Brass Monkeys (5 page)

While I mumbled on, I was vaguely aware of the building ahead and feeling worse as I drew closer. At first glance Grindsville Middle School seemed like a hundred other schools I’d seen. It was an older, two-story, red brick structure with the usual rectangular windows, but there was something dark and gloomy about the place. Big icicles hung jaggedly from the edge of the roof, making me think of a shark’s mouth.

My gaze flicked nervously over the lighted windows. That’s when I saw the tall, red-haired woman standing at one of the first-floor windows. She wore a strange black coat with jutting shoulders, the kind of outfit I’d seen actresses wear in Mom’s favorite movies from the 1940s. As I drew closer to the entrance, I had an uneasy feeling the woman was watching me. I kept my eyes straight ahead, but when I got to the door I shot a quick look at her. In those brief seconds, I saw her face quite clearly. Beneath her red hair, her face was large and powdery white, and her eyes appeared to be pale blue. Then, and it was probably due to a fluky accident of light, her hair seemed to glow like a nest of red snakes.

I had no idea who this woman was, yet I felt deep in my bones that I was looking at Ming the Merciless. A frightening tingle ran along my lower back.

“Hoo yeah,” I muttered under my breath. “Big fat pingeroo.”

Dreamlike, I saw my hand reach out and grasp the handle of the door. I hesitated one last second while a chorus of voices roared inside me: “If you go inside, something awful is going to happen.” But then, as if I had no will of my own, I opened the door and went in.

I don’t know what I expected to find inside Grindsville Middle School, but nothing in my short thirteen years could have prepared me for what I found. The first thing to hit me was the lighting, or lack of it. The halls were lit by yellowish lights that made everyone look like they had on orange makeup. Also, the corridors were smoky and hazy. And the smell! It was like the odor of burning socks. (How do I know what they smell like? Easy. I accidentally set my own on fire during the one and only time I ever tried to smoke a cigarette.) The next thing I noticed was that the entire place was painted in yellow and black. It was like being in a giant beehive, except that it was strangely quiet.

At Harris you had to yell your brains out to be heard. Here, the only sounds were shuffling feet, the clang of locker doors, and some occasional whispering.

Mom had told me earlier that I needed to check in with Principal Plumly before classes, so I stopped by a group of kids to ask directions. I had barely opened my mouth when
smack!
—somebody punched me in the back of the neck. I turned to find three big guys staring at me, probably ninth graders because they were so cocky. They wore matching yellow sweaters and black pants.

“Move along, stupid,” one of them snapped at me. “No talking.”

They went on by, laughing. One of them leered back and said, “Nice shirt. And what’s that on your pants, as if we didn’t know.”

I hurried on, nervous sweat dripping down on the inside of my Meat Loaf Special. Suddenly someone grabbed me from behind.

“Tonka-bud, how’re you doing?” Alvin growled in my ear.

He and Weeser had me by the arms and began steering me down the hall.

“Hey, you guys,” I said, and I felt such a surge of relief flooding through me that I totally forgot my denial speech. “Where are we headed? Mexico, I hope.”

“Ssshh,” said Alvin. “Plumly’s office. But we gotta keep our voices down.”

“Why?” I whispered.

“Spies,” said Weeser in a low voice. “They’re all over the place.”

“You mean the guys in yellow and black?” I said.

Alvin nodded. “Girls too. Bunch of rats.”

I started to say something about the guy who punched me, but then I sneezed. “What the heck is all that smoke in the air?” I asked.

“Incense,” whispered Alvin. “Most of the teachers burn the stuff.”

Weeser said, “It makes you want to regurgitate, upchuck—”

“And puke,” added Alvin. “Ming burns it every day.”

“That’s weird,” I said. “But speaking of Ming, what does she look like?”

“Spooky,” said Weeser. “She’s tall, red-haired, and she’s got these icy blue eyes.”

“Does she wear coats with big jutty shoulders?” I asked.

Alvin and Weeser exchanged a tense look.

“That’s her, Tonka-bud,” said Alvin. “Where did you see her?”

I told them. “She was watching me.”

Weeser groaned. “Oh man, that’s a bad sign, a portent, a—”

“A big fat road apple,” Alvin finished.

“Why?” My voice shook with nerves.

“She always waits and stares at the kid she’s out to nail,” said Weeser. “That means you’re on her hit list for today. It’s a big-time warning.”

“Yeah, but how can Ming be out to get me for anything?” I fought down a surge of nausea. “I mean, she doesn’t even know me.”

Weeser squinted at me. “I’ll bet she knows
why
you’re here.”

“The old madman rebel has arrived,” said Alvin. “And she’s worried. You probably know how to do karate or tae kwon do, right?”

“Tae kwon what?” I said. “I can’t even spell it. And listen, guys, we need to talk about this rebel stuff.” I figured now was a good time to launch my denial speech. “She can’t know
why
I’m here because—”

Alvin hit me in the ribs. “Uh-oh,” he said, “look who’s in Thumper’s office.”

We came to a stop. Just ahead was a glassed-in office. On the door were the words
PRINCIPAL HAROLD PLUMLY
. Inside you could see several kids and two or three adults. Then I saw Harriet. She was talking to a bald, middle-aged guy with large buggy eyes.

“I knew it,” muttered Weeser. “Thumper’s chewing Harriet out for Friday.”

“Hsst!” Alvin stopped us. “Harriet’s getting ready to come out. We can’t bunch up with her—it’ll cause more trouble. We gotta move on.” He gave me a hearty clap on the back. “It’s conborfear time, Tonka-bud, so come out swinging.”

Weeser gave me a thumb’s up. “Do your stuff, man. I can’t wait.”

The two of them drifted away. Watching them go left me feeling breathless and nearly paralyzed with fear. I remember reading once about some awful people who sent a boatload of wild animals over Niagara Falls. If you can believe it, they did this for fun and actually sold tickets for the event. But the thing I always remember about the incident was the way the onlookers described the poor animals. At first, the creatures were running wildly about the deck of the boat, but as they drew closer to the edge of the Falls, they suddenly grew quiet. It was as if they knew they couldn’t escape their fate and had given up.

That was exactly the way I felt at the moment.

I took a deep breath and started toward Plumly’s office door.

Before I reached Plumly’s door, Harriet came out and joined me.

“How’s it going so far?” she whispered.

“Actually not so hot,” I began. “I mean, this whole place is too crazy. You got incense, bad lighting, spies running around in black and yellow …”

“I know,” she said. “It’s overwhelming when you first come into the building. It’s like Alice dropping through the rabbit hole. I knew you’d feel that way. And they’re really closing in on me now. Mr. Plumly wants me to apologize to Mrs. Mingley for what he calls my disruptive behavior last Friday. But that’s not going to happen because I haven’t done anything disruptive.” She took a deep, trembling breath. “It’s all horrible, Eugene. But do you know what? Now that you’re here, I feel so much hope and excitement.”

“Yeah, right, hope and excitement,” I said, “and that’s what I need to talk to you about. I know you think my being here is sort of like fate.”

“Fate?” snapped a voice behind us. We turned quickly and there was Mr. Plumly, not three paces away.

He stared at me, his dark eyes bugging out even more. “What does fate have to do with getting to class on time?” he demanded.

Harriet and I were speechless. I wasn’t sure how much he had heard. Looking at Mr. Plumly, I understood why Weeser called him Thumper. His eyes seemed to be darting in every direction, and his rabbit-like nose twitched up and down.

His gaze settled on me again. “I assume you’re Wise?”

“I am,” I stammered. “Wise, that’s me. Definitely.”

Plumly stared at me, his face hardening. “Some words of advice for you, Wise. Be careful how you behave at this school, because we’re
watching
. And be extra careful about whom you choose for friends. Do you understand me?”

“Yes sir,” I said. “I mean, I guess so. I’m not sure.”

He glanced at Harriet with a pointed look, then back at me. “I think you know exactly what I mean. Now, if I were you, I’d hurry along to class. Both of you.”

Harriet started off down the hall and I followed in a daze. “We have to hurry,” she panted out. “The spies will catch us if we’re late.”

I rushed along, my trumpet case banging my leg painfully. “What’s first?”

“Con,” replied Harriet. “I mean, Strobe’s class.” She gave me a warning glance. “Be careful in there. He’s not as bad as Ming or Fundabore, but he’s dangerous.”

Harriet broke into a run, and I staggered after her trying to catch up. We charged into Strobe’s room just as the tardy bell began clanging. I thought we were in trouble because we were late, but it turned out we didn’t have to worry. Strobe’s classroom was in total chaos.

Most of the kids were at the other end of the room, screaming with laughter and throwing books at something darting about on the floor. I saw Weeser and Alvin standing nearby, sword-fighting halfheartedly with yardsticks. A couple of boys were wrestling in the corner.

The room itself was a mess. A torn element chart hung crookedly on a stand, broken beakers littered the lab counters, and a butterfly case hung open, with several of the specimens missing. In the center of the room rose an amazing spectacle. A large prehistoric animal was being worked on by a trio of bored-looking kids. One of the students was sprawled out asleep,
inside
the creature.

I paused near the prehistoric animal, trying to figure out what it was. It looked like a cross between a bird, a bison, and a tyrannosaurus rex. Seriously.

“What the heck is that?” I said to Harriet.

“It’s nothing,” she replied. “Strobe bought it in a practical joke catalogue. He calls it a Strobolocus after himself. It’s nothing more than busy work.”

Just then a man riding a wheelchair emerged from the confusion at the far end of the room. He had stubby legs, duck-fluff hair, and a pimply complexion.

“That’s Strobe,” whispered Harriet. “And he’s not handicapped. He just rides that chair because he thinks it’s funny. Oh, and don’t stare at his pimples.”

Strobe saw me now and wheeled over to a nearby table. On it sat a small brass monkey with a grinning face.

“It’s his incense burner,” murmured Harriet.

Strobe flicked a match afire with his fingernail, then leaned forward and lit the incense in the belly of the monkey. A thin trail of smoke floated upward.

“Get in your seats, you little stinkers,” Strobe yelled at the class. Then, with a laugh, he jumped out of the wheelchair, gave it a kick, and strode toward me.

“Well, well,” he said. “What have we got here? Would this be my new student, Mr. Eugene Wisenheimer?” His eyes glittered with a mad light. I tried hard not to stare, but I had never seen a grown-up with so many zits.
So many big ones
.

“Wise,” I said. “Not Wisen—”

“Right,” he replied. “Mr. Wisenheimer.”

He turned away from me now. He was smiling at the class, most of whom were still talking and laughing. The two wrestlers hadn’t paused in their battle.

“So, class!” Strobe yelled. “What did we learn from that little exercise?”

One of the students held up a dead mouse and cried, “Fight or flight?”

It dawned on me what the group had been chasing. A small mouse.

“Excellent Elliot,” said Strobe, “you little imbecile.” Several of the kids laughed.

Strobe turned to me with a cracked smile.

“So, Eugeenie, do you like science?” He thrust his chin forward and I pretended I didn’t see the fiery, quarter-sized zit on the end of it.

Several kids, including Harriet, Alvin, and Weeser, were listening intently.

“Yeah, I like science a lot,” I stammered. “In fact, I love it.”

“I wuve it,” Strobe mimicked me, and a couple of kids snickered. “Well, that’s good Eugeenie. You’d better wuve it.” He began picking his nose with his thumb and forefinger. I stared in fascination: I’d never had a teacher who did that. I once had a third grade teacher—Mr. Draftfelder—who clipped his toenails during recess, but nothing like—
yuk
. I grimaced as Strobe wiped his thumb on his pants.

“Now find a seat, Mr. Wisenheimer,” he went on, “and get out of my sight.”

I nodded and headed for a desk at the back of the room. I caught a glimpse of the disappointed looks on Alvin’s and Weeser’s faces. What did they think I was going to do, go nuts and put Strobe on his back for the count of three?

The rest of the period passed by in a confused blur. Strobe lectured on the “habits of bees.” He held up the wrecked remains of a bumblebee model and kept referring to it as a “honeybee.” While he talked, the class joked, chattered, threw paper at each other, and generally paid no attention to him.

Near the end of the lecture a strange thing occurred. One of the insect’s wings fell to the floor. Strobe giggled and picked up the piece, then turned and eyed us.

“Monkeymind,” he said. Then he snapped the part back in place. I thought it was some kind of dumb attempt at humor, but the class seemed to freeze. Then the moment passed and he went on with his ridiculous talk. It was totally weird.

Toward the end of class, I glanced over to see how Harriet and the others were taking all this. They were watching me with hopeful gazes, obviously waiting for me to start my big rebellion. When I turned back, I found Strobe staring at me with a suspicious look as if he, too, thought I might try something.

The bell rang then, and my last image was of Strobe mounting his wheelchair and wheeling about in a small, mad circle.