Read Online The Dream Where the Losers Go by Beth Goobie - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Beth Goobie
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has some power over you and you have to make up.”
“How old is she?” he asked.
“Seventeen, I think,” she said.
“Bribery,” he said immediately. “Something illegal works best.”
“Not with her,” she said emphatically.
“Then grovel,” he said. “They like it when you grovel.”
“How do you grovel?” she asked.
“My particular style?” he said. “I wimp out. Beg, whine, whimper. I’m a Class A groveler. As in a groveler without class.”
“I can’t do it,” she said decidedly. “Not with her.”
“Why not?” he asked.
“I grovel all day, every day of my life,” she said. “My whole life is one long grovel.”
He went into a thinking pause, then said, “How much power does she have?”
From a long way off, she heard Tammy re-enter the office. “I take your point,” she muttered and returned to the well-lit room, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the fluorescent light.
“Have a good piss?” asked Skey.
“It was fine,” Tammy said, sitting down.
“Did you wash your hands?” asked Skey.
Tammy smiled a little. “Yes.”
“Algebra would be fine,” Skey said.
T HE DESKS IN S KEY’S English class were arranged in two half circles, facing the front. Ms. Fleck, the teacher, had decided upon an alphabetical seating plan, telling the class it was more democratic because it broke up cliques and encouraged new relationships. Skey thought it was stupid. San and Trevor were trapped five desks apart in the back row and Skey’s seat was at one end of the front. Beside her sat Brenda Murdoch, alias Miss Upchuck because of frequent gagging noises she made in washroom cubicles. At the other end of the first row, directly opposite Skey, sat the loser from her homeroom, Elwin Serkowski. Alias Lick.
He hadn’t washed his arm and was keeping his left sleeve pushed up. Every now and then his eyes would flick over her writing and shoot toward her, as if he was continually startled at this tiny connection between them, her touch still on his skin. If their eyes happened to meet, he blushed furiously and ducked his head. Every twenty seconds, he licked his lips. Skey wanted to donate some Lypsyl to the future of his mouth, soften his first kiss for the lucky girl.
For something to do, she watched him. If he wasn’t spinning his pen, he was tapping a finger or bouncing a knee. His lips moved constantly as he talked soundlessly to himself, and she could almost hear the whine in his head driving him insane. He probably heard mysterious voices talking about alien invasions or the next apocalypse. Whatever disaster was approaching the human race, Lick would know about it well ahead of everyone else. Every nerve in his body was radar scanning for danger, just like hers. What separated them, what made Lick the loser and Skey the success, was that he advertised it. She sat absolutely still. No one saw her fidget, gulp and swallow every five seconds.
It was Wednesday afternoon, just after Skey’s first session with Tammy Nanji. Class hadn’t started, San and Trevor hadn’t shown yet and most of the students were milling around, talking. Drifting to her desk, Skey deposited her books. Beside her, Brenda sat reading The Guide to Nutritious Dieting . A member of the Cafeteria Board of Directors, it was Brenda’s personal goal to delete every donut, French fry and greasy hamburger that was stuffed down a student’s throat. Last year she had started a petition for a salad bar. No one had signed.
“Where’d you get that, the Book of the Month Club?” Skey asked vaguely as she scanned the room for someone of interest.
Brenda straightened eagerly. “I’m researching vegetarian menus,” she said. “You know—yogurt, cottage cheese, the kind of food you need to diet properly. How are you supposed to keep thin with the crap they feed you here? You ought to be interested in this. A couple of us are meeting Tuesday and Thursday lunch hours to work out a plan. Want to come?”
“Can I bring
“How old is she?” he asked.
“Seventeen, I think,” she said.
“Bribery,” he said immediately. “Something illegal works best.”
“Not with her,” she said emphatically.
“Then grovel,” he said. “They like it when you grovel.”
“How do you grovel?” she asked.
“My particular style?” he said. “I wimp out. Beg, whine, whimper. I’m a Class A groveler. As in a groveler without class.”
“I can’t do it,” she said decidedly. “Not with her.”
“Why not?” he asked.
“I grovel all day, every day of my life,” she said. “My whole life is one long grovel.”
He went into a thinking pause, then said, “How much power does she have?”
From a long way off, she heard Tammy re-enter the office. “I take your point,” she muttered and returned to the well-lit room, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the fluorescent light.
“Have a good piss?” asked Skey.
“It was fine,” Tammy said, sitting down.
“Did you wash your hands?” asked Skey.
Tammy smiled a little. “Yes.”
“Algebra would be fine,” Skey said.
T HE DESKS IN S KEY’S English class were arranged in two half circles, facing the front. Ms. Fleck, the teacher, had decided upon an alphabetical seating plan, telling the class it was more democratic because it broke up cliques and encouraged new relationships. Skey thought it was stupid. San and Trevor were trapped five desks apart in the back row and Skey’s seat was at one end of the front. Beside her sat Brenda Murdoch, alias Miss Upchuck because of frequent gagging noises she made in washroom cubicles. At the other end of the first row, directly opposite Skey, sat the loser from her homeroom, Elwin Serkowski. Alias Lick.
He hadn’t washed his arm and was keeping his left sleeve pushed up. Every now and then his eyes would flick over her writing and shoot toward her, as if he was continually startled at this tiny connection between them, her touch still on his skin. If their eyes happened to meet, he blushed furiously and ducked his head. Every twenty seconds, he licked his lips. Skey wanted to donate some Lypsyl to the future of his mouth, soften his first kiss for the lucky girl.
For something to do, she watched him. If he wasn’t spinning his pen, he was tapping a finger or bouncing a knee. His lips moved constantly as he talked soundlessly to himself, and she could almost hear the whine in his head driving him insane. He probably heard mysterious voices talking about alien invasions or the next apocalypse. Whatever disaster was approaching the human race, Lick would know about it well ahead of everyone else. Every nerve in his body was radar scanning for danger, just like hers. What separated them, what made Lick the loser and Skey the success, was that he advertised it. She sat absolutely still. No one saw her fidget, gulp and swallow every five seconds.
It was Wednesday afternoon, just after Skey’s first session with Tammy Nanji. Class hadn’t started, San and Trevor hadn’t shown yet and most of the students were milling around, talking. Drifting to her desk, Skey deposited her books. Beside her, Brenda sat reading The Guide to Nutritious Dieting . A member of the Cafeteria Board of Directors, it was Brenda’s personal goal to delete every donut, French fry and greasy hamburger that was stuffed down a student’s throat. Last year she had started a petition for a salad bar. No one had signed.
“Where’d you get that, the Book of the Month Club?” Skey asked vaguely as she scanned the room for someone of interest.
Brenda straightened eagerly. “I’m researching vegetarian menus,” she said. “You know—yogurt, cottage cheese, the kind of food you need to diet properly. How are you supposed to keep thin with the crap they feed you here? You ought to be interested in this. A couple of us are meeting Tuesday and Thursday lunch hours to work out a plan. Want to come?”
“Can I bring
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