The Quick Fix (5 page)

Liz didn't ask for an explanation. She dropped her hand over the side of the bleachers. I reached up and took it. She grabbed hold and squeezed, running her thumb over the back of my hand. My heart and stomach flopped
at the same time, making it feel like they were trying to switch places inside me. She let go of my hand.

I nodded my head at Melissa, then held my hand to my chest, and gave what I hoped was a subtle finger point toward my left, her right. There was an exit door near her, and another near me. Both led to the same hallway. Melissa gave a little nod and said something to Cynthia. Cynthia didn't look happy about it and waved her hand dismissively. Melissa started for her exit door. I waited a moment before heading toward mine.

“Be careful,” Liz said.

“Careful's never helped me.”

“Then be reckless, but good.” She turned toward me at last and winked.

I had taken three steps toward the exit when the scream came.

Everything in the gym stopped. I started running, crashing through the exit door.

Melissa was on the hallway floor. She was crying, hysterical. Her backpack was lying next to her, torn. The contents were spread all around her. There was a giant wet spot on the front of her skirt.

“Melissa!” I yelled, running toward her. “Melissa!”

“He took it! He took it!” she screamed. She was looking past me as if I wasn't even there.

“We have to get you out of here.” I started to grab her arm and pick her up, but she was dead weight. “Melissa! Stand up!”

Kids were streaming into the hallway behind me, running to see the source of the screaming.

“Melissa!” I yelled.

“He took it!” she yelled.

“It doesn't matter! You have to—”

It was too late.

“Melissa peed herself!” someone shouted. The laughter started almost immediately, multiplying exponentially until it filled the entire hallway. “PEE-PEE PANTS! PEE-PEE PANTS!” the crowd chanted as it surged forward like a conquering army. Melissa was just lying there, sobbing, picking up her stuff from the floor, then putting it down again, hoping the piece of wood was still there.

“PEE-PEE PANTS! PEE-PEE PANTS!”

“Forget the piece of wood and get out of here!” I yelled at Melissa, but I don't think she heard me. She didn't move.

The crowd kept coming. The only thing standing between all those kids and Melissa was me. I turned to
face them, but I felt like a mouse about to face a mob of hungry cats.

“PEE-PEE PANTS! PEE-PEE PANTS!”

“Leave her alone!” came an authoritative shout from the back. The kids in the rear stopped and turned; some of the curiosity traveled as far up as the midpoint of the crowd. The kids in the front paid no attention to it, though, and continued to push forward.

“PEE-PEE PANTS! PEE-PEE PANTS!”

“I said, leave her alone!” The voice was closer now, moving up through the crowd. I craned my neck to see. It was Cynthia. There were two cheerleaders flanking her. She was pushing people out of the way. Some of the kids were letting her, but I suspect that it was just so they could brag later that she touched them.

I was still holding Melissa's arm when Cynthia got to me. She grabbed the front of my shirt and held it tight. “Get your hands off of her!” she shouted.

“I'm trying to help her!” I yelled back, but she didn't seem to hear me.

While Cynthia was holding on to my shirt, Melissa tried to stand up, but the floor was wet. Her foot slipped, and she went back down with a plop. Whatever quiet
Cynthia had fought for was gone. The crowd started surging forward again, laughing and chanting.

“PEE-PEE PANTS! PEE-PEE PANTS!”

“Stop it!” Cynthia yelled. I don't think they were listening anymore. “STOP IT!”

She had lost her bid for control. And because she was still holding on to the front of my shirt, she was preventing
me
from doing anything. I grabbed her wrist and twisted it, just enough to break her grip. She let out a yelp.

I pushed her out of the way, then turned to Melissa. She was still sitting in the puddle, not even trying to get up anymore. Some weaselly looking kid was yelling in her face, his nose about an inch away from hers. I put my hand in between them, then grabbed the kid's weasel face and shoved him into the crowd.

I lifted Melissa up and started guiding her away. “Run,” I said. She looked at me, her eyes wide with shock, her teeth chattering as if the temperature in the hallway had suddenly plummeted. “RUN!” I shouted into her face, then turned her away from the crowd and gave her a gentle push to get her started. Her legs were unsteady, but they held. She built up a little momentum and started to run.

The crowd tried to follow her. Weasel-face was out in front again, laughing and chanting. I tripped him. He went down, face-first, smacking his palms onto the floor. I grabbed the runty kid that was behind him, spun him around, and flung him into the crowd, causing a domino effect that knocked over the front line and slowed the rushing mob. By the time they had recovered, Melissa was gone. Cynthia broke through and ran down the hall after her.

The crowd started to disperse, filtering back into the gym. The weasel-face kid stood up and got in my face. “What is your problem?!?”

I was about to shove my hand through his chest when Liz came over. “Hey!” she yelled. He turned toward her. She grabbed his shirt and slammed him into the wall.

“Who the hell are you?” he yelled.

“I'm the girl who's about to embarrass you more than you've already embarrassed yourself.”

He looked at me. “Whatsa matter, tough guy? Need a girl to fight your—”

Liz punched him in the arm. Hard.

“Ahhhh! Hey!” he yelled, rubbing his shoulder.

“No, he doesn't
need
me to,” she said. “I just like to. Now beat it.”

The kid started to say something but then stopped. He looked from Liz to me, then back to Liz. He must've seen that we weren't happy, and that hitting him was at the top of our “This Will Make Us Feel Better” list, because he kept his mouth shut and walked away. When he was well out of punching range, he turned and yelled, “Jerks!”

“So … that thing you're working on … Can you talk about it now?” Liz asked.

I shook my head. “This has gotten way too hot way too fast,” I said. “
I
don't want to be involved, let alone drag you into it.” That made me think about Will and Melissa. That's exactly what he had done: dragged her into his mess … or set her up. Either way, it didn't paint a very flattering picture of Will “Savior of Franklin Middle School” Atkins.

I picked up Melissa's bag. It had a pink and yellow argyle pattern on it. One of the straps was ripped. The front flapped open like a torn piece of skin. There were still a couple of pens and some makeup inside—and a couple of straws, wrapped up in brightly colored, homemade wrappers. I took one out. There was a phone number printed neatly on the side. The same number that was on the straw that Tina Thompson had tossed to me earlier. I dropped the straw back in the bag.

Liz picked up the rest of Melissa's stuff from the floor and handed it to me. I put it back inside the bag, then zipped it up. There were three or four drops of black ink or dye on the outside of the bag. I checked the floor. A few similar-looking drops were there as well.

“Found something?” Liz asked.

“Yeah. Go home, Liz,” I said. “Right now. And watch out.”

“For what?”

“Twins.”

of the kids who had yelled at and humiliated Melissa marched right back into the gymnasium to resume rooting for the basketball team. The idea that it might be ridiculous for them to have “school spirit” minutes after totally crushing the spirit of one of their classmates—a cheerleader, no less—seemed lost on them.

Some other kids—too hopped up from all the excitement—decided that they couldn't sit still, even for a basketball game, so they wandered the hallways, talking loudly with other jittery kids. Some lamented the fact that the school was going to hell in a handbasket; others
talked about how “awesome” the takedown had been and wondered out loud what Melissa had done to deserve her fate. Maybe the kid who took her out was a girl who got cut from the cheerleading squad. Or maybe it was a girl who had the hots for Will and wanted Melissa out of the picture. Or maybe Melissa had been seeing another boy on the side, behind Will's back, and the other boy decided that if he couldn't have her all to himself, then nobody else could have her, either.

I started walking faster, trying hard to tune out the chatter. I had already chosen an outlet for my anger, and I didn't want to waste any of it on these kids.

Both the Thompsons were standing in front of Tim's open locker. They looked giddy, laughing and talking as if they had just aced a final. A couple of kids approached them and exchanged some money for a few of their special Pixy Stix. The four of them smiled and laughed. It looked like the Thompsons' joy was infectious … and came in brightly colored wrappers.

I was fifteen feet away when Tim turned in my direction. He must have been expecting me, because he gave me a smug smile. I walked right up to him, put my hand around his neck, and shoved him against his
neighbor's locker. His smile remained, but I had knocked some of the smugness out of it.

“Well … aren't you two a scummy little family,” I said.

“Let go of me,” Tim snarled.

“You talk?” I asked. “I thought you were the ‘silent, creepy type.'”

“Oh, Matty-boy!” came Tina's singsongy voice from behind me. I didn't even have to look. I could hear her pumping the squirt gun. I wheeled around, using Tim as a shield. I had one of his arms bent back at a painful angle. It was a soaker, and Tina held it with steady hands. Tim was shaking with fury. Kids around us were starting to take an interest while trying hard to look like they weren't.

“Is there something we can help you with?” Tina asked, as if she was standing behind a counter, offering to sell me something.

“I want the piece of wood,” I said. “The one you stole from Melissa right before you put her in the Outs.”

“I'm sorry,” she said with mock innocence, “but I have no idea what you're talking about.”

“Really?” I asked, torquing Tim's arm a little. He yelped. “Any ideas now?”

“Ohhhh …,” she said as if her memory had just kicked in. “You mean our great-aunt's memento.”

“Right—except on the first go around it was your grandfather's.”

“We have so many loving relatives, it's hard to keep them all straight.”

“Yeah, especially when half of them don't exist,” I said. “Now, where is it?”

She smiled, but it looked like it was hurting her. “Do you have a plan for the next step,” she asked, “or are we going to stay like this until the end of the day?”

“Sure, I've got a plan. First, you're going to drop the squirt gun. Second, I'm going to search your brother's locker for the item you stole from Melissa. Third, if I don't find it in his locker, you're going to tell me where I
can
find it, or I'm going to break Tim in half and use the pieces to knock you around. Got it?”

“Ooh, that does sound frightening,” she said. “Doesn't that sound frightening, Tim?”

Tim snarled. “Let go of me!” He started to squirm more violently, but I managed to keep a hold. Everyone was watching us now. They started to creep forward.

“What Tim is trying to say is that we would love to
help you,” Tina said, pumping the soaker again, “but your accusations are completely false. Go ahead. His locker is open. Check it if you don't believe me.”

I held Tim tight with one hand as I rooted around his locker with the other.

The piece of wood wasn't there.

“OK, let go of my brother,” Tina told me. “You have five seconds.”

“No,” I said. “Now we go to your locker.”