Read Online Land of the Blind by Jess Walter - Free Book Online Page A

seats. He sat with his notebook open, writing something, or drawing, possibly the tanks and airplanes that he was always sketching.
    His back was to me, and if he knew someone was watching he gave no indication, just sat curled up on himself, as if he could pull in more, disappear from the world. I opened my mouth to say something— I’m sorry —but nothing came out. I backed out of the gym and made my way down the hall. I peeked in the office, but the principal was now gone and the secretary was staring out the door, her head tilted, mouth wide open, like she wasn’t seeing whatever was in front of her eyes, like she was imagining something entirely different.
    My movement into her field of vision snapped her out of it, and she wiped at her eyes. “What are you doing here?” she asked.
    “I go to school here,” I said.
    She straightened some things on her desk and swallowed. “I know. I mean…it’s very early.”
    I opened my mouth to say something, but the principal’s door opened and Mr. Bender popped his head out. “Look, Peg, I’m sorry if I led you to believe that this was anything other than two people—”
    She cleared her throat and nodded toward me, and Mr. Bender followed her gaze to me, standing flat-footed in the doorway.
    “Oh, hello, Mason. What are you doing here?”
    “I go to school here,” I answered again.
    “Right,” he said.
    He came out, his eyebrow up, like he was figuring a problem. “Okay then, well. I was just having a discussion with Mrs. Federick. And…if I led you to believe, Mrs. Federick, that”—and now he looked from me to her and back again—“that…uh, that the other bus driver I was telling you about would approve of me…you know, riding your bus…well, obviously, I’ve got a lot of time invested with that bus driver. As you do with your…bus driver. One ride on another bus doesn’t…”
    He seemed confused by his own words and he turned and went back into his office. Mrs. Federick stared at his door and I slipped away.
    That day we cleaned out our desks and went outside for a huge game of tug-of-war with the other fifth-grade class. In a rare moment of kindness, Mrs. Chalmers-Wright-McKinley allowed Eli to skip the game, but his parole was cut short when she forced him to stand in the middle and be the judge of which team won. A ribbon was tied in the center of the rope and two lines were painted on the grass, about fifteen feet apart. We had to pull the ribbon over the line closest to us and Mr. Gibbons’s class had to pull the ribbon over the line closest to them. In the middle stood Eli, staring at the ground.
    “Go!” Mr. Gibbons said, and we pulled with everything we had, boys and girls alike. The rope snapped tight and then began moving toward their side, and something about the screams and the strain on that rope transformed Eli. He skipped to his right, holding up his right hand to indicate that Mr. Gibbons’s class was winning. Fletcher and I were in the front; we led a charge back the other way and Eli sidestepped toward us, raising his left hand. Now the ribbon changed direction again and Eli, caught off guard, lost his balance but then regained it and began sliding away from us again. Staring at that ribbon, his eyes seemed engaged for the first time I could remember, and he smiled and made a funny noise that I realized was a kind of rusty laughter. I had to block Eli out to help my side stop the erosion, and the ribbon settled in the middle, and when I looked up, Eli had his arms straight out, indicating we were back at equilibrium. Behind me I felt something give, and then Fletcher lost his balance and kicked my legs out from under me, and the rope was pulled quickly the other way and from my back—as I was dragged across the grass—I saw Eli sliding sideways quickly, his right arm straight inthe air, his glasses having fallen to the end of his nose, so intent was he on calling the progress of this match. The ribbon crossed their line,