The Saturday Boy

“No, Budgie.”

“Your brother!”

Ms. Dickson pinched the top of her nose and closed her eyes. Then she took a deep breath and let it out.

“Let’s try this another way,” she said. “Do any of you know A Christmas Carol?”

“‘Jingle Bells’!”

“Somebody other than Budgie, maybe?” said Ms. Dickson. “Somebody with their hand up? Violet?”

“Charles Dickens was an author,” Violet said.

“That is correct,” said Ms. Dickson.

Then she asked Violet if she knew what A Christmas Carol was about and Violet said she did, so Ms. Dickson asked her to share with the class and she did.

I liked the sound of Violet’s voice and the way she said things. I listened to her tell about this mean, old miserly guy called Scrooge and how he had this guy who worked for him named Cratchit and how Scrooge wanted him to work all night but the guy didn’t want to because he had a son named Tiny Tim who was really sick and it was Christmas Eve outside. Then she told about how when Scrooge got home he was visited by the ghost of Bob Marley who said there were going to be three more ghosts and they were all going to show him different stuff and they did and in the morning it was Christmas and Scrooge bought a turkey.

“That was very good, Violet,” said Ms. Dickson. “Now, at the end of next month Mr. Putnam and the middle school drama club will be putting on a play of A Christmas Carol and he told me he needs two volunteers, one boy and one girl, to be in it.”

I knew what a play was. My mom and dad took me to one once. I don’t really remember the name of it but everyone was dressed up like cats. The Christmas carol play sounded good, though. It had ghosts. Maybe I could be one of them. Being a ghost would be cool. Violet’s hand was already up. She’d raised it even before Ms. Dickson had finished talking. I put my hand up, too. Mostly so Violet’s wouldn’t be lonely.

I could feel everybody looking at me. They were probably looking at Violet, too. I looked down at my desk and felt my face get all warm. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Violet. She was smiling like she wasn’t bothered by the stares and giggles. Maybe she wasn’t. Then Violet was smiling at me and I was smiling back. It felt pretty good.

Later that day when we came in from recess there was a note on my desk from Budgie that said,

Derek loves Vilet.

He didn’t sign it or anything but Budgie isn’t very good at spelling so I knew it was probably him. I looked around to tell him he was wrong but he was talking with this kid named Barely O’Donahue. His real name was Barry but pretty much everybody called him Barely because he was so short. I crushed up Budgie’s note and put it in my desk.

During the last period Sally, who sits behind me, passed me a note. It was from Budgie. Nobody good ever passed me notes. It said,

You

I looked over my shoulder at Budgie but he had his head down and he was working. Was that it? Where was the rest of it? That was the worst note ever. I put it in my desk and went back to drawing superheroes in the margins of my math book. About a minute later Sally passed me another note. This one said,

You love

My face started to feel hot all of a sudden. I shoved the note into my desk before anyone could see. I drew Budgie as a big, fat, marshmallow thing with legs and I drew Bonfyre roasting it with her fire bolts. I also added a couple of Boy Scouts who were waiting around to make s’mores out of him. They had a box of graham crackers and everything. Then Sally passed me another note. I should have just put it in my desk without looking at it. I should have eaten it or burned it or done anything but open it but I opened it. In Budgie’s big, stupid handwriting it read,

You love her!!!!!!

I crumpled up the note, spun around in my seat, and whipped it at Budgie.

“Eat it, fat boy!”

Everything stopped. Ms. Dickson stopped writing on the whiteboard. Everyone stopped working. I think even the clock stopped ticking. Budgie held his hand over his eye like he was hurt even though I could tell he was totally faking. I knew it was wrong but I kinda wished he was hurt for real. Turning the other cheek all the time was hard work. What did they think? That I was made of them?

“Derek! Office! Now!”

Of course. Because it was my fault.

I stopped in the boys’ room on the way to the office to splash some cold water on my face because all the unfairness had gotten me all hot and mad. I plugged the drain with a paper towel and turned on the cold water in the sink. When it was full I turned the water off. I splashed some on my face and that helped a little but I was still thinking about Budgie sitting there holding his eye like he was hurt and I bet I didn’t even hit him. I bet everyone was paying attention to him and feeling bad for him and suddenly I was mad again so I took a deep breath and dunked my head in the sink as far as it would go.

When I pulled my head out of the sink cold water splashed down my neck and onto the front of my shirt and even though I didn’t really feel angry anymore, I was still in trouble and now I was wet. I got a paper towel and dried my face and threw it out. Then I got another one and dried my neck and threw that one out. Then I got another one and started drying my hair. Ms. Dickson would have said I was dawdling.

The way I saw it, I was just taking the time to do a good job.

I was doing such a good job, in fact, that when the end-of-the-day bell rang I was still standing there. I swallowed hard, suddenly feeling like I’d been gutpunched.

I’d completely forgotten to go to the principal’s office.

I was toast. I was dead. I was worse than dead—I was doomed. Making a mess in the boys’ room and using all the paper towels was one thing, but disobeying a teacher when they’d told you to do something was another. Forget sitting next to the teacher’s desk or writing something over and over again on the whiteboard until you couldn’t feel your hand anymore, this time Ms. Dickson was going to kill me.

What was I going to do? I couldn’t get killed now. What would I say to my mom?

I opened the bathroom door and peeked into the hallway. The doors to the classrooms were open and kids were coming out to get their coats and get ready to go outside to catch the buses. Man, it would be good to be one of those kids right about now. I’d be putting my jacket on and be thinking about Chocolate Ka-Blams and Zeroman instead of hiding out in the boys’ room with damp hair and no more paper towels.

I had to think of something quick. Kids were starting to stream down the hall past the bathroom and it wasn’t like I could just step out and join them. I didn’t have my backpack or my jacket, and besides, if Budgie saw me he’d dime me out for sure. I’d have to wait. I couldn’t go home without my stuff and I couldn’t get my stuff until Ms. Dickson and the class had gone.

I really wanted to stick my head out to see where Ms. Dickson and the rest of the class were but I knew that would be a bad idea so I didn’t. Luckily I heard Budgie’s fat, dumb laugh coming from down the hall. Somebody must have told him the one about the chicken crossing the road because he’s the only one in the whole world who thinks it’s funny. I closed the door and waited until I couldn’t hear his laugh anymore and when I opened the door again the hallway was empty.