“I’ve heard of floods, but this is ridiculous,” she mocked.
Jenny Hertzog is afraid…
Jenny Hertzog is afraid…of her stepbrother’s room.
“Brady, give them to me!” Jenny Hertzog squealed. “Floods! Floods!”
Brady threw the pants over to Jenny, who slipped them over her legs and under her skirt. Christopher’s face flushed hot with fever. He barely had time to think before the itch pushed the words out of his mouth.
“Why don’t you sleep in your own room, Jenny?”
He said it innocently. Like a child asking his mother why the sky is blue. But Jenny Hertzog stopped laughing. Her eyes narrowed to slits. She felt all the kids turn from Christopher to her, waiting for a response. Jenny Hertzog stared through Christopher, her eyes burning with hatred.
“Fuck you,” she said.
Brady started to walk toward him, pinning him against a locker. The itch came back, pushing words into Christopher’s mind.
Brady Collins is afraid…
Brady Collins is afraid…of the doghouse.
“What’s in the doghouse, Brady?” he asked.
Brady Collins stopped. All of the kids looked at him as his face went flush with embarrassment. Christopher looked at them. He saw they were scared. And somehow, he couldn’t get mad at them. Somehow, he knew that they were more afraid than he was.
Brady Collins did not speak. He just glared at Christopher with murderous eyes.
“It’s okay, Brady. It’ll be okay,” Christopher said.
Brady Collins hit Christopher in the mouth. It wasn’t a soft hit. It wasn’t a warning. It was real. But the strangest thing was…when Brady hit him, it didn’t really hurt. It felt like a tickle. But Brady wouldn’t stop. He was so angry, he wanted to kill Christopher. Brady rushed at him, both fists out, ready to do real damage. Christopher did not lift his arms. He merely stood there, waiting to receive the blows.
A statue waiting for the impact of a feather.
Brady wound up and was about to hit Christopher again as hard as he could when a fist came out of nowhere and punched him in the jaw. Brady turned around and saw Special Ed.
“Get away from him!” Special Ed said.
Brady’s eyes turned to rage. Mike stepped out from behind the crowd with his little brother Matt, backing up Special Ed.
“Back off, Collins!” Mike said.
And within seconds, a brawl started.
Brady and Jenny’s gang had Christopher’s friends beat three to one, but it didn’t matter. Special Ed and the M&M’s stood back-to-back just like the Avengers. Brady ran at Special Ed first, fists flying. Mike took his book bag and swung it, hitting Brady in the gut. Brady fell to the ground in front of Jenny Hertzog. Jenny jumped on Mike and bit his hand. Matt grabbed a handful of her hair and yanked her down on the ground. Everyone was biting and kicking and screaming.
Just like a war.
Christopher watched all of this in silence, his head throbbing with a fever that felt like their rage. After a moment, he forced himself to his feet. Then, he calmly approached the fighting. He reached out and grabbed Brady’s arm in his feverish hand.
“It’s going to be okay,” he said softly.
The heat shot through Christopher’s arm. It tickled like little needles reaching through his fingertips to Brady’s funny bone.
Until they turned to heat.
“Stop! It hurts!” Brady said.
Christopher looked Brady in the eye. The boy was terrified. Christopher let go and Brady saw little blisters form on his arm. Christopher moved to Jenny Hertzog, who was scratching Matt’s face. She got her fingers under his lazy-eye patch when Christopher grabbed her arm.
“It’s all going to get better, Jenny. You’ll see,” he assured her.
The heat shot its way through his fingertips and burrowed under her long-sleeved shirt. She grabbed her arm in pain. She rubbed the small blisters on her right arm, screaming.
Christopher reached down and helped his friends back to their feet.
“Come on, guys,” he said.
The heat from his hands moved down their arms, but it did not blister. It was soothing, like Vicks VapoRub on a sick chest. The warmth spread to their faces, making their cheeks rosy. Special Ed’s brain started to feel light and fizzy as soda pop. Mike’s arm suddenly felt stronger. Matt’s lazy eye began to tingle. Christopher’s forehead began to cook. The pain was blinding.
“What is going on?!” a voice yelled from the door.
Christopher looked up and saw Mrs. Henderson, the librarian, rushing down the hallway. The itch pushed the flash cards through Christopher’s throbbing forehead at a dizzying speed.