Authors: Greg Logsted
“What did you wear at your other schools?”
I’ve got to be more careful. This is why it doesn’t pay to talk about yourself. After a while you slip out from under the cover you’ve created. You start slowly revealing more and more about the real you. My dad used to say, “Don’t talk; walk.” It meant don’t get close to anyone.
I clear my throat. “Um, at my other schools we always had to wear uniforms.”
“Uniforms. Oh, man, I’d really hate that, but a uniform’s not the same as a suit.”
I smile. “It’s practically the same.”
“I guess. Hey, you wanna head up to the science labs? I know these two guys; they’re going to let all the lab mice run free in the halls before school starts. I have this crazy idea that it’s going to be like the running of the bulls, only with mice. It could be fun to watch.”
I think about the possibilities. I don’t have to think very long. “Sounds great. Let’s go.”
The walk through the now-familiar halls is completely different than any other day at school. Suddenly everyone seems to know who I am. In a way I
have
become “Mr. Hollywood.” As we move along, elbows are being jabbed into the sides of friends, chins are being raised in my direction, conversations stop, and whispering begins.
Some people like this kind of attention. I don’t. Neither would my dad. I’m sure he’d be disappointed. When we said good-bye at the airport he gave me a big hug and said, “Remember, don’t do anything to draw attention to yourself, just blend in. Become the invisible boy.”
Frank and I pass by the large mirror that asks
ARE YOU LOOKING AT AN HONOR STUDENT?
I admire the cut of my suit, the silk tie, the polished Italian shoes. Honor student? Hardly, but a vast improvement over the girls’ gym uniform I was recently forced to wear.
I run right into Renee. When I say run into, I don’t mean I see her in the hall. I mean I’m too busy admiring myself in the mirror to watch where I’m going.
Her books crash to the floor and she makes a strange yipping sound, like when you accidentally step on a dog’s tail. We both reach down to pick up the books at the same time and we really slam our heads together. Renee holds her head and leans against a row of lockers. Her eyes fill with tears.
I quickly move to her side. I understand how she feels. I’m feeling out of it myself. There are little black spots distorting my vision, dancing in front of my eyes like a swarm of gnats. I feel like I’m moving in slow motion. The last time I felt like this was when I was learning how to use a pair of nunchucks and I accidentally slammed one against my forehead. I had a huge knot on my head for two weeks.
“Renee, Renee, I’m sorry, are you okay?”
She’s shaking her head and blinking her eyes. “That
really
hurt!”
“I know. I guess we both have hard heads.”
She stares at me for a while. I can see the focus slowly coming back into her eyes. In a low voice she says, “You know something?”
I lean forward. “What?”
“You’re such an idiot.”
I feel like buildings are crashing down inside my chest. I try my best to smile but it’s really hard. “If it’s any consolation, I feel like an idiot.”
There’s a small crowd gathering around us. I hear someone ask, “What happened?” Then the clear, loud reply: “That guy Cody just beat up some girl.”
I turn in their direction and hold up my hands. “No, no…that’s not what happened, really. I didn’t hit her. I swear. It was a mistake, an accident. We hit our heads together picking up her books.”
The crowd looks skeptical. Then a voice in the back says, “He’s lying. I saw the whole thing. He just went crazy and threw her against the lockers.”
“No, I didn’t, really! It was an accident.”
I move toward the crowd to plead my case and they quickly back away from me. I can see that they don’t believe me. I also see
the fear and mistrust in their eyes. I’ve become some kind of horrible monster, like Frankenstein’s creature.
I give up and move back to Renee’s side. “How’s the head? You okay?”
She seems more irritated than hurt. “What’s wrong with you? I mean it. I heard about your fight yesterday. Do you
like
hurting people? Did you enjoy hurting me?”
“No, of course not! I said I was sorry. I really meant it. It was an accident. You must know that.”
She gives me an icy glare. “I’m a vegetarian. I bet you didn’t know that.”
“What’s that got to do with anything?”
“I’m not surprised you don’t get it. I don’t eat meat because I think it’s cruel. What makes you think I’d want to be seen with someone who goes around hurting people for the fun of it?”
“I don’t hurt people for the fun—”
She holds up her hand. “Cody, I don’t want to hear it! Don’t talk to me. Where are my books? I just want to get out of here before you kick me in the head or something.”
“Please, Renee, don’t be like this…. Um, what about France?”
“Forget France…just give me my books.”
Frank hands her the books and she takes off down the hall, her heels angrily tapping away on the tile floor. I watch her walk and wonder the whole time if I should try to stop her or just let
her go.
When she rounds the corner Frank says, “You should have stopped her.”
“You really think so?”
He starts to laugh. “No way. Are you crazy? She would have killed you. I don’t know anything about girls, but I know when someone’s mad. And she was
really
mad. I think you should give her some time to cool down.”
“I guess…maybe you’re right.”
He gives me a long, appraising look. “Oh, I get it. You like her, don’t you?”
I can feel my cheeks reddening. Why do they keep doing that? “Well, I guess, maybe, kind of.”
He keeps looking at me and nods his head. I’m embarrassed that I parted with this information. He doesn’t seem to know what to do with it. We stand together in silence. I glance again at the mirror. I somehow look smaller, even with my suit.
Frank points his chin down the hallway. “Um, you wanna see if we can still catch the running of the mice?”
In the end
the mice never ran free. The science lab hall filled with students, not mice. It seems like everyone in the school heard the rumor and came upstairs hoping to catch the rodent rampage.
I’ve noticed there’s always one crazy rumor or another floating around this school. If half the things happened that were rumored to happen, this would be one of the oddest places on earth. I can only imagine what they’re saying about me.
I should have known nothing was going to happen with the mice. Freeing them would have involved picking a lock or stealing a key. I doubt anyone around here is capable of performing such a simplistic feat.
When the crowd grows restless I briefly consider just doing it myself but decide it’s not worth the risk. I’ve become the center of
attention. It would be tough to sneak around picking locks with everyone staring at me.
The school will just have to find some comfort in the fact that I’m the grand consolation prize. If it’s not going to be overrun by rodents at least it’s got me, Cody the Psychopath, to hold its attention.
I plow through the remainder of the morning feeling like a large poisonous snake. Everybody flashes me the same nervous smile and flinches if I move my hands too quickly. When I walk down the crowded halls they part in front of me. Laughter stops when I get close to it. Classrooms grow quiet when I pass into them.
Even teachers treat me differently. They stand as far away from me as possible, avoid eye contact, and no longer debate my points. If I have to hear one more teacher say, “That’s very interesting, I’ll have to give it further thought,” I seriously think my head’s going to explode.
I imagine that would really give this school something to talk about. I’d be Cody the Exploding-Headed Boy.
Throughout the morning I look constantly for Renee. I want to apologize for the hall incident and try to explain what really happened in the locker room. I think if I can just get her to listen to me, everything will be all right.
I don’t see her until history class. She must be avoiding me; the school’s large, but not that large. When I walk into the room I
smile and try to get her attention, but she turns away and continues talking to her friend Fiona.
Everyone grows quiet, just like they have in all my other classes.
I take my seat and reach out and touch her shoulder. I whisper, “Hey, Renee, I’m sorry about this morning.”
She doesn’t look at me, she just mutters, “Whatever.”
My voice grows a little louder. “I want to tell you what happened, you know, about the fight.”
She sighs. “I don’t want to talk about fights, and I thought I made it clear that I don’t want to talk to
you
, either.”
“Just let me explain what happened.”
Her hand rises, signaling me to stop talking. “No. I don’t want to hear it. Seriously.”
I sink back into my seat and just let the class slip by. It’s nothing new, just the same old history, with Mrs. Smith’s strange twists. I watch Renee without being completely obvious. I don’t want her to think I’m an obsessive freak or anything. She watches the teacher and doodles in her notebook. They’re good doodles, too—cartoon figures, castles, flowing landscapes. I wonder if she paints. I bet she could paint a beautiful painting. Now that would be something worth hanging on one of my empty bedroom walls.
“Cody?”
I look at Mrs. Smith.
“Yes?”
I think I missed something. Everybody’s staring at me.
“I asked you a question.”
“I’m sorry. Could you repeat the question?”
She seems aggravated. “I said, is your group ready for its presentation?”
I give Renee and Fiona a questioning look. The three of us are working on a slide show about the important role France played in gaining our independence.
Renee rolls her eyes and Fiona shakes her head. We could do it, but they just don’t want to. I’m not really in the mood, either.
I look at Mrs. Smith. She has her hand on her hip and a far-away expression like she’d rather be someplace else, maybe lying on a warm beach with her feet buried in the sand.
“I’m sorry. We’re not ready yet…. Soon.”
It looks like she’s about to say something to me, then changes her mind. She addresses the class instead. “Are there any other groups that are ready?”
No one raises a hand.
“Okay, fine. Everybody split up into your groups for the remainder of the class. But, people, tomorrow is D-Day. I mean it. Presentations begin, so you had better be prepared.”
The noise level drastically increases as everyone starts talking and moving desks together. I slide over to Renee and Fiona.
“I think we’re ready for our presentation. Fiona, did you get those slides you were talking about?”
She ignores me.
“Come on, guys, we’ve got to work on this. Renee, I said I was sorry. What more do you want?”
Her soft brown eyes change; they become cold and hard. “I want you to leave me alone. That’s what I want. Is that so difficult to understand?”
“Don’t be like that.” There’s a pleading quality to my voice I’ve never heard before. “Give me a chance to at least tell you my side of the story.”
“Cody, I don’t want to hear it.”
I sink down low in my desk and rest my chin on my crossed arms. I quietly watch the girls. Somehow they’ve made me disappear. It’s like they cast a spell and I just vanished. All the countless hours I’ve spent mastering martial arts are useless against this kind of a fight.
They’re talking about some TV show that was on last night. From their description it sounds totally absurd and like a complete waste of time.
Then the talk moves to how disappointed they were that the mice weren’t set free.
Renee gets all worked up about how cruel it is to keep all those mice in cages. She proclaims that “mice were meant to be free.”
I’ve been thinking a lot about this whole mice story and I just don’t buy it. Everyone keeps talking about the “hundreds” of mice that are in the science lab. I’ve never seen any mice in there, and as
far as I know nobody has ever used a mouse for any kind of school experiment. We don’t have a college research lab; it’s junior high.
I lean forward. “I think it’s an urban legend.”
Renee looks over at me with a surprised expression, like I suddenly dropped out of the sky and landed next to her. “What’s an urban legend? What are you talking about?”
“This whole mice thing. I don’t believe it.”
“What’s not to believe?”
“I don’t believe that there are
hundreds
of mice in the science lab. Has anyone ever actually
seen
them?”
“I have.” We both look at Fiona. Her eyes are wide with excitement. “They’re in the science lab supply room. It looks like a scene out of a strange movie. Mr. Rizzo breeds them.”
I can feel myself frowning. “Why would a science teacher breed mice?”
Fiona’s getting more animated; this seems to be a topic she’s given a great deal of time and consideration. “My mother, who works part time in the guidance office, says a lot of the teachers think that Mr. Rizzo is nuts. They call him the Mice Man.”
“It still doesn’t make sense to me. Why would the school allow him to breed mice?”
“Story is, the old science teacher requested a dozen for a maze experiment and now Mr. Rizzo’s running a breeding and genetics experiment. There’s a chart on the wall in the back of the class.”
“I still don’t believe it.”
Renee lets out a long, exaggerated sigh. “What’s not to believe? Do you think Fiona’s lying?”
“I’m not saying that. I’m just saying that I don’t believe it.”
She mutters, “That figures. Why don’t you go see if you can beat the truth out of somebody?”
Then the two of them cast that spell again and I become invisible. They continue their conversation about the cruel crime against nature being allowed to happen
right in our school
without anyone doing anything about it.
I’ve had enough.
I ask Mrs. Smith if I can use the bathroom and sign myself out. The thing is, you should always have a plan. When you don’t have a plan everything becomes so much more involved. My dad used to say, “First with your head, then with your heart.” He meant plan first, then act. Wise advice.
It seemed so simple but I was dealing with an unknown element and that can always be troublesome. Someone once said, “Never underestimate your opponent.” That’s also wise advice, especially if you’re trying to put them into a bag. Which, may I add, is something that’s far easier said than done.
Mrs. Smith glares at me when I sign myself back into the room. I record my time as five minutes instead of the actual fifteen. I slip back into my chair and pretend I’m reading my history book. I keep my hands in my lap.
Renee’s looking at me oddly. “Where did you go?”
“Bathroom.”
“Took you long enough.”
I try to act casual. “Yeah, stomach, you know, must have been something I ate.”
“Are you bleeding?”
“What?”
“Your face, your cheek and chin.”
I reach up and touch my face. I look at my fingers; I am bleeding a little. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”
Renee’s eyes open wide. “My god! What happened to your hands?”
I look at them again. They’re full of little cuts and scratches. Why wouldn’t those little guys just stay in the bag and who would have thought they could move so incredibly fast?
Sharp little nails.
Sharp little teeth.
“Um, nothing. I just had a problem with…with the toilet-paper dispenser. It was broken and I tried to open it and…well.”
“You were fighting again. Weren’t you?”
“No! Really, I wasn’t.”
“Then how did you get so cut up?”
“I told you. Toilet-paper dispenser.”
She throws up her hands in exasperation. “What? Do I
look
like an idiot? Who gets attacked by a toilet-paper dispenser?”
The bell rings.
I quickly stand up and start gathering my books. “I wasn’t fighting.”
Renee’s packing her stuff, not even glancing in my direction. She mutters, “Whatever.”
We’re halfway out of class when we hear the first scream. It’s followed by many, many more. We all rush to the open door.
Out in the hall, there are little white mice…
everywhere
.