Wart Read online

  Stewart shrugged and went outside to sit on the front step and wait for Ham to come from his house around the corner, but outside the air was definitely cooler than yesterday. He went back for a jacket. When he came out again, Ham was standing on the sidewalk, and he was grinning. "Morning, Stew." Ham slapped him on the shoulder, and Stewart grunted a greeting. Sometimes Ham's good moods got on Stewart's nerves. Sometimes Ham got on his nerves! Sometimes he wanted to walk away from Ham, just long enough to know if Sammi was right. Would he really be more popular without his old buddy?

  Ham took a breakfast bar from his jacket pocket and began to unwrap it. "Didn't finish my breakfast." He pointed with the bar toward the house next door. "You want to see if Rach is ready to go?"

  Stewart shook his head. "Nah, let her find her own way to school."

  "Not exactly Mr. Sunshine this morning, are you?" Ham talked around the breakfast bar.

  "Don't see what there is to be sunny about?"

  "Cheer up," said Ham. He dusted the crumbs from the front of his jacket. "Things could be worse."

  "Yeah, you think so?" Stewart slung his backpack over his shoulder and began to walk. "Just watch, and they probably will get worse."

  "You know," said Ham, "this might be a really good day. Maybe today will be the day Harrison shows the video in art. I would have taken band if I hadn't heard about that video, all those naked women right there in class. He's supposed to show it during the first nine weeks, and time is running out."

  "I've told you, they can't be pictures of naked women. Harrison couldn't get by with that. Probably just statues or something."

  "Well, as long as they're naked, anyway. Even statues would be better than nothing. I'm telling you, today is the day. I can't wait until art class."

  They didn't talk much more on the way to school. The crisp autumn breeze touched their faces. Yellow mums filled flower beds and Halloween decorations hung in windows. Stewart wished he could forget about Taylor, who would never notice him. He wished he could stop caring about being a good basketball player. He wished he could quit having the urge to yell at Ham, who finished one breakfast bar and pulled another from his jacket pocket.

  Their school, an old sandstone building that had once been the high school, covered almost a whole block. It was, Stewart thought, not really part of the town, not part of anything around it. Sequoyah Middle School was a kingdom, a kingdom ruled by the popular kids, a kingdom where Stewart had no real place. They climbed the big front steps and went inside. Stewart walked slightly ahead of Ham. No one noticed them. They separated to go to their classes.

  When they met at the art room door third period, Ham poked Stewart. "Hey, look! He's pulled the video screen down. Didn't I tell you this was going to be the day?" Ham looked around the room. "Wonder where Harrison is? He's always in here when we come in." They made their way to a front table.

  Stewart got interested when Taylor Montgomery took a seat at the end of their table. Lately, he had taken to watching Taylor all the time. It had started a few weeks earlier, when Stewart had walked behind Taylor in the hall. Her shiny blond hair had hung down below her shoulders, and it had bounced as she walked. Her body had bounced, too, and Stewart had followed her into a classroom before he realized that he should have stopped in the room before that one.

  Stewart felt desperate. He wanted Taylor to notice him. He even e-mailed Sammi, "She's very popular. Any hints about how to get her to like me?"

  Sammi wrote back a long answer all about how Stewart was such a great guy and how any girl would be lucky to have him for a boyfriend. She said Stewart should just be himself, but then came the part that made him uncomfortable. "You are staying away from Ham and Rachel, aren't you? You are never going to be part of the popular crowd if you're hanging around them." Stewart hadn't written back yet.

  He was lost in thinking about Taylor and hardly noticed when the bell rang. Ham jabbed him in the ribs. "Maybe Mr. Harrison isn't here today," Ham said. "That's okay. Subs like to show videos."

  Stewart didn't say anything. He went back to concentrating on watching Taylor without being obvious about it. Taylor was talking to her friend Madison. There was too much noise in the room for Stewart to hear what the girls said, but Taylor made a wonderful star in a silent movie. Stewart could watch all day.

  Then Taylor stood up. "Hey, you guys!" she shouted. "We should be quiet and working when someone comes in. You know Mr. Dooley has been on a rampage lately. I don't want detention. I'm getting the charcoals."

  As Stewart would have predicted, the room quieted down. People paid attention to Taylor. She was, after all, the most popular girl in the whole eighth grade. Until recently, Stewart hadn't thought much about such things, but until recently, he hadn't noticed how a girl's behind swayed when she walked either. Things were different now.

  Stewart watched Taylor move to the supply closet and open the door. He heard her scream, and taking his eyes off her jeans, he saw what she was screaming about. What a sight! There was Mr. Harrison on the third shelf, right between the yarn and the bottles of glue. He gave Taylor a strange little wave.

  Everyone got up and went over to the closet to get a better look. "Hey, Mr. Harrison," someone yelled. "What are you doing?" Mr. Harrison did not answer.

  Instead, he took a ball of yellow yarn, unrolled a long piece, and began to weave it into his reddish beard.

  "I think he's flipped," said Taylor, and she sounded like she was about to cry.

  Stewart considered pushing his way to her side. He could take her hand and promise to take care of her. He didn't move.

  "Mr. Harrison," called Ham, "can I have the bathroom pass?"

  Stewart gave Ham a jab with his elbow. "Not now, dopey!"

  "But I got to go real bad." Ham turned to look at the door, and Stewart knew he was considering leaving the room. He didn't, though, because the principal, Mr. Dooley, was coming through the door. He was moving pretty fast, and Coach Knox was behind him; so was Ashley Sage.

  "See!" Ashley pointed toward the closet. "I told you so."

  "Why'd Ashley go and ruin the fun?" Ham whispered, but Stewart didn't say anything. Coach Knox had come to stand right beside him, and the coach always made Stewart nervous.

  Kids moved out of the way, and Mr. Dooley and Coach Knox stepped up close to the closet. "There is some explanation for this, right?" Mr. Dooley's face was red, and his bald head was starting to shine. "An experiment, right?"

  Mr. Harrison didn't say anything, but he started to hum. Stewart was pretty sure it was the school song.

  "Get down at once, Harrison!" Mr. Dooley pounded one fist into the other hand. Stewart expected to see steam coming out of his ears. "This constitutes flagrant neglect of duties, grounds for dismissal." He folded his arms across his chest and looked up at Mr. Harrison, who continued to hum, loudly now. Everyone could hear plainly that it was the school song, and Stewart had the urge to sing along. He didn't.

  "Let me get him for you." Coach Knox rubbed his hands together in anticipation.

  "Not in front of them," Mr. Dooley said in a sort of half whisper. He turned to the students and made a motion with his arm toward the door. "Go to the library. Go very quietly and take something to study."

  They went, but not quietly. "Boy," said Ham when they were in the hall, "some teacher is always threatening to go bonkers, but I never thought I'd get to see one do it."

  "Wow!" Stewart shook his head. "Do you think Coach will jerk him down by the leg, or will Mr. Dooley help and lift him down between them?"

  "Wish we knew. I'm going to stop at the bathroom. You go on up and make sure we get the old National Geographic magazines. You know, the ones with the women with no clothes on top."

  At lunch the cafeteria buzzed with talk about Mr. Harrison. Rachel almost always brought her lunch and was already eating an apple when Stew and Ham got through the line. "I feel bad for him," she said when they asked if she had heard about what happened.

  Ham waved his hand
in a motion of dismissal. "You feel worse because you missed it."

  "Well," she said with a smile, "I guess it would have been kind of interesting."

  "He might still be there if Ashley hadn't gone for Dooley," said Stewart, "but don't say anything Ham because here she comes." Ashley Sage was Rachel's only real friend besides Ham and Stewart, and the four almost always ate together. While Ashley settled herself, Stewart looked around.

  The most popular kids sat in the middle of the cafeteria. Taylor Montgomery was always somewhere near the center. Today Brad Wilson and Jake Phillips were at the table with Taylor and her friends. That was becoming a pattern. One of the boys must have a thing for Taylor, maybe both of them. Brad and Jake were both the athletic type.

  Stewart wondered what type he was. He glanced at the faces of the kids at his table. I'm the loser type, he told himself, and so are these others. He wondered about Sammi's comment. Would he be with the popular kids if it weren't for his friends? Would having Taylor like him make giving up Ham and Rachel worth it?

  Right after lunch, Mr. Dooley came on the intercom. Usually kids yawned during Mr. Dooley's frequent intercom announcements. He didn't have much to say to individual students, but he did love to address the student body on the intercom. This time, though, they were interested. "Young ladies and gentleman," he began. "I know you are all concerned about our Mr. Harrison. Let me assure you he is being well cared for. Because his illness may keep him from us for some time, we are so lucky to have had a qualified teacher come to our building just today seeking a job. We are pleased to welcome Mrs. Wanda Gibbs who is an experienced art teacher. She will be with us covering Mr. Harrison's duties, including Open House tonight."

  Stewart lowered his head and rested it in his hands. Open House! Suddenly Mr. Harrison's breakdown seemed like nothing to be interested in. He was facing a death sentence. Open House! He had forgotten about it, but he was pretty sure his father hadn't. It would be right there on the kitchen calendar, and his dad was sure to have noticed it. The algebra grade was bound to come up. Stewart had to find a way to keep his father home.

  While his geography teacher talked about Europe and pointed to countries on the map, Stewart rolled his pencil between his hands and thought. Before the bell rang, he had a plan. Georgia! His little sister could be a real mess, but the two of them got along pretty well. If Stewart worked it right, he could get his little sister to do pretty much anything he wanted her to do. He would figure out a way to get Georgia to keep Dad from talking to Mr. Payne about his algebra grade.

  At home, Stewart stood on the small front porch of the yellow house for a minute before going in. His father did not have a late class on Thursday afternoon and was already home. Mrs. Davis, called Gran by the kids, had already picked up Georgia from school as usual, and Stewart could smell the roast she had put in the oven before she left. "We'll have an early supper," Dad said right off. "Remember we go to your school tonight."

  Stewart's heart sank. There went any hope he had that his father might have forgotten. "It's no big deal." He went to the cabinet to get out glasses for the meal. "If you're tired, we can just stay home."

  His father looked closely at him. "I wouldn't miss it."

  Stewart decided it would be best not to push the not-going idea. He would just have to count on Georgia. "Guess what happened today in school," he said while they ate, but even as he told the story about Mr. Harrison, he was planning what he would say to his little sister.

  After they ate, Stewart helped clean the kitchen, then went upstairs. Georgia was in her room playing with the little plastic horses she loved. Stewart dropped to the floor across from her. "Listen, Georgy," he said, "you've got to help me at my school tonight." He glanced at the door, making sure his father wasn't near. "When we are ready to go to the math room, I'll say, 'Algebra is next.' That's when you pitch a fit to go home." He put his hands on her shoulders and got his face close to hers. "This is really important. Life and Death. Don't let Dad go into that math room. Do whatever you have to do!"

  Georgia looked up, her face twisted, deep in thought. Stewart knew she was pretending to consider the situation, but he was certain she would do it, would enjoy the challenge of it. "Okay," she finally said, and Stewart gave one of her pigtails a friendly tug.

  On the way to school, Stewart made himself not think about algebra. He thought about the basketball team. The coach would be announcing this week who would make the real team, the one that competed against other schools. He wondered if he had any chance. With a sigh, he shook his head. Not likely.

  Inside, Stewart guided his father and sister to English class first because it was first period, and because he liked taking his father to Miss Oliver first. "Stewart is a fine student. You must be very proud of him," she said to his father. Stewart looked down and resisted the urge to ask Miss Oliver if she didn't agree that in this age of super calculators math was pretty much unnecessary. Algebra wasn't until fifth period, but Stewart decided to get it over with.

  They walked out of the English room, and Stewart said, "Let's go on to algebra now." He gave Georgia a meaningful look. She nodded slightly, but did nothing. Stewart stopped moving. "Algebra is just next door," he said forcefully.

  They could see into the room. Mr. Payne was busy talking to one set of parents with another mother waiting.

  "We could come back later," Stewart said, and he hoped he had kept his voice light. His father was forgetful. If they got away this time, he might not think of coming back.

  "We're in no hurry." Dad stepped toward the door.

  Stewart turned to Georgia. "Now," he mouthed.

  "I want to go home," she whined, and she pulled at her father's jacket. "I'm tired and my tummy hurts."

  Mr. Wright put his finger up to his lips to shush her. "In a few minutes."

  "Now!" She was louder this time, and some people turned to look at the family.

  "Be quiet," their father said with a determined tone.

  Stewart stepped behind his father and gave his little sister a big smile and a thumbs-up sign. She threw herself on the floor and started to kick and scream. "Take me home to my little bed. I'm tired and so sick. Take me home, oh please, Daddy! Take me home." Everyone in the hall was staring now, and some people stepped out from rooms to see what was going on.

  "Stop it!" Dad leaned down and jerked on Georgia's arm. Stewart was afraid she would straighten up like she usually did when their father really showed she had gone too far.

  "Let me talk to her." He leaned down. "Stop acting like a little brat," he said, but all the while he smiled.

  She let out an even louder wail. "I think she might be really sick," said Stewart, who was beginning to feel a little guilty for getting his little sister in trouble.

  That's when it happened. That's the moment Stewart's life began to change. Suddenly there was a woman in front of them. Stewart had just time enough to notice her unusual looks. Her hair was black as the darkest night, and it hung in a big long braid down her back. The really different thing, though, were her eyes. They were the brightest green eyes he'd ever seen. Without a word to anyone else, she bent over and looked into Georgia's face. "What's the matter, sweetheart?" She put one hand under Georgia's chin. The other hand was touching a big green piece of jewelry hanging from a gold chain around her neck.

  "Nothing," said Georgia in a sweet, little voice. Stewart wanted to pass out.

  "I'm Wanda Gibbs," the woman said, turning to their father. "I'm the art teacher." Substitute, Stewart wanted to yell. After all, poor Mr. Harrison was just crazy, not dead. He might come back.

  "How nice to meet you," Mr. Wright said, and Stewart wanted to throw up. Here was this nosy woman butting in where she wasn't wanted, and Dad was practically kissing her feet. What was even worse, Georgia was holding her hand and smiling at the woman like a perfect angel.

  "Come on down to my room, darling. I'm not getting many parents." She was patting Georgia's cheek now, but her other hand was still o
n that green necklace. "You can color some pictures while your daddy visits with Mr. Payne." She gave Stewart's father another big smile, and Stewart thought Dad nodded in a sort of dopey way.

  Then they were gone, the woman leading Georgia by the hand. His little sister didn't even look back. "How nice of Wanda," Mr. Wright said, like they were old friends. Then he turned and went into the math room.

  Just as Stewart expected, his father got pretty worked up over the algebra grade. "No more TV," he said when they were in the hall again. "No more computer, no more iPod." By the time they had gone through the other classes, he had calmed down. "Okay, Stewart," he said. "I do want you to spend less time watching TV and playing games, but I'm also going to help you. We're going to work on algebra together regularly. You're too smart to make low grades."

  Stewart felt better that he didn't have to lie to his dad about his algebra trouble anymore, but they had saved the art room for last, and on the way, he started to worry about what his dad was going to do if he found out Georgia's fit had been his idea. "I need to go to the restroom," he said when they were just outside the door. "You can go on in and get Georgia if you want."

  He did go down the hall to the restroom and came back to wait outside the art room, trying to think what to do if his dad came out mad. The amazing thing was that his father and Georgia both came out wearing big smiles.

  On the way to the car, Stewart decided to be quiet and hope for the best, but what his father said after he had started the car surprised Stewart into forgetting to worry about punishment. "I asked Wanda Gibbs to go out to dinner with me tomorrow evening," he said.

  "Oh!" Georgia clapped her hands. "She might be my new mommy!"

  Stewart gave the little rat the dirtiest look possible. It was too dark, though, and the look was wasted. Not only had Georgia let him down, now she was being disloyal to their mother and to Martha too.

  • TWO •

  It felt strange the next day to sit in class and be taught by the woman his dad was going to take out to dinner. He and Ham stared at her as she talked. Then Ham wrote a note. "Why?" He scribbled in the margin of the paper where he had started to take notes about perspective. Stewart shrugged his shoulders. "She's not near as pretty as Martha," Ham added. Stewart shrugged his shoulders again.