himself. And when you were doing a push-up, you weren’t a long way from the ground.
Chester Dallaire was at his best, or worst, depending on your point of view. He had no problem with all the push-ups and sit-ups. Brendan had long ago learned to stay far away from him if possible. To begin with, Chester was the first of their class to really develop B.O. and perfect it. To be exposed up close could lead to watering eyes, hallucinations, paralysis, and, in extreme cases, death. The other reason he kept his distance was the prospect of being the victim of one of Chester’s hilarious “pranks.” Pranks in Chester’s repertoire included supergluing shoes to the floor or holding down a victim and farting into his face. Sometimes, like today, he merely settled for a jolly “pantsing.” 32 Chester waited to strike until Mr. Davenport was busy in the equipment room hunting down a medicine ball. The victim was a skinny kid named Miles Horsten, who stood with his head down and his shorts around his ankles as the class roared with laughter.
Brendan stood with Harold and Dmitri, but they didn’t join in. They had all been victims in their time and found nothing to laugh at in another kid’s humiliation.
“I’d like to get that guy,” Harold grumbled.
“He is a jerker, that’s for sure.”
“Jerk, Dmitri,” Brendan corrected. “Not jerker.”
“What?” asked Dmitri.
“I said he’s not a jerker. He’s a JERK!
In the uncanny way the world has of wanting to get you destroyed, the laughter chose this very moment to fade out and the whole class heard Brendan pronouncing, very clearly, the word “jerk.” There was an audible gasp.
Chester Dallaire stiffened. He turned his large face and skewered Brendan in a glare of hatred. Brendan felt like an escaping convict caught flat-footed in the beam of a searchlight.
“What did you call me, Clairabelle?” he growled. Brendan hated this nickname Chester had fashioned out of his last name. It was annoying in a way only truly idiotic insults can be.
Brendan flushed. He hated being reminded of his braces. He felt like he was going to be sick. Brendan opened his mouth to make a quick denial, but before he could say a word, he saw the blushing face of Miles, tears running down his cheeks as he pulled his gym shorts up. Instead, he just stared back at Chester with what he hoped was a defiant expression on his face. His heart was playing a drum roll against his ribs. He prayed he wouldn’t wet himself. He felt Harold and Dmitri shuffle closer to him. He wasn’t sure if they were showing support or trying to put his body between them and Chester’s fists. Probably the latter.
Chester frowned. He barked a laugh, “Ha. Clairabelle doesn’t think this is funny. Is there anybody else who doesn’t think this is funny?”
There was a predictable silence. Chester was about to make further comment when Kim’s voice cut him off.
“I don’t think it’s funny,” she said, pushing away from the wall where she’d been leaning. “And I doubt anybody else does either. If they weren’t all afraid to talk, they would agree. Brendan obviously doesn’t care for your sense of humour. Harold and Dmitri also think you suck.” Brendan could hear Dmitri and Harold gulp. She sauntered easily over to Brendan and stood beside him. “I think you like picking on people smaller than you because you’re a loser and a coward. But I’m not afraid of you.” She cracked her knuckles and looked straight into Chester’s face. Her expression showed no anger or bravado. It wasn’t a challenge. It was a simple statement. The conviction in her eyes made Chester hesitate.
“Who said to stop stretching?” Mr. Davenport’s peevish voice broke the tension. He stood in the doorway holding an enormous leather ball. “On the floor, people! On the floor.”
Chester stared at Kim a second more before turning to Brendan and drawing a thumb across his own neck in an obvious “you’re dead” gesture. Chester turned to walk away when the strangest thing happened. One of the floorboards beneath his feet gave way with a loud shriek. He squawked and tried to shift his weight, but the floorboard under his other foot gave way too. His legs drove downward and he was stopped only by his groin slamming into the floor.
Brendan gawked with the others. Everyone erupted in laughter as Chester clutched himself while trying to lever his lower half out of the floor. Brendan couldn’t believe his eyes. He happened to look over at Kim to find she wasn’t laughing. She stood with her hands on her hips, smirking slightly.
“Now that’s funny,” she said. Then she pointed at Brendan. “You’re lucky I feel so sorry for you.” The bell rang to mark the end of class. Kim spun on her heel and headed for the girls’ change room without looking back.
Brendan turned to watch as Chester’s pals hauled him out of the floor by the arms. They helped him limp toward the boys’ change room.
Brendan went to examine the floorboards where Chester had fallen through. The floor had just given out. It was an accident, right? A pretty convenient one. He turned in time to see Kim’s back disappear through the change room door.
“All right, everybody,” Mr. Davenport called. “We’ll have to end class there. Go to lunch.”
Brendan joined Harold and Dmitri as they headed off to change, buzzing with excitement over Chester’s humiliation. As he listened to them re-enact the event, he glanced over to where Marina Kaprillian stood with her little entourage of friends. As soon as he saw them they fell silent for an instant then burst into girlish giggling. Then something amazing happened: Marina Kaprillian, the object of his adolescent desires, looked at him and smiled. The confrontation with Chester hadn’t threatened his equilibrium, but one look from her caused him to trip over his feet and fall headlong into the doorframe.
They sat and ate in silence, Dmitri his stinky sandwich and Brendan his cold soup. Luckily, the doorframe hadn’t split his skin, but he had a large goose egg on his scalp. Mercifully, it was above his hairline so he could effectively hide it. Mrs. Barsoomian had shaken her head when she saw Dmitri and Harold helping him up the hall to the nurse’s office. She had examined him, held her fingers up, and asked him to count them and made him count backwards from one hundred. At last, she was satisfied that he hadn’t suffered a concussion and sent him on his way with a bag of ice and a gentle scolding.
Brendan was feeling gloomy. His clumsiness had ruined his moment of triumph, made him look like a fool after looking the hero. He wanted to talk about it but Dmitri wasn’t in the mood. He was in study mode, his face buried in his textbook. Restless, Brendan got up to take a walk.
He headed up the main corridor past the doors to the auditorium. The walls of the hall were hung with old photographs of the school’s history, black and white images of young men frozen in time, their haircuts stiff and their bodies pale as ghosts. Robertson Davies Academy had once been a boys’ school. It had become co-ed only two decades ago. He paused to examine an old photo of the 1936 Senior Varsity Lacrosse Team, young faces earnestly staring out at the camera from long ago.
At first, he didn’t realize he was hearing voices. He looked up and down the hall. There was no one nearby. He listened harder.
“Your presence here will attract attention,” a female voice hissed.
“Nevertheless, I feel Brendan needs watching…”
The voices were coming from the auditorium. He recognized the smooth tones of Mr. Greenleaf.
Greenleaf seemed a little annoyed. But with whom? Feeling sneaky, Brendan crept closer to the closed doors of the auditorium. They were solid wood with two small windows at head height. He could just peek into the window and see who the sub was talking to. That wouldn’t be spying, would it? No!
It was dim inside the auditorium. The only light was from the windows high up the walls by the stage. The seats ranged away in dim rows a few feet from the doors. Mr. Greenleaf was leaning against a seat in the back row, his arms crossed. He was talking to someone Brendan couldn’t see.
“… have no control over where I go and what I do. I was just a bit worried. My sister is coming into town and I knew I’d have to keep an eye on him. She has her own ideas, you know.”
Brendan almost gasped out loud when he saw Kim step into view. She pointed at Mr. Greenleaf and hissed, “I got the assignment. We’ve only just managed to locate him and I’m supposed to be watching him. You have no business being here. He doesn’t know anything and I want it to stay that way for as long as possible.”
“As do I, dear.”
“Don’t dear me. Just your presence here complicates things. It could trigger the…”
“What are you doing?”
