But I had something good, something so good they would have to drop their pinecones and listen. And right as I was going to let it out, the whistle blew. Recess was over. Silas and Maine Ogden chucked their remaining cones into the woods and sprinted past Mrs. Lydell into the multi-purpose room.
At lunch, I sat sandwiched between Louis Martino—the fattest kid in the school—and Kader Kalan, the darkest.
“Hey Kader, you have horses, right?” I asked as I unwrapped the tinfoil from my gabagool sandwich.
“Yes, my father owns a few horses. My whole family plays polo back in Pakistan.”
I used to really like sitting next to Kader, because his mom would pack him containers full of interesting soups and meats that had bright colors and smelled like magical and faraway lands like the Amazon or Lithuania. But one time Pierce Stone said that his keema looked like it came out of his dog’s ass, so Kader made his mom pack turkey on white. Pierce Stone said he’d give Louis Martino five bucks if he ate the keema off the floor—Paxton and the Barriston brothers matched it.
“Isn’t that where Iraq is, Kader? In Pakistan?” asked Paxton.
“No. Pakistan is its own country. It is next to India.”
“What are you talking about? The Indians aren’t in the desert. We have a field trip to the Lenni-Lenape trail next week!”
“But… those aren’t Indians.”
“Ms. O’Donnell says that’s inconsiderate, Kader. Remember what she said to Andrius? Just because they don’t use tipis doesn’t make them not Indians.” And Paxton turned back toward the other end of the table, his three rows of beads bouncing in his hair.
“Hey Kader, do you ever take those swords from your house and ride your horses and pretend to fight orcs?” I asked.
Kader had a big house that sat on a hill overlooking the street—similar to the Geigers, but the lawn was less cascading. There were weapons all over Kader’s house, like crossed swords on the walls and full suits of armor. There were also guns, but they were old and probably wouldn’t be any help in a zombie attack.
“Uh, what?” He was still coming out of a daze from Paxton’s comment. “No. No, never.”
“That’s a bummer. If I had horses, I would ask my Mum Mum for some armor for Christmas or my birthday and pretend to be Lancelot… or Galahad… or Gawain—he fights the Green Knight. I don’t like the Green Knight. He’s mean and doesn’t have a head.”
“Oh.”
“I mean, he has a head, but it got chopped off! He holds it by his side. There is a Green Knight in Monty Python and the Holy Grail, but I don’t think it’s the same one. That one has a head, like on its neck. Have you seen that? Karl and I watch it every day after school. Sir Lancelot kills this entire wedding…”
“My mother doesn’t let me watch violence. I have to sneak Mortal Kombat when she isn’t home.”
“Doesn’t let you watch violence? But your house is full of weapons!” I was still holding in Paxton’s secret like a fart. Pierce Stone was rubbing his sandwich on the floor and taking wagers from the table on whether Louis Martino would eat it in one bite or two. Paxton didn’t detect a thing, so I leaned in toward Kader and whispered, “I have something… to say, ya know?”
“What?”
“I have a secret. But you can’t tell anyone. Not even Paxton, okay?” My legs were pumping under the table like pistons.
“Um, okay.”
I leaned in close and disclosed my secret and it felt so good, I could understand why Paxton was smiling after he told it to me. And I didn’t even feel bad. I wanted to stand on the fold-up tables and shout it to Mrs. Lydell in the corner and to Louis Martino eating the sandwich off the floor. But Kader didn’t share my mirth. He put down his turkey on white and said, “That’s sad.”
“Sad? What do you mean, sad?” I looked down the table to see Pierce Stone shooting ketchup into a Snack Pack and mixing it into a concoction for Louis Martino to slug. I told him again, just in case he didn’t hear me right the first time.
I was so overjoyed to have shared my secret that after school I inhaled my Burger King classic chicken sandwich and grabbed a loose-leaf piece of paper from the Geigers’ pantry to start a new story. I was breaking the hiatus; I was going to write again.
Karl already had his shirt off and was in the process of booting up the desktop to finish another orc campaign.
“What’s it gonna be about?” he asked, eyes on the screen.
“Well… I’m not sure what I’m gonna write, but I promise there will be dragons.”
The Geigers’ train phone sounded off from the living room and crawled its way down into the basement: chuggachuggachugga choo choo! I hated that phone. I looked at the clock: 5:28. Crap. February’s darkness made 5:28s arrive earlier than they should.
“Vic, Mom says go home!” Mrs. Geiger called down the stairs.
“See ya tomorrow, Karl.”
“Until tomorrow, Vic,” he said, clicking vigorously on the mouse.
I ran across the cascading lawn at a full sprint, the flailing first chapter on loose-leaf in hand—like I said, it was dark, and I didn’t have any weapons.
I threw open the side door that led to the kitchen and was almost clotheslined by the stretched-out spiral telephone cord.
“Victor said that? My Victor?” she said, with the phone tucked into her shoulder as she unpacked the white oyster pails steaming with takeout Chinese.
“Hey, Mom, so I’m writing this story…”
“Well that just doesn’t sound like him, but I’ll ask. He just came in.”
“… about Saint George fighting the dragon, but what if the dragon wins? Do you think Mr. Geiger will mind? Or…”
“Victor, sit down, hun. I have to ask you something.”
“… what if they become friends? That could happen, right, Mom? Do you think
