Rhyme Schemer (13 page)

My eyes wide.

The girl said a swear right into the microphone.

No one seems to notice

except me.

A teacher in the night

at a table

in a coffee shop

like a regular person

is weird.

Like a tiger

at the grocery store,

buying ice cream

and toilet paper.

Dew drops on flat leaves
 . . .

I try not to groan out loud.

Glistening in the moonlight
 . . .

I roll my eyes. And then roll them again.

Gentle breezes spin the drops like marbles
 . . .

I can't help a bored cough.

Unlike marbles, the drops evaporate
 . . .

I look at Mrs. Little. She is loving it.

As the breeze reveals itself to be breath
 . . .

Wait. What?

Of a dragon, long since thought dead
 . . .

Dragon? Awesome!

Everyone claps.

I clap the hardest.

Two muffins. More Coke. Five more poets.

Mrs. Little stands,

smooths wrinkles out of her skirt.

I stand, too.

Crumbs fall from my shirt.

A man walks over to her.

They hug.

This is my youngest son
.

I am confused. I'm not her son.

But then I realize,

the dragon poem poet from the stage

is her son.

Maybe a little older than Patrick.

His teeth are whitewhitewhite.

He shakes my hand.

Nice to meet you, Kevin. I've heard so much about you
.

I look at Mrs. Little.

She's smiling. Her face is soft.

I think I'm smiling, too.

Best night
.

It's all I can say

because there are too many words

to sort through.

Robin does not think I am

Talented

or

Smart.

But he does think I am

Fragile

A poet

especially after he made Giant John

sit on me at recess

so he could rub my old notebook in the dirt

and then in my face.

Who's tough now?

The words, over and over, out of his mouth

like dirty flies.

Who's tough now?

Who's tough now?

Until the words turn red,

And drip on the dirt.

And there's a cut on my hand,

from a tooth

attached to a mouth

that isn't saying

Who's tough now?

anymore.

For a minute I think a bird is attacking,

shrieking.

But then I see it's Kelly.

The shrieking is coming from her face.

Her open mouth.

Her eyes, squinched and angry.

She flies at us, her wings wide,

and I'm afraid she's going to hit me, too.

Instead, her sneaker connects with Robin.

A soft spot

under his ribs.

There is a slow-motion
oooooof
.

And we're apart.

Until we aren't anymore.

Robin's moth face is dusty,

his teeth are pink from blood

with darker red parts

in the shadowy places

between each tooth.

And he's on me.

And it hurts.

And I hit back.

And there is more shrieking.

And I can't catch my breath.

And I scramble, kicking, because I'm on my back.

And I want to be standing.

And I feel like I'm drowning in dust and screams.

And a hand grabs my shirt collar

And a voice yells
enough!
ENOUGH!

And it's not Mrs. Smithson.

And I see her through the dust, far away.

And my arms are swinging like puppet arms.

And are made of jagged rock.

And I don't know what's happening anymore.

Dirt and blood on her skirt form the same shape

as the stain on the ceiling.

I stare at her skirt.

Trying to forget her hands on my shirt, my arms,

her voice shouting,

Kevin!

Kevin!

Stop it!

Enough!

My heart beating so fast.

Just think of the look on Hartwick's face

if my heart explodes

like a water balloon

smashed in a shirt pocket.

Every day I watch this nonsense from the window
.

Mrs. Little is breathing fast.

Her hands clenched. Angry.

She is a dragon,

heating up the office,

growing bigger with every word.

This is not the answer
, she says,

giving the hieroglyph eye to Mrs. Smithson,

who is here, too.

Having them sort it out
Lord of the Flies
style
?

Not
.

Working
.

It
.

Has
.

To
.

Stop
.

The words are ten feet tall.

They are a fortress,

shielding only me

from the angry dragon breath.

Harry shakes on Mrs. Smithson's face.

Obviously, the boy can stand up for himself
.

There is spit in the corners of her mouth.

She is not a dragon,

more like a donkey.

His disciplinary file proves that
.

I am afraid Mrs. Little

might burst into flames.

She looks at Hartwick.

Who is contacting the superintendent, then?

Shall it be you?

Or me?

I don't know who that is, but it's a magic word

erasing color from faces

just like a bleach pen

on a blood stain.

Clearly, this cannot continue
.

Robin looks at the floor.

I look at the stain.

Hartwick gives his speech.

You boys need a truce
,

RIGHT NOW.

We clear this up
,

TODAY.

I shake Robin's hand.

So small in my own.

I don't mean it.

He doesn't mean it.

Except I sort of do.

I'm sorry for what I've done.

I'm sorry I made him hate me.

I'm sorry he turned me into jagged rock.

I wonder if he is sorry, too.