I plopped my books on my desk, getting ready for a long, boring hour of algebra. Ella sat down in front of me, and I gazed at her perfect, dark red hair. It was long and a little curly and I had a feeling I could get my hands lost in it, maybe while I…
“Mr. Archer, kindly tell us the answer to number seven,” Mrs. Burns said. Her pleasant smile said “caught you drooling, young man.”
“Um....” Number seven, crap, number seven. I scanned my book, hoping for divine inspiration, because I didn’t even know which problem was number seven.
God must’ve heard my prayers, though, because Ella held her hands behind her back. One had two fingers pointed up, and the other had three pointing down. Ella was good at math; I sure hoped that was a clue.
“Two-thirds?” I asked.
Mrs. Burns looked disappointed. “Correct. All right, clear your desks. Quiz time.”
I managed to keep my head down and concentrate for the rest of class. But only because I didn’t look at Ella. Or think about the lavender v-neck t-shirt she had on. Or wish that she’d reach down to tie her shoe so I could see if the v-neck gaped open any.
After the bell rang, she spun around in her desk to smile at me. She had a dimple on her right cheek and this dusting of freckles across her nose and when her green eyes caught me, I forgot my name.
“Matt, I’m so sorry for how Carter acted this morning,” she said. “He’s just in a bad mood because they lost their first game Friday.”
Will came up to us, waiting for me to get moving. “Ella, why do you hang with Carter? He’s a turd.”
My face heated up. For all his protection skills, Will had the tact of a backhoe.
Ella crossed her arms. “Carter’s really nice once you get to know him. Thoughtful, too.” She smiled, staring into space. “He gives me a flower every Friday and never blows me off when he says he’ll call. I think you’d both like him if you hung out with us some.”
Will gave me this look that said, “Yeah, like I believe that.”
I needed to change the subject before he said anything out loud. “Hey, thanks for giving me the answer today, Ella. I’m, uh, a little tired and must’ve dozed off.”
While dreaming about you and me, alone in the supply closet.
“No problem,” she said. “Mrs. Burns is always trying to get the jump on people—I like throwing her off. See you in history.”
Ella glided from the room, and her hips swung back and forth as she walked. I had to watch her go before I could gather up my own stuff.
Will smacked me on the back of the head with his binder. “There’s nothing to see here, citizen. Get a move on.”
I punched him in the arm. “Dude—‘he’s a turd?’ Are you kidding me?”
“Well, I was curious,” he said. “It still doesn’t make sense, but, whatever.”
I sighed. “Do you think I’ll ever have a chance with her?”
“It’s good to have a dream, man,” he said. “See you at lunch.”
Shouldering my backpack, I followed him out with my stomach doing flips, not sure which was tougher to handle – a crush on Ella Mitchell, or a magic knife that killed monsters.
* * *
“You aren’t planning to eat all that, are you?” Will asked.
My tray was piled high with everything I could get my hands on. I even braved the “Salisbury steak,” which looked like a soy-burger patty smothered with a mud pie.
“Yeah. I’m hungry.”
I sat down at our usual table in the corner of the lunchroom and stabbed the muddy burger with my fork. When it didn’t leap off the table, yelping, I cut off a piece and tried a bite.
“It’s not bad.”
Will wrinkled his nose. “Dude, I wouldn’t even eat that. What’s the deal?”
“Trying to gain some weight. You know, pack on some muscle. Hey—think you could do some weight training with me?” I asked.
Will pushed his chair back. “Who are you and what did you do to my friend?”
I laughed. “Oh, come on. It’s not like I’m asking you to go shopping for dresses with me or something. I just want to bulk up some.”
“You must really have it bad for Ella,” Will said. “You’re a natural born runner, dude. I can try to help you train, but honestly, you’re wiry and you’re gonna stay that way.”
My shoulders slumped. Mike was an idiot to think this would work.
“Wiry’s good, though,” Will said. “Being fast and flexible—that’s better than a mountain of muscle any day. Means you can fight more efficiently.”
I rolled my eyes. “This isn’t about fighting Carter. I just need to get stronger, okay?”
“Why?”
“Because I want to.” I clenched my jaw and glared at him. “Are you going to help me or am I doomed to pulling all the wrong muscles trying to learn this crap from a magazine?”
Will frowned like he didn’t quite believe me. “Yeah, okay. I do strength training after school on Tuesdays and Thursdays.”
“Thanks.” I went back to slamming down my mud pie.
* * *
I made it through the afternoon, but I didn’t know how. My stomach rolled from my huge lunch, and my arms were sore again. It wasn’t until last period that things started looking up.
I didn’t get to sit behind Ella in history. I got to sit right next to her. I watched her twirl a strand of her hair with one hand, and tap her bright blue fingernails against her desk with the other. Every fidget, every stretch, every scratch of her pencil, every yawn—all of it was duly recorded in my brain. God had been on his A-game the day He made her.
“All right, people. Essays on the Battle of Gettysburg are due Friday. Extra credit to those who can recite the ‘Gettysburg Address’ to me from memory,” Mr. Anderson said as the bell rang.
Everyone sprang up, eager to escape Greenhill prison. I shoved my books in my backpack, ready to run for the bus. It sucked that Brent had football. Even if he was a butthead, I’d much rather ride with him that endure the bus. Ella stopped me on my way out the door. We were about the same height, so I got to see the freckles up close. My heart thumped hard.
“Matt, I meant to ask you this morning. Have you changed something with your hair? I don’t know. You look older.” All this was said with a flash of white teeth recently straightened from braces.
“No, nothing new.” I smiled back. She actually noticed me last week and this week? Yes!
“I just wondered…” She trailed off and picked at her fingernail polish. “Well, anyway, whatever changed, it looks good on you.”
With a little wave, she was gone, leaving me to stand there with my mouth hanging open. Maybe I had a chance after all.
Chapter Five
On Tuesday, just in time for my muscles to get over Sunday’s workout, I joined Will for my first after-school training session. The practice gym, not to be confused with the real gym where we had pep rallies and basketball games, smelled like dirty socks and was full of JV football players wearing gray sweats. Most of them stopped pumping iron or doing crunches to stare at me, the first flyweight ever to walk through the gym door. I wished I could come clean about why I needed to train. Monster killing might have given me a little cred.
I eyed the crowd of jocks. A bunch wore skeptical smiles when they saw me coming. Two looked hostile. Then again, Sanders and McCoy always looked pissed off. They were dumb as dirt clods and their tiny brains probably couldn’t make their faces do anything but scowl.
I followed Will to the dumbbell rack. He pulled up a pair of twenty-pound weights. With what I hoped was a cocky grin, I grabbed two ten-pound dumbbells.
Will lifted an eyebrow. “Dude. Twenty pounds total? You’re right; we got work to do. I want you up to thirty by December.”
I sighed. “How much does a guy Brent’s size lift?”
“Bicep curls? Probably thirty pounds for twelve-rep sets,” Will said.
“Then why was he making fun of me? I’m not that far off.” I did
a vigorous set of curls in pure indignation. My biceps went on strike at the seventh rep.
“Thirty per arm, man. Hell, Brent could probably curl sixty with one arm if it was a single shot.” Will grinned and went back to his sets.
Well, crap.
* * *
Friday arrived with the promise of a road trip and early release from school. I should’ve been stoked to go on my first military adventure, but I didn’t think I’d ever been as miserable. Every muscle in my body ached, Ella had been out sick since Wednesday, and Mamie popped out from behind corners at random times to check up on me. Even the monster attack, which had seemed unreal for the first few days, was haunting me again. Things went downhill from there, sinking into a valley of suckiness after second period.
“Yo, Archer. McCoy told me you’ve been coming to the gym with Cruessan. Guess I didn’t have to worry about you checking out my girlfriend the other day. You already have one.” Carter’s face lit up with a nasty smile. “So, when are you and Will gonna pick out engagement rings?”
Grinding my teeth, I clenched my fists and took a step toward him. I had no idea what I’d do from there, but I was sick of this asshat riding me.
Carter snickered at my reaction. “Maybe Cruessan will take you to the Winter Ball. You’re short enough that he could tuck you under his chin during the slow dances. That would be so precious.”
A flash of magenta light exploded in my brain. I got right up in his sneering face.
“You know what, Carter? One day Ella will figure out that you have nothing to offer except a half-decent hook shot. What girl even cares about that stuff? When she finally sees you for the butthole you are, she’ll drop you in a heartbeat, and I’ll be right there, waiting.”
Carter’s nostrils flared as he shoved me into the locker bank so hard I hit my head and saw stars. The impact jarred something loose inside my brain, though, and I got awfully calm for a guy in my present situation.
Right then, I knew. Monsters came in all shapes and sizes.
And I wasn’t afraid of monsters anymore.
Carter took a wild swing at my jaw. I ducked at the last second and Carter punched the lockers. While he cursed about his hand, I popped up behind him and slammed him face-first into his locker, then pinned his arm behind his back. Carter struggled and stamped on my foot, trying to break free. When I didn’t give, he elbowed me in the cheekbone with his free arm. More pissed than I’d been in my life, I spouted off enough obscenities to fill a dictionary of swear words and shoved him against the locker door with all my weight.
“You are a complete…”
Well, what I said was drowned out by shouts of “Fight, fight, fight!”
A hand clamped down hard on my shoulder. “Let go, Mr. Archer. Now.”
Mr. Nolton, our Vice Principal, pulled me off of Carter. I strained against him and he gave me a sharp tug.
“Young man, we’re going to the office. You say one more thing and I’ll have you expelled.”
That didn’t cool me off much, but I stopped struggling. Once I was quiet, Mr. Nolton caught hold of Carter.
“You too, Mr. Jacobs.”
We marched down the hall at a brisk pace. Mr. Nolton was a tall, reedy guy with the longest legs in the world, and he dragged me so fast I had to trot to keep up. He wasn’t fast enough, though; the news moved quicker than we did and we had an audience every step of the way. Mr. Nolton opened the office door, jabbing a finger to point us inside.
Once in the office, I didn’t have a clue what to do. I’d only been sent to the principal once in elementary school, for setting off a few firecrackers at recess. Not one of the brightest things I’d ever done, but it had been pretty worth it at the time.
Unlike fighting Carter in a crowded hallway.
Carter seemed to know the drill, which didn’t surprise me much. An idiot like him probably visited the office on a regular basis. He strutted over to Mr. Nolton’s office and let himself in. I crossed my arms, feeling defiant. Carter started the fight, so what if I finished it? Mr. Nolton scowled and towed me to the door marked “Mrs. Stevens, Principal.” He rapped twice, waiting for a muffled “enter” before opening the door.
“Discipline issue, Mrs. Stevens. Caught this gentleman inflicting bodily harm on another student—Carter Jacobs. Carter’s in my office. I’ll get his side of the story so we can compare notes.”
Mrs. Stevens was a plump lady, not much taller than me, with soft brown hair and tough brown eyes. Like a grandma on steroids.
“A fight, huh?” she said. “Well, Mr. Archer, have a seat.”
Mr. Nolton nudged me into the office a little harder than necessary and shut the door. I sat in the chair across from her desk. Mrs. Stevens pulled something up on her computer, probably my file. After she read it, she watched me. Her stare was laser-like, and I broke eye contact first, eager to escape her gaze.
“So, what happened?” Her voice was kind and vaguely amused.
I quit examining a thread on the carpet and looked up, shocked that she hadn’t yelled. “He said something rude about me and my best friend, so I told him off. Then he took a swing at me. I was just defending myself.”
She nodded thoughtfully and steepled her fingers. “Does that make it okay to tackle him in the hall?”
I flushed. “No ma’am, not at all. I should’ve walked away. If you want to know the truth, though, he’s a toad.”
Dumb, stupid, I just called Carter a toad in front of the principal? And if I was going to mouth off, couldn’t I have come up with a better word than toad? Maybe Lord Supreme Jackass?
Mrs. Stevens’ face stayed blank, but her eyes sparkled. “Carter has his own challenges to overcome, but your behavior wasn’t acceptable either.”
I shrank down in my seat as she watched me in silence. Two minutes ticked by, then three. Finally, she smiled. It wasn’t a nice smile, but I’d take what I could get.
“I’ll let you off with a warning and two weeks detention,” she said. “You’re a good kid, Matt. From what I’ve seen, you haven’t been in trouble much. I’ll chalk it up to raging testosterone this time. Next time, you’ll be suspended. Do we understand one another?”
I nodded like a bobble-head doll. “Yes, ma’am, absolutely.”
I also should’ve remembered what Brent said about pushing and shoving in football games—it’s always the second guy who gets caught.
Just then, the secretary poked her head in. “Matt’s uncle is here. He says he’s checking Matt out early.” The secretary scowled, as if the idea that I’d get to leave school before last bell was personally offending her.
“Thank you, Miss James.” Mrs. Stevens turned back to me. “Matt, I’ll call your mother later today to discuss the terms of your detention. Why don’t you try to blow off some steam over break.”
I nodded. Fort Carson would see to that. And so would Mom when I got back home. At least I’d be on the road before she heard about it.
“Let’s not keep your uncle waiting,” Mrs. Stevens said. She smiled again; this time it was more friendly. “I’ll see you a week from Monday.”
I hopped out of my seat and backed out of her office as fast as I could, practically bowing. Once free, I spun around without looking and ran smack into Mike’s chest.
“Chief, what were you doing in the principal’s office?” he asked.
I shifted from foot to foot. “Long story.”
Uncle Mike’s lips tightened. “We have a ten-hour drive. I have the time.”
On the way to the parking lot, I owned up to the fight. Mike was scowling by the time I got into the Jeep. My bags were already in the back; he must have stopped by my house on the way to pick me up. I stared out the passenger window with my arms crossed, not in the mood to see the stern look on Mike’s face because I didn’t know what to say in response. I was still too angry.
Mike started the engine and backed out. He drove all the way to the highway before he said anything.
“Okay, Captain Mayhem
, what were you thinking, fighting at school?”
I didn’t answer.
“Matt, if you get in trouble, Dani will put you under house arrest and monsters will roam free. Is that what you want?
A cold sliver of guilt slipped into my insides. “No. I’m sorry, okay? I know what’s at stake, and I won’t get into another fight.”
“That’s right, you won’t.” Mike’s voice held a sharp edge I’d never heard. “After next week, you’ll know better.”
That pissed me off more. “Carter gives me crap for breathing, Uncle Mike. It was high time I stood up for myself.”
He pulled over to the side of the road and glared at me. “What’s Carter going to do to you by slinging insults? Nothing. Over the next week you’re going to be trained in hand-to-hand combat, among other things. You get in a fight with that kid at school, and next time you’ll do him serious harm. I have to trust that you can show some self-control. Suck it up and act like a man.”
He pulled back onto the road. “For the next week, I’m not Uncle Mike. You call me sir or Major Tannen.”
Shocked that Mike would snap at me like that, I glared out the window and didn’t say another word until we crossed into Wyoming two hours later. We stopped for dinner at the Colorado border and had a perfectly normal conversation about the Broncos’ imploding season. I felt like things were starting to thaw, but after dessert Mike disappeared to the men’s room with a garment bag. He returned wearing a crisply ironed, Army-green Class B uniform: olive-colored trousers, long sleeve shirt covered in commendation ribbons, gold oak leaf insignia for a major’s rank, tie, and black shoes shined within an inch of their lives. Seriously, if those shoes could talk, they’d be screaming from the rub-down they’d taken.
“We’re leaving,” he ordered.
Wondering what the heck had gotten into him, I left the last bite of my pie and scurried out to the Jeep, dreading whatever came next. He hardly talked the rest of the way and I shrank down in my seat, thinking Major Tannen was one scary dude.
I had to admit though, once we made it to Fort Carson, it was kind of awesome to see dozens of uniformed soldiers saluting as Mike walked by. He led me to a little house on the edge of the base that served as quarters for visiting personnel. The building, consisting of two whole rooms and a bathroom, was square, with walls made of cinderblocks painted gray and a floor of the same kind of ugly, thick vinyl you see in hospitals. The only furniture I had in my room was a metal bunk, a metal footlocker and a metal folding chair. A small, gray-tiled bathroom, with just a sink, shower and toilet, separated my room and Mike’s. His room didn’t look any nicer, except he had a desk. It was metal, too.