I stepped toward the door, passing the end of the partition as I did so. Stewart had Timothy in the stall and with a hand on the back of his neck, was forcing his head toward the toilet bowl. He stopped when I spoke and I stepped forward so he could see me.
“What the fuck? Oh, Tucker, that’s your name, isn’t it? Well, fuck off, Tucker. This is private. Jus, let him out.”
“I don’t think so,” I heard myself say. My head was sort of racing, and it felt like I was watching me from the outside, somehow. I think maybe my adrenaline was a tad too high right then. I knew I was scared. I’d never been in a fight and hated the idea of one. But I was also determined.
I took another couple steps closer to Stewart. “Let him go,” I said, and made sure my voice was normal, showing nothing of the turmoil in my guts.
“This isn’t your business, asshole.” Stewart stood up straight, dragging Timothy up with him. He was taller than I was, and heavier, even if he was younger.
I made a huge effort to portray a picture of calm. I stood for a second looking at both Stewart and Timothy, then asked, “You okay, Timothy?”
He didn’t respond, just looked back at me, his fear apparent on his face. Okay, it was a dumb question. I was really playing for time, and trying to show Stewart that nothing about his presence or the situation was affecting me at all.
I lifted my eyes from Timothy back to Stewart. “I told you to let him go. Take your hand off him. Now.”
I was being determined and decisive and without intimidation. Perhaps that had some effect. Stewart dropped his hand off the back of Timothy’s neck. I made sure not to react. To grin at that point could have been disastrous. I felt like doing it, though. Wow! He’d done what I’d told him to do!
“That’s better. Stewart, if I remember right, you were suspended last year for fighting. If the principal heard about this, you’d be gone, wouldn’t you? Huh? Wouldn’t you?”
I didn’t expect him to answer, and didn’t wait for him to. Instead, I turned to Justin, still leaning on the door. “And you might even be kicked out with him. Aiding and abetting. And bullying as well. A boy younger than either of you. And it’s two against one. What are your parents going to say when they’re told you’re being expelled for helping another kid torture a little freshman half your size? They’re going to be really proud of you, aren’t they? What will they say?”
I was staring into his eyes, and I could see my message getting through to him. This had been just a prank to him. Suddenly it was a big deal, with consequences. He didn’t want to think about those.
“You guys better get the hell out of here. I won’t say anything to anyone about this. But this is your only free pass. If something like this happens again, any bullying, you’re gone. You both stay away from Timothy. I see you even near him again, I’m going to remember what happened here and talk to someone. You leave him alone, and make sure your friends leave him alone. You’re not going to get a second chance on this. Now go.”
Stewart’s face was going through a mix of emotions, anger and frustration chief among them, and I saw him clench his fists. I thought for a second he was going to do or say something, and I stood up a little straighter and braced myself, ready for him to swing at me, but in the end, he just turned and stormed out, Justin following him through the door.
I watched them leave and took a deep breath, feeling a little wobbly. I’d had no idea it would go that well. I’d thought there was a good chance I’d get punched. I’d been ready to fight back, but no idea how that would go. My heart was still racing. I turned to see how Timothy was.
He’d stepped back and was sitting on the toilet behind him. He’d wrapped his arms around himself and was crying silently.
I moved over to him and knelt down beside him and put an arm around him. He was shaking. He immediately laid his head against my chest, and then his crying turned to weeping, accompanied by deep moans.
It took him several minutes to calm down. I held him the entire time. Finally, a while after he’d stopped crying, he pulled himself away from me. The front of my shirt was soaked.
He finally looked up into my eyes. I could see his embarrassment then.
“Hey, it’s okay.”
“No it’s not. I’m a crybaby. I hate myself. They’ve been after me for a long time, most of the year already, and I haven’t done anything about it. I didn’t know what to do.”
“Timothy, it’s okay. Lots of kids go through what you just went through. I’m glad I was here. I’m glad I could stop what was going to happen, and maybe those guys will leave you alone now. If they have any smarts at all, they will.”
He didn’t reply right away, and I could see he was thinking. He got up and walked over to the sinks and looked into the mirrors. It was easy to see he’d been crying. He turned on the water, then washed his face. That helped some. When he’d dried himself, he looked into the mirror again, then turned to me.
“Thanks, Matt. I don’t know what else to say.” His voice was still a little shaky.
“That’s plenty enough. Hey, you know my name!”
That made him grin. It was a weak grin, but still a grin. He was a good-looking kid anyway, and the grin made him look sort of cute. “Of course I do. Maybe I shouldn’t say this, but I watch you and Kevin at lunch every day.”
“You do. Why?”
Now he blushed. He blushed, then turned away, but I could still see his face. He was standing next to the mirrors. One way or another, I could still see his face.
“Hey Timothy, it’s okay. I was just wondering, is all. I’ve seen you sitting at your table with your friends at lunch. I just thought you’d be busy with them, not looking at us.”
“They’re not really my friends. I sit there because that’s where I sat the first day. They talk to each other, not me. I just eat and look around. At you guys, mostly. You two and the girl you’re with seem so happy. You’re always laughing about something, and I can tell, just watching, that you all like each other a lot. That makes me feel lonely, but happy, too, knowing you guys are like that. I can’t help but watch.”
“Why aren’t you friends with the guys you eat with?
“I’m just not. They’re mostly jocks and, well, I’m just not.”
He was looking at me and I had a thought which I rejected immediately, but his eyes were fastened on mine, and my mouth opened and began talking, even as I didn’t want it too.
“You could eat lunch with us if you wanted to.”
He blushed again. But at the same time, his eyes lit up. “Really! You mean it?!” But then, even as his enthusiasm was going over the top, I saw his shoulders start to slump. He looked down at the floor, and talked to it more than me. “I can’t. You guys are all older, and . . . well, I can’t.”
“Kevin’s a freshman, too. You know that. And Becky and I may be juniors, but what difference does it make? We’re all just students here at school. Come sit with us tomorrow.”
His eyes looked up at me, and they were now glowing with hope. I walked over and gave him a brief one-armed hug around the shoulders, then said, “We’re both late to class. We’d better go. If your teacher starts to give you a hard time about being late, tell her the cafeteria food gave you the runs and the restroom was a better place to deal with it than her classroom. That’ll make the kids laugh and the teacher won’t pursue it. Trust me.”
I grinned, and he grinned back, and as we were leaving he said, so softly I almost didn’t hear him, “I do trust you. Thanks.”
◊ ◊
Becky and I were walking home together. My damn history teacher had given us reading assignments in two different books, and I had the usual math and English homework, so my backpack was stuffed to the, what is the word, gills? My backpack didn’t have gills, but it did have too many books and weighed about 14 tons and every five steps I took the tons were getting heavier.
I was unhappy, and it wasn’t just the backpack.
“What’s the matter with me? I knew better than that.”
“You were just being you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean, Becky? I was being me?”
“Yeah. You saw someone in trouble and you helped him.”
“That isn’t me, helping other kids. I don’t do that.”
“You did with me.”
I started to throw off a quick retort, but something in the tone of voice she’d used when she said that stopped me. We walked on in silence for a few moments. I adjusted my backpack, but it immediately fell back to where it had been before.
“Becky, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that. I feel sort of guilty. You’ve been thinking all along that I just walked up to you at lunch that day and sat down and made friends, and you’ve been giving me all the credit for that. I’ve been afraid to tell you, but it was Mr. T. who asked me to talk to you. He was worried about you, and he saw us in the band room after the performance, and, well, he asked me to.”
Becky didn’t say anything to that, but she did stop walking and just stared at me. I stopped too and looked back, and hoped I hadn’t fucked up again. I probably shouldn’t have told her, but every time she made any reference at all to me sitting down to eat with her that day, I always felt like I was being dishonest with her, and I liked her too much to let her go on thinking what she was.
She still wasn’t saying anything, and I couldn’t stand that any longer and said, “Becky—”
She didn’t let me finish. “Matt, what did he tell you?”
“He just said you needed friends, that he’d seen us talking on Friday night, and he thought maybe I could be your friend, and asked if I’d try.”
“Did he ask you to join me at lunch?”
“No, he just said what I told you. But I saw you sitting alone when I came to lunch that day, and I remembered how we’d talked Friday night, and I’d liked that a lot, and I knew what Mr. T. said about you being alone, and, and....”
I stopped. She didn’t say anything either for a time, still thinking it over, but then she smiled. “You know, I’ve always sort of wondered, wondered where you got the courage to overcome your shyness and sit with me.”
“Hey, I’m not shy.”
“Well, not so much any more.”
“I wasn’t then, either! I just was cautious.”
“Oh, that’s what you call it.” And she laughed. “Anyway, it was you who came over and sat down, and whether you were prompted or not doesn’t make any difference. You changed the way my school year was going, you became my best friend, and how it happened doesn’t make any difference.”
We continued walking, and I continued to wiggle around, trying to ease the burden on my back. We’d gone another hundred yards when she spoke again.
“So do you still think there’s something wrong with you?”
That reminded me of what I’d been complaining to her about. “Yeah. There must be. Why would I invite a kid to eat lunch with us when I know he has a crush on Kevin? Why?”
“Uh, maybe because you knew he was hurting, he needed friends, and he’d love to have the opportunity to eat with us? Maybe because you’re a nice guy?”
“You forgot stupid. I’m a stupid guy. Did you watch him today? He kept looking at Kevin, and his eyes would get large and dreamy, and I kept thinking he was going to lean over and kiss him. And this was just the first day! Every time Kevin would make one of his wiseass remarks, Timothy would laugh so hard I thought he’d upchuck all over the table. The rest of the time he was like a love-struck calf, just ogling Kevin. It was repulsive.”
“Matt, you weren’t looking at Timothy all the time, were you?”
“No, it got sickening. I couldn’t stand watching him mooning all over Kev.”
“Well, when he wasn’t looking at Kevin like that, he was looking at you. The very same way. Timothy might have had a crush on Kevin before, but now, he’s obviously got one on you, too.”
That was just dumb, and I ignored it. I started walking faster, not wanting to hear any of this. Timothy didn’t like me, and even if he did, so what? I didn’t even want to think about that. It wasn’t what I was upset about.
Becky laughing at me made me slow down and wait for her. When she’d caught up, she said, “What’s with you, anyway. I thought you wanted Kevin to find someone his own age, someone right for him? We already talked about this. Timothy’s perfect. I think it was very nice of you to bring them together like this.”
“Stupid! That’s what it was, stupid!” I walked a little farther, ignoring Becky, ignoring what she’d said, still pouting, but at least walking with Becky again, not forging off ahead on my own. When I felt like talking again, I said, “I know what I said. And I meant what I said. I really meant it. And still do. Kevin would be better off finding someone. But I don’t want it to be Timothy.”
“Why not? He’s perfect.”
“Yeah, I know. But he’s here, that’s why. I want someone that isn’t here, someone who’s imaginary, not at my lunch table. He’s too real, too, uh, available, and that’s not what I want. Well, it is, but . . . come on, Becky. You know what I mean!”
“Yeah, I do. You mean you’re in love with Kevin but worried about everything that involves. It means you want him to have a boyfriend and be happy, but you only want that intellectually. Emotionally you want him for yourself. So you’re all conflicted about this, and it makes you angry.”
I didn’t say anything else. I just glared at her and turned onto my own street and walked away. I couldn’t help but hear her laughing, however. I had no idea why she’d think any of this was funny. No idea at all. I definitely needed to get some different friends.
◊ ◊
Monica put down her clarinet, wiped her forehead with a handkerchief she took out of her pocket, then smiled. “I think that’s the best we’ve played.”
Jason said, “It really sounded good. I have a question, though. Does everyone agree, we’re really starting to play this in unison, we’re getting to sound like one clarinet?”
“Yeah,” I said. “It’s better every time. Do you guys feel what I do, that I’m starting to know what to expect from each of you? I sort of modify my playing just a little bit here and there to keep it all together. I think you’re all doing the same thing. We’re starting to feel each other, and respond accordingly.”
“That’s it exactly!” said Stephanie enthusiastically. “I really do feel something, a sort of group feel, and I can get myself into it and the playing gets kind of automatic. It feels really strange, and really wonderful at the same time.”
I nodded, knowing I was feeling the same thing when we played, and Jason, also nodding, spoke. “There’s just one thing we do over and over where we don’t get any better at playing in unison. Anyone else feel that?”
We looked at each other, all looking puzzled, and then Monica opened her eyes wider. “Yes! The trills!”
“Exactly! Every time we play them, we all trill at slightly different speeds, and the unison quality is lost.” Jason looked at me, obviously wanting my opinion.
“I know what you mean,” I said. “It’s the only thing we don’t do together. And I don’t know if we ever can. To do it so we would be together, I think we’d really have to slow the trill down, and then it wouldn’t sound like a trill any longer.”
Stephanie said, “And I can’t trill as fast as you guys. I try, I practice, but that last trill on the E-flat with my little finger, I just can’t move it any faster than I now am. I try, I practice, but I can’t.”
Everyone starting comforting her, everyone but me. What she’d said had given me an idea, and the more I thought about it, the better it seemed. Finally, I couldn’t keep it to myself.
“Guys. Guys! I have an idea. I think it’ll work. Look, Jason’s right. We don’t do the trills together, and it does cause the effect of playing in unison to be lost. But I just thought of a way that we can overcome that, if it works.”
“How’s that?” Monica asked.
I grinned. “I just thought of this. We only need to worry about the long trills. Ones that last only one or two beats, no one will notice. It’s the long ones, like that last one Stephanie was talking about, where there’s a problem. Well, what if we do them differently? What if instead of playing those in unison, we let Stephanie start the trill, then someone else comes in, then another, and then the last one of us? That way, the trill builds in volume and excitement as it gets longer, and the fact it isn’t in unison will get lost in the build-up as the trill is being enhanced as we each jump into it.”
I looked at them expectantly, and they all started grinning. We decided to try it, and figured out in what order we’d play each trill, and when each of us would enter, and marked our parts, then tried it. It worked perfectly!
A little showmanship to help sell the performance wouldn’t hurt at all.
◊ ◊
A couple of weeks later I had to walk home from school alone. I’d had to stay late. Mr. T. hadn’t had the chance to hear us play the solo part of the Concertino together before. When the band rehearsed the piece, he always had me play the solo part alone. We’d discussed it, Mr. T. and I, and he’d said he didn’t want to embarrass the others if they weren’t ready, and we should tell him when we were. Until then, he’d just have me play it all by myself, still sitting in my regular place in the band, during rehearsals.
Today, we’d played together for Mr. T. after school. He’d been overjoyed, and after it was over, just gushed enthusiastically to us at how extraordinarily well we’d played it. You could see on his face how happy he was. I don’t think he’d been expecting us to play as well as we had. We’d really sounded like one clarinet.
“This is going to be incredible! The crowd will love it. I’m going to have to get posters up all over town, advertising this. We need to have people standing in the aisles. This is so, so good! You guys are fabulous. Wow!”
He’d kept going, and finally I’d laughed and said we had to go, we all had homework, and he’d reluctantly let us pack up and leave. On the way out, he grabbed me, and when we were alone, was profuse in his thanks for talking him into doing this. “I was really skeptical they’d be able to pull this off. I had no idea it could sound that good. Is this because you’ve been working with them, coaching them?”
“Not at all, Mr. Tollini. You’re giving me way too much credit. We’ve practiced it together many times, but the individual work that got the piece to where we could woodshed it together and work it up like we have, that was all them, alone. They’ve worked like crazy on this.”
“It sounds like they have, you all have. And where you guys all change tempo together, and play rubato passages, and your musicianship, well, I’ve never heard guys do that before in unison like you are. It’s incredibly good.”
“Thanks, Mr. T. And thanks for having the confidence in us to let us try.”
We grinned to each other, and then I left.
I was walking alone, about to leave the school grounds, thinking about a small section in the third movement that still gave us some trouble, not paying any attention to what was going on around me, when suddenly I was shoved from behind. I stumbled forward, not quite going down, and turned to see who was there.
Stewart Gostens was who was there. And with him was his friend Justin, and another boy I didn’t know, but one who was even bigger than Stewart and looked older. Older even than I was.
I had my backpack on and was carrying my clarinet in its case. And I was all alone, three against one.
Oh, crap, I thought. My pulse began racing. All sorts of thoughts ran through my head. I was about to get beat up. If they smashed up my face and my lip, I wouldn’t be able to play the concert coming up in a couple weeks. I had my good Buffet clarinet with me; I’d brought it today because we were playing for Mr. T. It was valuable, and if these guys knew about it, they could very well break it. I couldn’t fight all of them. There was nothing I could do.
Well, I could talk. It wouldn’t help, but I could at least try.
“What’s up, guys?”
Stewart turned to the others. “He wants to know what’s up. Ain’t that funny? ‘What’s up, guys?’ Hah hah.” He turned to me. “What’s up is you’re going to get beat, real good. That’s what’s up.”
“Well, you’d better make it worth it.” I replied, my words a small attempt at bravado. “I get beat, you three go to jail. That what you want, Justin? Expelled from school, in jail, meeting a whole lot of real friendly kids and getting to know them better than you want to?”
Justin just looked at me, showing nothing. The bigger kid said to Stewart, “Don’t just stand here talking. Get it over with.”
Stewart looked at him, then back at me. I quickly shrugged out of my backpack and set my clarinet underneath it, crouching down to do so but keeping Stewart in sight the whole time.
He was coming towards me. The other two were hanging back. I was surprised. I’d thought they’d all rush me. This was different. Maybe it was going to be a fight instead of a mass beating. Not that fine distinctions were important now. I was still scared. I wasn’t a fighter, and I guessed Stewart was. But at least it seemed I had a chance now. He was bigger than I was, but that was just weight. He was only slightly taller. And I was older than he was, and had backed him down before.
I raised my fists defensively. Stewart came towards me, raising his fists as he came. He moved forward again, and I backed away and moved to one side a little, feeling the lawn under my feet, hoping I didn’t trip. He came forward again, then took a swing. I pulled my head back and he missed. I ducked to one side, turning so I was still facing him. He was breathing hard now. I couldn’t tell whether it was the excitement or if taking a hard swing was tiring. I figured it must be the excitement. I was breathing fast too, but not panting like he was.
He moved forward, and this time I didn’t back away. Instead, I took a half-step forward. He’d been expecting me to move back, so we were suddenly closer than I think he was planning on us being. When he was suddenly right on me, I sort of gave him an uppercut and managed to clip his chin. He jerked his head back, and I took one step backwards and moved sideways again.
He’d stopped and was rubbing his chin. “Get him already,” called the big kid. “Stop fucking around.”
Stewart looked at him, then refocused on me and rushed me. I tried to dodge him, but he swung at my face. I raised my arm instinctively and he hit it instead of my face. All I could do was swing my other fist at him, more to fend him off than anything else, and it caught him flush in the cheek. That stopped him completely. He was just standing there, rubbing his cheek as I back- pedaled quickly, but with my hands still up defensively, my arm hurting a little where he’d landed his blow.
I took the opportunity to say again to Justin, “Yep, you’re going to enjoy that cot and the oatmeal they serve there. I heard it’s crowded, so you’ll have to share the cot. Probably some kid nicknamed Killer who has tats and a pierced nose. Who’ll just love a nice clean kid like you to sleep with, Justin.”
This time I saw something in Justin’s eyes. He was hearing me all right.
He spoke back to me then. “I ain’t goin’ nowhere. You got no witnesses this time. We’ll alibi each other. You got nothing.”
I had to think about that. I was still watching Stewart, and he was still holding his cheek. I quickly said to Justin, “I’ll tell them in court what happened in the bathroom, which is why you jumped me today. Timothy was a witness to that, and it’ll be heard in court. Who do you think they’ll believe? Why should I lie about who attacked me today? You’re going down, Justin.”
The big kid didn’t let Justin reply. He asked, “Stew, you going to finish this, or should I?”
Stewart half turned to look at his friends. I could see his eyes. The fight had gone out of him. I guess he wasn’t used to the small boys he picked on fighting back. I also wondered, briefly, if this had been his idea, or whether he’d been pushed into it by this other guy.
“Go ahead, if you want to,” Stewart answered.
The big kid got a smile on his face. “Yeah,” he said, and started coming toward me.