that he's going to be a mechanic, like me, but don't. I can tell there's more. Why else would he be telling me?

“Antioch, I think he and I need to bring you into that plan. I'm worried about you. I don't really want to take away Vo-Tec; I'd rather help.”

Why'd he have to pull this 180? I went from pissed to blushing. It sucks, but I can't hide it. Big O's gone from giving me hell to offering me help?
No one
offers me help. The fuck is going on?

“What I'd like to see is you join the gym. It will give you
somewhere to go. Keep you out of trouble. And help you with things at home.”

My head snaps up at the last part. How could he possibly know? “I can't. I can't afford that.” The words tumble out and my face beats hotter.

“I'm not asking you to. I'm asking you to stay out of trouble, and this is a way.” Big O leans across his desk. “Antioch, look at me.”

I don't want to, but I do. There's something in his voice I only have a vague notion of. Compassion, I think.

“You do this, and you'll both have a shot. Rob's got a good head, but you two are tight, and I don't want to see him brought down by whatever you're sinking in.”

My thoughts start connecting again, and the heat burns again from anger. “But what's in this for me? So I'm out of trouble for a few months? Rob gets some future? What do I get?”

Big O's eyes glitter for a second, like he's ready to strike out, but then he sits back. “Don't worry, I've got plans for you, too. But first, you need to clean up your act. Any more crap in class, any fights, anything, you can forget this conversation and all that comes with it.”

If I was confused before, now I'm bewildered. So Big O may still take away Vo-Tec, but is going to pay for me to go learn how to fight? But he wants me to do so to help Rob and so that I stay out of trouble? This makes no sense. But, if I do, then he'll hook me up? But how? What the fuck just happened?

“Now,” Big O slams his meaty hand on the desk, snapping me back to the moment, “go report to the janitor's station. It's right behind the cafeteria.”

I grip the chair's handles and try to think of something to say. Nothing comes. He looks up, as if wondering if I've heard him. In his face I see a question, and for a moment I
wonder if Big O is wrong about this, about believing in me, or if this fat fuck is one hundred percent right.

Two janitors sit around a busted up table, drinking coffee and watching TV, some fucking game show. No wonder this school looks worse than my house. I knock on the open door. One turns, looks at me, and blinks, like maybe he was expecting someone else, but he doesn't speak, just pushes his lips into a knot.

“I'm supposed to come here for cleaning duty?”

The blinking one blinks. The other one keeps watching TV. I look around for someone else. Just mops and brooms and cleaning solution.

“What do you want me to do?”

Neither answers. This is fucking bullshit. Big O must have known the retard crew was working and sent me down to be tortured. What's he gonna do if I bolt? Like these guys'll know whether I'm here or not?

“Behind you is a sweeper. Let's start with that.” The voice comes from my left, outside the office. I turn and a giant in a tight blue T-shirt is watching me. His eyes dance. I look for the tool and then step to it.

“This one?”

He nods.

I grab the handle and lift the head, which is heavier than I thought.

“You know where the science wing is?”

I look up. “Yeah. I'm not stupid.”

He crosses his arms over his chest and veins pop along his forearms. “Yeah, maybe.” He waits a moment, then continues.
“I want you to sweep both sides. Go up one way and down the other. Clack that thing out when you're finished. I'll show you.” He extends his arm, and I hand it over. “Here.” He grabs the pole like a hockey stick and smacks the wall. Wrappers and dust fall out. He grunts. “Grab a dustpan and clean up the piles. Toss 'em in the can.” He hands me the pole. “Do the English hall after. Then come back here.”

Fuck me. This is gonna blow, but I don't have any questions and I don't feel like hanging around this freak, so I drag the sweeper behind me, grab a dustpan, and head out.

The halls are still quiet as I hit the science wing. It smells of formaldehyde. I drop the dustpan, and the clatter echoes. Fuck, I started my morning cleaning up a mess, and now I'm stuck doing
this
. But, then there's the other shit Big O was talking about. I have to talk to Rob, see if he can get me straight on this. The anger that was rising simmers, and I put my head down and start walking.

There isn't much to this. I just direct the head at shit lying around, and it picks it up, like a mini street sweeper. In a way, I enjoy the result. I finish one side, head up the other and a pile of filth rolls before me. A door opens, and a kid pops out. I stop and put my chin to my chest. No way am I going to let him see my face. He unwraps a stick of gum and puts it in his mouth. My stomach growls. He heads my way and slows down, tosses his wrapper into the pile, and laughs. He continues past, real close, his shoulder just touching mine. I go hot and choke the shit out of the handle, but he keeps going, busting his heels hard on the floor, and I bite my cheek and don't say a word. I just start pushing again.

I don't see anyone in the English wing, just hear teachers blabbing away. I sweep up the pile, toss it, and then head back to the office. The two idiots are gone, but the big motherfucker
is there, marking a pile of florescent bulbs. He looks up. “All set?”