The Hooligan

by austin

Again, sorry for taking a couple of weeks to post this chapter. We’re almost done. Probably one or two more chapters, and the story will be finished. I hope you like this chapter. It’s a bit scattered, but on the whole, works as a transition into the conclusion. A little bit of tb.dl stuff. I know it’s not been much of that kind of story, so sorry if that disappoints you. Anyways, would love your comments. As always, send them to Austin(dot)db(at)gmail(dot)com.

Part 9

In a daze, Nate rode the bus to school. Beside him sat Sean, and one seat back, Luke. Understandably, none of them were very talkative. The news article on the “bombing” had been very abstract. There weren’t many facts on the case, no suspects, etc. So for now, fears of sudden arrest were abated. Most likely a random act of “hooligan violence,” the article had said. The old neighbor was still unconscious, at the local hospital, but was expected to recover just fine. That had provided Nate a minor degree of relief. At least Mr. Taylor would be ok. Of course, when he awoke, he’d be able to tell the police just who it was that turned David’s truck into a fiery mass of burning fishing equipment, torn and worn upholstery, and metal.

However, not even five minutes of first period had gone by before the teacher’s phone rang and the office summoned Nate. Hands shaking with fear, Nate packed up his materials he had just pulled out of his backpack: a three-ring binder, still like new so early in the year, pencils, pens, and the morning activity: a journal entry on the worst mistake you had made in your life. The journals were private, no one read them including the teacher, they were just meant as a writing exercise. Nate had been using his extensively since school started to expound on the feelings he couldn’t voice to anyone. Not his friends, not David, not his grandparents, brothers, teachers, not even his mom. But this morning, he was not about to write about his worst mistake which had just occurred the night before. He didn’t trust the privacy of the journals that much.

Down to the office he walked, along the thinly carpeted gray hallways. On the walls, taped up, pinned to cork boards, were various creations of the creative core Nate’s school had nourished. Nate wasn’t that impressed. For the most part, the various art projects and designs that garnished the walls were tacky, uninspired attempts; reserved and refined to fit the strenuous guidelines of school appropriate material. It was a joke really, the environment that was created in schools. An attempt to fashion a perfect world surrounded by the cold reality of real life, which students weren’t expected to “enter” until much later. It seemed to escape the understanding of most school officials that the “real world” was very much a reality to many students who were educated within the counterfeit Garden of Eden. And yet the school insisted on its mirage. Nate felt like he had experienced much more of the real world in the last few months than most of his teachers.

Inside the office, Nate sat on one of the tattered chairs that lined the walls. The secretaries went about their work, quiet chatter, a chorus of mechanical noise, the occasional “hello” as a teacher walked into the office, and the unmistakable laugh of an adult joke. The protocol for staff jokes was remarkably static and predictable. One teacher would start telling a joke, or make fun of a student, or recount some “adult” experience from outside the impenetrable walls of the Garden of Eden, then suddenly stop and look around. Seeing a student within the range of possible eavesdropping, the adult would lower their voice and finish the joke. A burst of laughter would follow the conclusion of the story, then the teachers would walk off, still smiling, gloating in their private humor, and caste a watchful eye (with just a degree of distain) at the student who had forced their exchange to be hushed. The secretary, left at her desk, would continue to snicker an appropriate amount of time, mutter “Oh, that so-and-so, so funny,” then resume their pecking about amongst the inevitable clutter of their desk, marked by wooden apples with holes just the right size for pencils, pictures of family: kids, nieces and nephews; friend’s kids, and, occasionally, a favorite pet. Nate doubted if the jokes were even funny.

Finally, after two or three adult jokes (morning always harbored the highest frequency), the vice-principal in charge of discipline (she held some unobtrusive title that didn’t even come close to defining the true terror her position of power inflicted upon those students who still respected authority. Nate, though this was waning, was still one of those students) appeared and asked Nate to follow her. She was an immense person, both in charisma (entirely of the wrong kind) and size. Mrs. Wagner occasionally had bouts of kindness, so rare that when they blossomed out of her cold, dark core, dozens of students would gather, watching in fascination as she took on kids in energetic bouts of “rock-paper-scissors” in the middle of the skylight (the central commons of the school). Nate noticed Mrs. Wagner didn’t seem to be in one of those kind moods this morning. Perhaps it was because five of her students had just committed an act only common in the anarchic societies of somewhere else.

“Take a seat, Nate,” Mrs. Wagner said as they entered her office. The office was too nice, Nate felt. Comforting knitting designs were hung on the wall next to pictures of magnificent natural scenes. It was more the office of a kind social worker than the Gestapo of public high school. Some ploy to get students to relax and confess to their misdeeds, no doubt.

“We got a call for your mother, this morning.”

Nate looked up, curious. This was not the opening he had expected. A call from the police, maybe.

“She said you didn’t come home last night. She was worried about you, especially with…well, the bombing last night. Wanted to make sure you were ok.”

Mrs. Wagner peered at Nate from her perch behind her desk. All the photographs faced her, so Nate couldn’t tell if she had the same family/pet configuration so popular amongst secretaries. Nate stared back blankly. He wasn’t sure what to say.

“Where did you go last night?”

“I was over at a friends,” Nate answered quietly.

“Things kind of tough at home?”

Nate nearly choked. Was that a soft, kind-hearted voice coming from Mrs. Wagner? He’d thought she only had one setting: cruel. Nate nodded.

“Do you want to tell me why you ran away?”

Nate looked at the walls for a while. “Did you make those?” He asked, nodding at the wall.

“Yes, I knitted them. It’s a hobby of mine.”

“They are nice,” Nate said.

“Thank you,” Mrs. Wagner replied with a smile. “My mom always used to make them. I thought they were dumb growing up, and what do you know, here I am making them.” She laughed softly. The knitted designs were of various household objects. A fork, a blender, a piano, a table, a garden hose. Nate liked the motif.

“My mom…” Nate wasn’t sure why he was about to confide with Mrs. Wagner, but he had a sudden urge to just tell her everything. He hadn’t been able to talk to anyone for so long and for some reason he felt like he could trust this notorious disciplinarian. “…was…ah…hooking up with my neighbor when I got home,” Nate finished.

“And that made you angry,” Mrs. Wagner finished.

Nate nodded. “Basically, yeah.”

“And you went over to your friends. Who, Brandon? Tommy?” Mrs. Wagner obviously knew who Nate had been hanging out with. That was understandable; Nate knew he wasn’t choosing the most inconspicuous group to associate with.

“No, the twins, Sean and Luke.”

Mrs. Wagner nodded. “You had your mom worried sick.”

Nate shrugged. He felt bad about it, but the kissing coupled with her sin of leaving Nate in the dark about the truth of his dad’s death left Nate not worrying too much about his mom.

“You see the newspaper this morning?” Mrs. Wagner asked.

“Yeah,” Nate said.

Mrs. Wagner eyed Nate carefully for a moment. Nate stared at the blender: emblazoned in thick yarn, hanging on the wall. “I guess my dad killed himself.”

“You didn’t know that until you read the paper?”

“My mom must have forgotten to tell me,” Nate said quietly, now inspecting the fork. Why not a spoon or a knife, he wondered? “Why not a spoon or a knife?”

“Excuse me?” Mrs. Wagner replied, confused.

Nate pointed to the knit design.

Mrs. Wagner sighed heavily. “I don’t know, Nate. We’re not talking about my knit designs right now. We’re talking about you.”

“Sorry,” Nate said softly. “Just curious.”

“Could’ve done chop sticks,” Mrs. Wagner said.

“Suppose so,” Nate said.

“Nate, I’m going to have you talk with Thomas. You know, Mr. Harnell?”

Nate shook his head. “Never heard of him.”

“Hmm, well, he’s one of our counselors. He’s real nice, I think you’ll like him.”

“Why do I have to talk to him?”

“Because as your vice-principal, it is my job to make sure you learn here at this school. And I don’t think you’ll be learning very well without getting the chance to talk to someone. Anyone. And from what I can tell, you’re not getting much of a chance so far. Just try it, ok? If you hate him, I won’t make you stay, ok?”

Nate was looking at the piano. He nodded.

“And, I’m going to call your mom and tell her you’re ok. I know this is tough, Nate. But you need to go home. You don’t want to get the police involved, believe me.”

“You play piano?”

“Let’s go,” Mrs. Wagner said, shaking her head and standing up. Nate stood up too and followed Mrs. Wagner out of the office.

***************************

It was all a bit much, really. Nate gone, truck blown up, Mr. Taylor in the hospital. I was chain smoking cigarettes on the front porch, trying to calm my nerves, fried from lack of rest. The sound of my truck mysteriously combusting in the middle of the night had awoken me just after I had fallen asleep. After watching my truck and equipment burn peacefully to a heap of molten debris (it was nearly out by the time the fire truck arrived), I had wandered out front to find an unconscious Mr. Taylor laying on the sidewalk, blood oozing from a gash in his head. After the initial panic that I had found him dead, I realized that he was still breathing and had a steady pulse, just knocked cold by some blunt object.

The following couple of hours were chaotic, to say the least. There was a weeping Mrs. Taylor who followed the ambulance carrying her husband to the hospital, curious neighbors, a worried Mia, a sleepy yet nosy Peter and Paul each clad in their sleepers (Paul’s inhibitions were obviously still low as the fact that a diaper was clearly visible under his pajamas didn’t stop his excursion out into the cold night).

The police had been quick, yet thorough, eager to let the usually quiet neighborhood go back to normal without too much of a fuss. There wasn’t much to find. Gas had started the fire, and the empty gas can left little doubt as to where the fuel had originated. I was lucky that my shed didn’t burn either, though I wouldn’t have minded the insurance paying for a new lawnmower (mine was rusted, old, and resented any movement, which made it particularly difficult to cut the ever-growing grass). The nice officer said they would continue to investigate but to not expect too many answers until Mr. Taylor woke up. He had obviously been hurt trying to intervene and most likely saw the perpetrators.

Mia, of course, was sure that Nate and his friends had committed the crime. I had a sneaking suspicion her fears were correct. It nearly made me sick. Not because he destroyed my truck, I didn’t care about that. But he was about to get himself in a world of trouble, legal and god knows what else. I almost hoped Mr. Taylor would have a convenient bout of amnesia and not remember the attackers. When the police asked if I could think of a possible impetus behind the explosion, anyone who would want to hurt me or my truck, I just shrugged. Nothing that I knew of. But I would’ve been surprised if it wasn’t Nate and his hooligan associates. The coincidence was just too great. Mia and I, collaborating quietly on the outskirts of the flashing lights, both decided to keep quiet, just in case.

Then, on top of it all, the newspaper had done an efficient job of encapsulating all of the Argrow’s problems all on the front page. Side by side, the sex-abuse lawsuit and the truck. Dead husband and delinquent son. I hoped that Nate hadn’t seen the newspaper. Mia had been planning on telling him all about his dad, but had obviously waited too long. And now, more than likely, Nate was going to find out by his own devices. This was not going to help their battered relationship. It was all a bit much. I honestly had no idea what to do. It seemed that I had really messed up the situation. Peter and Paul still had no idea what was going on between Mia and me, but I doubted Peter would be too thrilled. And Paul, as younger brothers do, would just copy the emotions of Peter and Nate.

Completely wrapped up in my thoughts, I was surprised to suddenly notice someone was sitting next to me. I looked over and saw Mia looking contemplatively out from our vantage point of the bench on my front porch. I quickly put out the cigarette and threw it in the dirty coffee tin.

“Didn’t notice ya,” I said.

“Yeah, I noticed,” Mia replied.

“Get any sleep?”

Mia shook her head. “Told Peter and Paul about Simon this morning.”

“Yeah? How did that go?”

“Fine, I guess. I think they understood.”

“50 million?”

“Crazy, huh.”

“Do you think you’ll get it?”

“Well, there are twenty families in the suit.”

“It’s a lot of money.”

We sat in silence for a while. I was taken aback by the amount. I had always had an issue with lawsuits for money. I didn’t want to belittle any situation, but it always seemed to be like a lottery ticket with much better chances. It just didn’t seem right to get a lot of money for a negative situation. I mean, I understood the logic behind lawsuits. Make the offending party pay so much it hurt so they wouldn’t make the same “mistake” twice. But 50 million just seemed like so much. And the Catholic diocese of our town wasn’t rich. And the money it did have should be used to help the community. Obviously a very sensitive situation. I tried hard not to let my misgivings show with Mia right there. She seemed to notice though.

“Too much?” She asked softly.

“Well, what’s too much? I don’t know. How can I judge? I don’t know,” I said, stumbling along in my response.

“You think we’re being greedy?”

“I’m not sure,” I said honestly. “Clearly you need to make a point. To make sure this never happens again. But I’m just wondering whose going to really pay, you know? Father O’Malley, he’s not really around anymore, right?”

“Well, they got rid of him finally. I mean this guy was allowed to be around boys for years. And it’s not like anyone never complained. Apparently Simon tried to tell people a couple of times.”

“Really?”

“Yes. But he was always shushed. It just wasn’t something you talked about. Everyone, everyone, knew about O’Malley, but the church did nothing. The community did nothing.”

“But he’s gone now?”

“Yeah, after twenty or so years of abusing boys they finally sent him home.”

“Where’s that?”

“Ireland. He lives over there, tucked safely away in some cushy Church desk job. And we can’t get him back for a criminal case. He can’t be extradited.”

“So the only way to punish him is to punish the Church.”

“Exactly. And the truth is they are as much to blame as O’Malley. Maybe they didn’t personally feel up my husband, but they didn’t stop O’Malley, so they are really just as guilty.”

“Yeah,” was all I said. It all made sense, but still, I couldn’t get rid of my hesitation.

“Oh, I hope Nate is ok,” Mia sighed.

I nodded and carefully put my arm around Mia. She didn’t shrug me off. “He’s fine, I’m sure.”

“The school called.”

“Oh?”

“Apparently he’s there, doing fine. They’re having him talk to one of the counselors.”

“Probably a good idea.”

“Yeah, I think so. I don’t know what to do, David. Mr. Taylor is going to wake up and…” She burst into tears.

I gently squeezed her shoulder, but didn’t say anything.

“We were stupid, David, doing that at my house.”

“Well, we didn’t know Nate was going to be home early.”

“No, but…still. Peter wanted to know why Nate had run away, so I told him.”

“And?”

“He didn’t really seem to mind. He likes you, I think.” Mia sniffled quietly.

“That’s nice. I thought Nate liked me too.”

“He does, David, it’s just that…you can’t really blame him.”

“I know, I know,” I said softly. “I don’t, believe me. Do you know where he stayed last night?”

“Apparently at a friend’s house.” She took a deep breath and looked up at me. After a moment she shook her head and looked down at the porch. “I just don’t know what to do.”

We went out to lunch and tried not to think too much about Nate, my truck, and the lawsuit. Mia got a few calls on her cell. Mostly family wishing her luck in the lawsuit, hoping to get a piece of the pie when it was rewarded (I was sure), as everyone seemed to be certain that it would. My discomfort grew with each phone call and I got the impression Mia was starting to get annoyed as well.

Mia thought it would be a good idea if I spent some time with the boys in the evening, hoping to give them the chance to talk if they wanted to, especially Peter, so I picked them up from school.

I parked outside the school along with a number of other parents, waiting for the final bell to ring. When it did, ringing clearly through the cool fall air, the students poured out of the building. I kept my eyes peeled and saw Paul first, walking out of the front door of the school. He had his large backpack on his back and a plastic bag in his hands. I noticed he had on sweat pants which clashed with the collared striped shirt he was wearing. Perhaps in the mayhem this morning, Mia hadn’t been thinking clearly getting him dressed.

I got out of the car and waved him down. He waved excitedly when he saw me and ran over. I bent down and gave him a big hug.

“Hey buddy, how was school?” I asked.

“Good, I guess,” he said. “Why are you here?”

“Dunno, thought you might like some ice cream.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, you want to go get some?”

“Yeah!” Paul said excitedly.

“Well, let’s wait for your brother.”

I helped Paul into the car seat which I had taken from Mia’s van before I picked up the boys.

“Cool pants there, man,” I said with a smile as I buckled him in.

“Yeah, the office gave them to me.”

“Why’s that?”

“I wet my pants today.”

I looked into the plastic bag which Paul had let drop to the floor, and sure enough, a wet pair of jeans was inside.

“Oh, I’m sorry buddy, did that happen in class?”

Paul shook his head. “Nah, at recess.”

“You alright?”

Paul shrugged. “Yeah. But Peter’s mad at me. His friends were making fun of him about it.”

“Oh? Well, that’s not nice.” I patted him on the head, then shut the door just as Peter walked up.

“Hi David,” He said. “You picking us up?”

“Yeah,” I said, walking around to the driver’s side. “Thought you guys might like a little treat.”

He nodded and climbed into the front.

“So you had a rough day?” I asked as I pulled out of the parking lot.

“Went fine except for my little brother back there,” Peter said. “Peed his pants. And now my friends were making fun of him.”

“And you stood up for him?”

Peter nodded.

“Well, that was good of you. You did the right thing.”

“I think he should just wear diapers to school, though, so he don’t wet his pants again.”

“Hey!” Paul shouted from the back. “I ain’t gonna wear diapers to school. You can’t make me.”

“No one’s wearing diapers to school,” I jumped in.

“Hmph,” Peter grumbled loudly and crossed his arms.

This is not starting out well, I thought. This was supposed to help them forget their problems. Seemed problems were always coming up with the Argrows. “Listen boys, let’s not worry about it. You aren’t going to wet again, right Paul?”

“Nope.”

“Sure, that’s easy to say, but you don’t have to protect him at school,” Peter said to me. “I say he should wear diapers.”

I wanted to say that they should just let their mom deal with it, but I realized that there was a very good possibility that these would soon become my problems too and I couldn’t let the boy’s think that I wouldn’t step in and take responsibility. “We can all talk about it later, ok? For now, what do you guys say to some ice cream?” This seemed to work and the boys temporarily forgot about Paul’s daytime wetting problem. I had a suspicion that the episode was linked to all the excitement in the night and the unexpected news that Mia had told them that morning. It was understandable that Paul should sprout a minor leak while at school. It was all a bit much for a six-year-old boy to be thinking about.

The ice cream was good, and after about an hour, I was pulling into the Argrow’s driveway. I got out and unbuckled Paul, who quickly ran inside, leaving the plastic bag in the car. I rolled my eyes and grabbed it. About ready to head inside, I noticed that Peter hadn’t gotten out of the car.

“You ok, buddy?” I asked.

“David, can I ask you a question?” Peter asked softly.

“Of course, anything,” I said, opening his door and kneeling down.

“Are you and mom going to get married?”

I looked at the boy carefully, searching for some sort of indicator as to the answer he wanted to hear. But his face was blank, eyes staring straight ahead at the dashboard.

“I think it’s a bit early to be thinking that,” I said slowly. “I’ve only known your family for a couple of months.”

“Yeah, but do you like my mom?”

“Yes, Peter, I do.”

“Do you like me?” Peter looked at me for the first time. His eyes were questioning, searching.

“Yes, Peter, I do.”

He nodded, satisfied. Peter unbuckled his safety belt and swung his legs to the side, about to climb out.

“Well, I like you to. I think you’d be a good dad,” Peter said matter-of-factly.

A burst of emotion welled up inside of me and I had to look away, trying not to cry in front of the boy. That had come out of nowhere. Even though Mia and I were not close to discussing marriage, getting the endorsement from Peter meant a lot to me. I coughed lightly and stood up, still looking away from Peter.

“You alright?” He asked.

“Yes, Peter, I am. Sorry, I just didn’t really expect that.” I looked down at him and saw that he was worriedly looking up at me.

“Was it ok that I said that?” He asked, and I could tell that he was frightened that he’d scared me away. I bent down immediately and pulled Peter into a tight embrace. I held him close.

“Of course it was ok, buddy. Thank you for telling me. It means a lot,” I said. I could tell I was losing my battle against my emotions. I let Peter go and turned away. He grabbed his bag and started to head inside. He paused after a few steps.

“Are you crying?”

I cleared my throat. “Maybe,” I said. I quickly grabbed the bag with Paul’s wet pants and turned toward the house. Peter waited for me to catch up, and we both walked inside together.

******************************

Mr. Harnell turned out to be really cool and Nate liked him immediately. After a short time of small talk, Nate felt the hard shell he’d built around himself the last few weeks crumble. Nate told Thomas (as he insisted on being called) everything, except the part about blowing up David’s truck. Nate talked about the day his dad died, the suffocating week that followed, his mom, David, his brothers, his bed wetting and the diapers, how nice David had been and how he’d kissed his mom, how much he didn’t want another dad. Then, finally, the news that his dad had killed himself and his mom was suing the Church. Thomas didn’t say a lot, but he was a good listener and Nate gave him a lot to listen too.

When he finished, Nate felt weak and tired. He realized he hadn’t slept in nearly a day and a half. The fanatical night was catching up to him. Nate felt a lot better after talking to Thomas, relaxed enough to sleep. Mr. Harnell must have sensed Nate’s exhaustion.

“You know, we can have your mom come and pick you up. You look like you need to rest, Nate. You can miss the rest of school, I’ll let you,” Mr. Harnell said.

Nate nodded. “Yeah, but I don’t think I’m ready to go home yet.”

Mr. Harnell nodded. “You’ll have to eventually.”

“I know, just not yet.”

Mr. Harnell looked at Nate carefully for a few moments, contemplating whether or not to take issue with Nate’s reluctance to mend the impasse between mother and son. The counselor settled on waiting and leaned back, an easy smile on his face. “I suppose you could rest here. We’ll bend the rules a bit for you,” Mr. Harnell said with a wink.

Nate smiled back.

“Well, you can’t sleep in here…” the counselor thumped his thumbs on his desk for a moment, thinking. “Ah, I’ve got an idea. Come along,” he got up from his desk and walked for the door.

Nate followed Mr. Harnell out of his office and through a couple of doors. They entered into a room that appeared to be a nurse’s station. Nate was surprised they even had these in high school. He thought that was more of an elementary school type of thing. There was a bed to one side of the room and some cabinets on the other.

“I think there are some blankets around here somewhere,” Mr. Harnell said, opening up the cabinets. Sure enough, there was couple folded sheets and blankets along with a pillow. He took out the bedding and spread the blankets out over the cold, brown, suede like material that covered the mattress. “There,” Mr. Harnell said after a moment, “will that do?” He fluffed the pillow and laid it on the now-made bed.

“Yes, thank you,” Nate said.

“I’ll come wake you up after lunch, ok?

Nate nodded. After removing his shoes, he crawled underneath the blankets, still with all his clothes on, and was asleep within moments of Mr. Harnell turning out the lights.

Near the end of lunch, curiosity got the better of Sean who, along with Brandon, went to the office to find out what had happened to Nate. After asking around for a bit, they found out that he’d been asleep in the nurse’s station most of the morning. Mr. Harnell, barely concealing his distaste for their affiliation with Nate, sent the Sean and Brandon to go wake up Nate as it was time for him to go back to class.

They flipped on the light to the room, immediately waking up Nate who was curled up on the bed. He quickly covered his eyes and groaned loudly.

“Wake up, sleepyhead, time to learn!” Brandon said loudly. He walked over to Nate who was rubbing his eyes and trying his best to wake up quickly. Brandon grabbed Nate’s feet, which were sticking out of the blankets at the far end of the bed, and began to pull. Nate sat up suddenly, fear on his face.

“Stop it, man,” he said roughly, holding the blankets that were starting to slide off the bed tightly to his body.

“What man? Time to get up,” Brandon said laughing, grabbing the blankets and roughly pulling them off Nate. They easily slipped off Nate, who was no match for Brandon’s strength. Brandon and Sean stopped and stared at Nate, who sat shaking on the bed, looking frightened. His pants and bottom half of his shirt were soaked. It was obvious that he had wet himself heavily while asleep.

“Woah, dude, sprung a little leak there,” Sean said softly.

“Little?” Brandon said, starting to laugh. “I would not call that a little leak.” Brandon burst out laughing; loud, cruel cackles.

Nate sat on the bed speechless. Tears came quickly. He knew there was no easy way out of this one. Shamed and embarrassed, he couldn’t make himself move. Nate couldn’t believe this was happening. It seemed like a nightmare, but quite real.

Finally Sean stepped in. “Shut up, Brandon. Get out of here. Let Nate alone.”

“What? You’re going to stick up for this baby?” Brandon spat.

“Yeah, of course, he’s my friend. Now leave him alone,” Sean said loudly.

“Have fun cleaning him up, I’m out of here,” Brandon said, laughing as he left the room.

The commotion and noise had roused the attention of the office staff and just as Brandon left, Mr. Harnell came walking quickly into the room.

“Oh man,” Nate said shaking his head. “I’ve really done myself in this time.”

Mr. Harnell quickly assessed the situation and closed the door. He walked over to Nate and gave his shoulder a squeeze. “We’ll get this figured out, buddy. Don’t worry about it”

Sean sat gingerly on the bed next to Nate and looked up at Mr. Harnell. “What should we do?”

“The office keeps a collection of used clothes just in case. Kids usually use them on rainy days and such, but they should work good in this situation too. Go ask for that box, will ya?”

Sean nodded and left the room.

“Guess I should’ve expected this after what you told me this morning, huh?” Mr. Harnell said kindly after Sean had left.

“I was so tired, I didn’t even think about it,” Nate said quietly. “I’m sorry.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it. You’ve got a lot going on, this is the last thing you need to be worrying about, ok? Here, get off the bed.”

Nate stood up and watched as Mr. Harnell removed all the wet blankets and piled them in the corner. “We’ll have Marvin get this all cleaned up.”

“Marvin?” Nate asked.

“He’s the custodian.”

“Oh,” Nate said, feeling rather numb. He didn’t really know what to do. Here he was standing in soaked pants just a few months after starting public school.

After a few minutes, Sean returned carrying a cardboard box that looked as if it was about to fall apart. Clothes of various colors filled the box, spilling out the side. Sean dropped it in the middle of the room and took a step back. “Some pretty stylish clothes in there, Nate,” he said, smiling.

Nate rolled his eyes, forcing a smile.

“The trick is to find something that fits. Not sure how much luck we’re going to have with you being so small,” Mr. Harnell said as he began digging through the box, pulling out the pairs of pants he could find and setting them aside. There were only three pairs to choose from. Two of them were way too big, and the final one was too small. “You’re going to have to go with this one,” Mr. Harnell said holding up the small pair of jeans. “Choose any shirt you like.” Nate just nodded.

Sean and Mr. Harnell left the room and Nate quickly stripped off his wet clothes and pulled on the jeans. They were tight around the crotch and came up short, a good two inches above his feet. The pants looked like ones a little boy might wear and about as far away from baggy and cool as they could get. Nate was embarrassed to have to wear such a garment, but knew he didn’t have a choice. He shrugged to himself and started digging around in the box looking at all the shirts. They were all big as well. After a while, Nate settled on a faded blue t-shirt advertising some Canadian hot springs resort. He slipped back on his socks and shoes and walked to the door, trying to ignore the suffocating feeling of the jeans.

Nate opened the door and shyly peaked out. Sean was waiting for him. He looked Nate up and down and smiled. “Nice. Very stylish.”

Nate looked down at the floor, “Shut up,” he said quietly.

Sean laughed and patted Nate on the back. “I’m just kidding with you man. You look fine. A bit dorky maybe, but fine.”

Mr. Harnell reappeared with a plastic bag in his hand. “Here,” he said, “you can put your wet clothes in there.”

Nate grimaced, thinking Mr. Harnell had said that a little too loud now that they were standing out in the open. Nate looked around and caught the secretary staring at him. She quickly looked back down, embarrassed at having been caught.

“Just leave the bag in there and you can pick it up after school, ok?”

Nate survived the rest of the school day, but not without several comments on his attire and questions as to what had happened to the clothes he had come to school with. Luckily Brandon wasn’t around and Sean was cool enough to keep his mouth shut. A few of the girls in his classes had come up and, making Nate blush, had said he looked cute. “Yeah, kind of like my little brother,” one of them had said. Nate just prayed that the school day would get over quickly and soon enough, he was riding the bus home with Sean and Luke. Luckily it was Friday and Nate wouldn’t have to worry about what everyone at school thought for a couple of days. Maybe they would all just forget about it by Monday.