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Authors: George Harrar
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not comfortable."
Think of thatânot ever going where you don't feel comfortable. If that were the case, where would I ever go?
CHAPTER 12
His name turned out to be Benâthe kid in my art class who marked the teacher. He must be a real loser in this school, because why else would he be waiting for me again after class the next Friday afternoon?
"Hey."
"Hey."
That's all we say to each other as we walk down the hall toward the gym. Just past the trophy case he nudges me to the wall, then whispers, "I got some ish. You interested?"
I don't know if I am or not. "Ish?"
"Yeah, some tree ... herbal ... smokeâman, where did you come from, anyway?"
"Intercourse."
"You got that right."
"No, I mean the town where I grew up in Pennsylvania was called Intercourse. The Amish named it."
Ben's grinning. Every kid grins when I tell him where I was born. "So you went to Intercourse High?"
"Intercourse Elementary, yeah."
Kids are rushing past us, going both ways. Nobody seems to be looking over, which means he's not a totally weirdo kid. He reaches into his pocket and then opens his hand between us, so only I can see. In his palm is a long, thin cigarette that looks like he rolled it himself.
"I'm skipping next period. Why don't you come with me?"
Skip class and smoke marijuanaâis he crazy? "No, I don't do that stuff."
"That's cool. You don't have to. But come with me anyway."
"I've got gym now. I shouldn't miss it again."
"You hate it, right?"
"Yeah."
"So why are you running off to do something you hate?"
He's got a point. I'd do anything to get out of changing into those stupid gym clothes and showing my scrawny legs. Still, what if I get caught with a kid doing drugs?
Ben grabs my arm and pulls me down the hall to a door marked "Janitor." He checks both ways, then opens the door and yanks me through.
It seems like I've fallen into one of those video games where you slide through a pipe into a different world. I follow him down some grated metal steps to a large open area. It's loud and strange, like descending into the boiler room of the
Titanic.
Ben leads us around stacked-up chairs and beat-up old
lockers and a huge box marked "This End UP," with the arrow pointed down. We duck under a large white air duct and turn into a room the size of a bathtub. On the floor is a straw mat and a blue plastic dish filled with butts.
Ben pulls out the cigarette and licks the wrapper to seal a loose edge. "It's my secret place. I never brought anybody here before."
"What about the janitors? Don't they come down for stuff?"
"They're cool. You slip them a few bucks and give them a hit and they leave you alone."
I can't imagine Felix taking a hit of oregano, let alone marijuana, but I figure Ben knows what he's talking about. He strikes a match and lights the cigarette. It takes him a few puffs to get it going, and then he holds it out to me.
I shake my head.
He blows out the smoke and then takes another long drag. It smells like burning weeds.
Ben leans back against the cinder block wall and then slides down it until he's seated on the mat. I squat down so nothing's touching the floor except my sneakers. He flicks the ash off the cigarette. "I know a kid named Hitler."
"Adolf?"
"No, Ron."
"Ronald Hitler? You're kidding."
He takes another drag, squinting his eyes as he does it. "At this camp I got sent to last summer there was this kid named Ronny Hitler, and the thing is, he was really cool, you know. Not a skinhead or anything."
"I'd like to be named Genghis. Genghis Brownâwhat do you think?"
"How about Ben the Ripper?"
"Or Devon the Hun?"
A clunking noise scares us to our feet, then turns into a hum. Ben leans back against the wall. "It was just the boiler starting up."
"Maybe we should get out of here before somebody catches us."
He looks at the stub of the joint burning toward his fingertips. "One more drag."
He takes a long hit, and we stay there for a minute, listening to the boiler.
Think of thatânot ever going where you don't feel comfortable. If that were the case, where would I ever go?
CHAPTER 12
His name turned out to be Benâthe kid in my art class who marked the teacher. He must be a real loser in this school, because why else would he be waiting for me again after class the next Friday afternoon?
"Hey."
"Hey."
That's all we say to each other as we walk down the hall toward the gym. Just past the trophy case he nudges me to the wall, then whispers, "I got some ish. You interested?"
I don't know if I am or not. "Ish?"
"Yeah, some tree ... herbal ... smokeâman, where did you come from, anyway?"
"Intercourse."
"You got that right."
"No, I mean the town where I grew up in Pennsylvania was called Intercourse. The Amish named it."
Ben's grinning. Every kid grins when I tell him where I was born. "So you went to Intercourse High?"
"Intercourse Elementary, yeah."
Kids are rushing past us, going both ways. Nobody seems to be looking over, which means he's not a totally weirdo kid. He reaches into his pocket and then opens his hand between us, so only I can see. In his palm is a long, thin cigarette that looks like he rolled it himself.
"I'm skipping next period. Why don't you come with me?"
Skip class and smoke marijuanaâis he crazy? "No, I don't do that stuff."
"That's cool. You don't have to. But come with me anyway."
"I've got gym now. I shouldn't miss it again."
"You hate it, right?"
"Yeah."
"So why are you running off to do something you hate?"
He's got a point. I'd do anything to get out of changing into those stupid gym clothes and showing my scrawny legs. Still, what if I get caught with a kid doing drugs?
Ben grabs my arm and pulls me down the hall to a door marked "Janitor." He checks both ways, then opens the door and yanks me through.
It seems like I've fallen into one of those video games where you slide through a pipe into a different world. I follow him down some grated metal steps to a large open area. It's loud and strange, like descending into the boiler room of the
Titanic.
Ben leads us around stacked-up chairs and beat-up old
lockers and a huge box marked "This End UP," with the arrow pointed down. We duck under a large white air duct and turn into a room the size of a bathtub. On the floor is a straw mat and a blue plastic dish filled with butts.
Ben pulls out the cigarette and licks the wrapper to seal a loose edge. "It's my secret place. I never brought anybody here before."
"What about the janitors? Don't they come down for stuff?"
"They're cool. You slip them a few bucks and give them a hit and they leave you alone."
I can't imagine Felix taking a hit of oregano, let alone marijuana, but I figure Ben knows what he's talking about. He strikes a match and lights the cigarette. It takes him a few puffs to get it going, and then he holds it out to me.
I shake my head.
He blows out the smoke and then takes another long drag. It smells like burning weeds.
Ben leans back against the cinder block wall and then slides down it until he's seated on the mat. I squat down so nothing's touching the floor except my sneakers. He flicks the ash off the cigarette. "I know a kid named Hitler."
"Adolf?"
"No, Ron."
"Ronald Hitler? You're kidding."
He takes another drag, squinting his eyes as he does it. "At this camp I got sent to last summer there was this kid named Ronny Hitler, and the thing is, he was really cool, you know. Not a skinhead or anything."
"I'd like to be named Genghis. Genghis Brownâwhat do you think?"
"How about Ben the Ripper?"
"Or Devon the Hun?"
A clunking noise scares us to our feet, then turns into a hum. Ben leans back against the wall. "It was just the boiler starting up."
"Maybe we should get out of here before somebody catches us."
He looks at the stub of the joint burning toward his fingertips. "One more drag."
He takes a long hit, and we stay there for a minute, listening to the boiler.
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