Rhyme Schemer (4 page)

Petey will take you to school
.

Doesn't Petey see?

I don't exist.

I had to walk six blocks

because of

Lacey Lacey Lacey

and get a tardy

and a detention for hitting Giant John

because of Petey.

Who is not—technically—the baby.

Anymore.

There's this one channel with all the reruns.

It's my favorite.

It's where I met Cliff Huxtable.

Cliff Huxtable is a doctor

like my dad.

Delivers babies.

Has a bunch of kids.

But he's always home playing boring games

like chess

with his million kids.

My dad is NEVER home.

He never plays boring games.

Or any games.

He says that's just TV,

Dr. Huxtable being home all the time.

But you know what?

I don't care if it sounds stupid.

I wish TV was real.

And I don't even like chess.

Petey locked me in the bathroom

today.

He thought it was hilarious.

Yeah.

Funny.

I had to climb out the window.

And no one even noticed.

Petey and Philip.

Sixteen and seventeen.

Dumb as hammers.

Paul is almost out of here.

He wants to be a psychiatrist.

That means he asks a lot of annoying questions.

Patrick is the oldest.

He's in college and only comes home for

laundry.

And food.

That leaves me.

Kevin.

The baby.

The accident.

One college guy.

One senior.

One junior.

One sophomore.

And a seventh grader.

You can see how it might not work.

Paul says it could work.

It
should
work.

If my parents spent less time at work.

Maybe he's onto something.

Or maybe he's just annoying.

Give me that!
Petey shouted

this morning in the car

on the way to school.

No
, I said.

But he grabbed for it

swerving the car

just missing a fire hydrant.

NO!
I said again,

but his arms are long

and his car is small.

That's why I'm writing this

on the back of old homework.

My notebook

is on the street

somewhere

because Petey is a moron

and says poetry is for old ladies.

By the way,

this isn't even poetry.

It's just thoughts

on paper

rapid fire

with not as many words

as usual thoughts

and none of those dumb

likes or as-es

or talking about trees

that old ladies like.

These are real thoughts

like a TV scroll

with a flow that's like a stream

that just flies out of my brain

like barf

but less gross.

Most of the time.

Wait.

Three
likes
just then.

Oh man.

Maybe this
is
poetry.

But cooler than regular poetry.

Yeah.

I'll walk home from school today

after detention.

No ride home in Petey's cruddy car.

I'll walk the whole 1.9 miles.

Maybe my notebook will still be in the road.

Or on the sidewalk.

Or in the grass.

Wherever it landed.

I didn't see.

Petey drives way too fast.

No luck.

The notebook is gone.

Or turned invisible.

I'm going to kill Petey.

When I get bigger than him.

Which might take a while.

Because he's like King Kong

with zits

and worse breath.

No one gets past me today.

I am a rock.

I am huge.

My face is stone

like those giant statues

from that one island

with giant face statues.

My island today:

the boys' bathroom

in the hallway outside the library.

No entry for dorks.

Unless they pay a toll

to the giant statue.

Robin in the hall,

so small compared to everyone.

He can sneak between them

unseen

like a bug.

But I see him.

I see what he's doing.

Freckle-Face Kelly's face is in flames,

Robin's hands flipping up her skirt.

She pushes him away

but she's too late.

Now everyone sees.

Her white, freckly legs.

Her white, flowery underpants.

And for just a second

I am moving fast.

I scatter the crowd

like a burst of bees exploding

when you hit their nest

with a rock.

Freckle-Face Kelly wipes her face.

Those little red spots don't smear

like you think they should.

She looks at me.

Robin looks at me.

Everyone looks at me.

Freckle-Face Kelly looks away first.

I think she wants to be stone, too.

In one move Robin is under my arm

kicking

yelling

but he can't sting me.

You can't sting stone.

Weenie Robin fits perfectly

under the sinks.

Toll paid.

He snaps right in

between the pipes

like a Lego

like he was made to fit there.

He's way noisier than a Lego, though

which is why Mrs. Little came

INTO

the boys' bathroom.

She is obviously

not a boy.

She is obviously

a librarian.

She is obviously

mad.

I am obviously

in trouble.

Mr. Hartwick is obviously

wearing an ugly tie.

Surprise.