sideways glances at the kid with the long black hair.
“Look inside.”
I did. There was a rag, a brush, and a can of Kiwi boot polish. I tried to hand the bag back. “I have to get to class.”
“Uh-uh, new boy. Not until you shine my boots.”
Clueless no more. It was an initiation stunt, and although expressly forbidden by the principal just that morning, I thought about doing it. Then I thought about all the kids hurrying downstairs past us. They would see the little country boy from Harlow on his knees with that rag and brush and can of polish. The story would spread fast. Yet I still might have done it, because this kid was much bigger than I was, and I didn’t like the look in his eyes. I would love to beat the shit out of you, that look said. Just give me an excuse, new boy.
Then I thought of what Mr. Harrigan would think if he ever saw me down on my knees, humbly shining this oaf’s shoes.
“No,” I said.
“No’s a mistake you don’t want to make,” the kid said. “You better fucking believe it.”
“Boys? Say, boys? Is there a problem here?”
It was Ms. Hargensen, my earth science teacher. She was young and pretty, couldn’t have been long out of college, but she had an air of confidence about her that said she took no shit.
The big boy shook his head: no problem here.
“All good,” I said, handing the bag back to its owner.
“What’s your name?” Ms. Hargensen asked. She wasn’t looking at me.
“Kenny Yanko.”
“And what’s in your bag, Kenny?”
“Nothing.”
“It wouldn’t be an initiation kit, would it?”
“No,” he said. “I gotta go to class.”
I did, too. The crowd of kids going downstairs was thinning out, and pretty soon the bell was going to ring.
“I’m sure you do, Kenny, but one more second.” She switched her attention to me. “Craig, right?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“What’s in that bag, Craig? I’m curious.”
I thought of telling her. Not out of any Boy Scout honesty-is-the-best-policy bullshit, but because he had scared me and now I was pissed off. And (might as well admit it) because I had an adult here to run interference. Then I thought, How would Mr. Harrigan handle this? Would he snitch?
“The rest of his lunch,” I said. “Half a sandwich. He asked me if I wanted it.”
If she had taken the bag and looked inside, we both would have been in trouble, but she didn’t . . . although I bet she knew. She just told us to get to class and went clicking away on her medium just-right-for-school heels.
I started down the stairs, and Kenny Yanko grabbed me again. “You should have shined em, new boy.”
That pissed me off more. “I just saved your ass. You should be saying thank you.”
He flushed, which did not complement all those erupting volcanos on his face. “You should have shined em.” He started away, then turned back, still holding his stupid paper bag. “Fuck your thanks, new boy. And fuck you.”
A week later, Kenny Yanko got into it with Mr. Arsenault, the woodshop teacher, and hucked a hand sander at him. Kenny had had no less than three suspensions during his two years at Gates Falls Middle—after my confrontation with him at the top of the stairs, I found out he was sort of a legend—and that was the last straw. He was expelled, and I thought my problems with him were over.
* * *
Like most smalltown schools, Gates Falls Middle was very big on traditions. Dress-Up Fridays was just one of many. There was Carrying the Boot (which meant standing in front of the IGA and asking for contributions to the fire department), and Doing the Mile (running around the gym twenty times in phys ed), and singing the school song at the monthly assemblies.
Another of these traditions was the Autumn Dance, a Sadie Hawkins kind of deal where the girls were supposed to ask the boys. Margie Washburn asked me, and of course I said yes, because I wanted to go on being friends with her even though I didn’t like her, you know, that way. I asked my dad to drive us, which he was more than happy to do. Regina Michaels asked Billy Bogan, so it was a double date. It was especially good because Regina whispered to me in study hall that she’d only asked Billy because he was my friend.
I had a hell of a good time until the first intermission, when I left the