The Saturday Boy

inside and start learning. It was because I wanted to put as much space between me and Arlo as possible. I booked it down the hall and ended up being the first one in the classroom. That had never happened before. Even Ms. Dickson was shocked. Also I think I ruined Missy Sprout’s day because she didn’t get to be first this time. I wanted to tell her that this was a one-time thing for me and that I didn’t like it any more than she did but she was glaring at me so bad that I actually got a little scared.

Budgie and Barely O’Donahue were the last two in from the playground. I tried to get Budgie’s attention but couldn’t because he was mostly staring at the floor. I heard him sit down and I started to turn around and then decided not to risk it. Missy Sprout was mad at me today and she just loved to tattle.

Recess finally came and on the playground Budgie, Barely O’Donahue, and a couple other kids were hanging out under the monkey bars. They had twigs in their mouths like they were cigarettes and were pretending to smoke because it was cold and you could see your breath.

“Hey, Budgie,” I said. “Where were you yesterday?”

“What do you want?”

“I thought of some more cool stuff we could have in our castle.”

Budgie kinda stopped. He quickly looked around at the other kids and then back at me.

“What castle?”

“You know—the one from Saturday. With the piranhadiles?”

“What’s he talking about, Budgie?”

“Yeah, Budgie, what’s he talking about? What castle?”

“I don’t know,” said Budgie. “Sounds pretty stupid.”

“It’s not stupid!”

“Yeah it is,” said Budgie.

“You didn’t think it was so stupid when we were at your house!”

“Dude, Lamb was at your house? I thought you said he was your archenemy.”

“He is!”

“Did you guys have a playdate?”

“No, we didn’t have a playdate!” said Budgie. “His mom couldn’t get a babysitter or something. We were doing her a favor.”

My eyes started to sting. I felt a knot rise in my throat. The other kids were laughing a little and Budgie just stood there looking proud of himself.

I didn’t understand. We’d had so much fun Saturday afternoon that I thought we were friends again but now he was being meaner than ever and I hadn’t even done anything.

“But we had fun!”

“I was just pretending,” said Budgie. “And you believed it. Sucker! You’re so lame!”

I just stood there. I couldn’t think of what to say or what to do.

“Oh my God, are you crying?”

“No.”

“Yes, you are! You’re crying! Where’s your cape, Captain Lame-ass?”

I suddenly wanted to grab Budgie’s head in both hands. I wanted to squeeze it until my whole body shook. I wanted to squeeze until Barely O’Donahue and the other kids yelled for a teacher. I wanted to squeeze his fat head until it popped.

But when the end of recess bell rang, I stood there looking at Budgie without having said or done anything. My hands were shaking. My stomach felt like it was full of broken glass. The wind made the tears on my cheeks turn cold. Budgie and Barely O’Donahue and the rest went past me. Budgie even bumped me with his shoulder as he walked by.

“Loser.”

I stood underneath the monkey bars until I was sure Budgie and the others were gone. I stood there until I was the only one left on the playground and I would have stood there for the rest of my life if the recess monitor hadn’t started yelling at me to come back to class.

* * *

I might have been the first one in the classroom this morning but I was the last one in after recess. I hung up my jacket and went to my desk and didn’t say anything to anybody.

“You’re late, Derek,” said Ms. Dickson.

“Sorry.”

“Please don’t let it happen again,” she said.

I stared at the top of my desk and didn’t say anything, which must have been okay with Ms. Dickson because she started talking about something else. I was thinking about Budgie even though I didn’t want to. In fact, I couldn’t seem to stop thinking about him. Why would he say I was his archenemy? Had I done something to make him mad? I tried to remember everything we did on Saturday but thinking of all the fun we had just made me even more confused and angry.

“Ms. Dickson?”

“Yes, Derek.”

“Can I go to the bathroom?”

“You may. But make it quick. You should have taken care of that during recess.”

I didn’t have to go during recess. I didn’t even have to go now. I just couldn’t sit in that room anymore. Not with Budgie there. I could feel him staring at the back of my head. I could hear the small whistle his nose made when he breathed. I even imagined I could smell eggs. But mostly I was frustrated and confused and sad and wouldn’t be able to clear my head with Ms. Dickson trying to teach.

I felt better once I was in the hallway and even better once I was in the bathroom. I sat on the counter between the sinks, swinging my feet and turning the water on and off. No matter how hard I tried not to think about Budgie I thought about Budgie. I know Mom always said to be the bigger person but I just didn’t want to anymore. Plus, I could eat a whale omelet for breakfast every day for the rest of my life and still not be a bigger person than Budgie.

I was thinking about stuff I could do to him for revenge but all my plans ended up needing things I just didn’t have like an angry squirrel or a flamethrower. Then one of the stall doors opened and who should walk out but Arlo.

We looked at each other for a minute. At least I thought he was looking at me. His hair covered his eyes so it was kinda hard to tell exactly what he was looking at. He was pointed in my direction, anyway.

“What were you doing in there?”

“Sitting,” he said. “What are you doing over there?”

“Also sitting.”

“Cool.”

Arlo blew some hair off his face. I wondered how many times he did that during the day and why he didn’t just get a haircut or wear some kind of hat. At least now I knew he was looking at me and I suddenly realized that I might not have an angry squirrel or a flamethrower but I was standing about four feet away from something just as good.

* * *

I got back to the classroom and went right to my seat.

Arlo had driven a hard bargain for the shrew once I explained that I wanted to give him money not to eat it. He also wanted to shake hands and said we should spit on our palms first to make it more official because that was how men agreed on stuff in the old west. I wanted to tell him that we were neither men nor in the old west and that spitting in your hand was actually really gross but I didn’t. Who was I to argue with a kid who, when all was said and done, would probably have eaten the shrew for free? I wasn’t exactly sure what I was going to do with it just yet but I knew it was going to be epic. I mean, the shrew had it all—it was smelly, it was dead, it was small and would fit just about anywhere. Then I got an idea.

“Ms. Dickson?”

“Yes, Derek?”

“Can I go to the bathroom?”