Schooled by Gordon Korman
“He did!” the two chorused, each pointing at his opponent.
The teacher gazed around at the spectators. “Any witnesses?” Nobody said a word. “Come on, who saw what happened?”
“I did,” I volunteered.
“Well?”
“Buttwipe wanted to know what jerkface was looking at, and jerkface wanted to know what buttwipe was looking at.” I turned earnest eyes on the bloody and dirt-smeared brawlers. “You were barely three inches apart. Couldn’t you see you were both looking at each other?”
The teacher reddened. “Who do you think you are, Jerry Seinfeld?”
“You must have me confused with another student,” I told him. “My name is Capricorn Anderson.”
“Are you talking back to me?”
I hesitated. The whistle-teacher had asked me a question, and I’d answered by talking. “Yes?” I ventured uncertainly.
By the time he was finished yelling, both fighters had boarded their buses and gone home. I was the one who got sent to Mr. Kasigi’s office.
I was waiting on the bench when Mrs. Donnelly appeared.
I leaped up. “Is Rain going to be okay?”
“That’s why I’m here. Let’s take a ride over there and find out.” Her brow furrowed. “What are you doing in the hot seat?”
“I have a smart mouth,” I replied honestly. “It’s against the rules.”
She began leading me down the hall. “Come on, we’ve got a long drive. I’ll straighten everything out with Mr. Kasigi.”
It took more than an hour to get to the hospital, but it was worth it. Good news—Rain’s operation was a success.
“So we can go back home?” I asked anxiously.
Rain smiled sadly. “The doctor was right. This is going to be a long recovery. And because it’s only the two of us at Garland, they’re not going to release me early.” She held my hand. “I know you’re upset, but we’re just going to have to be strong.”
“I don’t like it out there,” I complained. “It’s too crowded. People dress funny; they talk too fast; and all they’re interested in is things! Cell phones and iPods and Game Boys and Starbucks. What’s a starbuck?”
She looked upset, and older than I’d ever seen her before. “I want you to listen to me, Cap, and try not to blame me.”
“Blame you?”
“I believe in the community,” she began, “and I believe in the life we’ve built together. But I was fooling myself to think that you were still so young that you wouldn’t have to learn about the world outside ours. It’s not a nice place, and I didn’t want you tossed into it without a little more preparation.”
I’d read about depression, but this was the first time I’d actually felt it. It was like a stone pressing down on my chest. I couldn’t lift it off because I didn’t have the strength.
“I’m kind of scared, Rain.”
“Well, don’t be,” she said firmly. “All you have to do is focus on who you are and what your values mean to you. You’ve passed every state test—always in the top five percent. You’re as smart and capable as anybody—more than most.”
“What I saw in school today wasn’t on any test,” I observed grimly.
She gave me a sympathetic smile. “True, information isn’t the same as experience. You know what television is, but you’ve never watched it. You know what pizza is, but you’ve never tasted any. You know about friendships, but you’ve never had a friend.”
“You’re my friend.”
“Of course I am,” she agreed. “But I’m not exactly a teenager.”
“I’m already finished with other teenagers. I’ve been in real school for one day, and that’s plenty. People are constantly screaming at each other. Two boys actually resorted to physical violence! I thought violence only happened in crimes and wars, but this was over—” I shrugged helplessly. “I can’t even explain it.”
“You have to feel sorry for them,” Rain said with a sigh. “Nonviolence isn’t something everyone understands.”
“They’ve got these things called lockers,” I raved on. “The halls are lined with them. And you won’t believe what they’re for! They’re for locking stuff away—so other people won’t steal it! Why can’t everybody just share?”
Rain must have agreed with me, because she looked really worried.
I poured it on thick. “They don’t have regular time at school, you know. They have periods. All of a sudden an alarm goes off and you’re supposed to drop what you’re doing and rush off to a different room with a different teacher to do something completely different! How can anybody learn like that?”
There was a knock at the door, and Mrs. Donnelly poked her head into the room. She lived at Garland for a while when she was a kid, so she understood how great it was and how much I wanted to get back there.
“Hello, Rain. How are you feeling?”
“It’s been a long time, Floramundi.” Rain looked her up and down. “It’s wonderful to see that you’ve done well since your family abandoned the lifestyle and value system they believed in.”
They talked about her parents and a few other people. Some of the names were familiar, but I didn’t remember anybody. The days of Garland as a thriving commune were over long before I was born in 1994.
It was a friendly conversation, but every time Rain called her Floramundi, Mrs. Donnelly got kind of tense. Maybe that was because her family left Garland, so she couldn’t live there anymore. I knew how that felt.
Anyway, we were soon on our way home—her home, not mine, unfortunately.
Her house was pretty nice, except it had too many stairs. There didn’t seem to be any more purpose for them than there had been for the fight at school earlier in the day. The living room was a few steps down; the bedrooms were a few steps up; and the kitchen was in the middle. Mrs. Donnelly called it a split-level. But what was the point of splitting a house when you could just make it flat and not have any stairs at all?
Everything was more complicated in the world outside the community. The buildings at Garland were made of wood, period. Here there was wood in some places, but also brick, stone, and aluminum. Inside, there was carpet and tile, white walls and other colors, and hundreds of pictures, curtains, tassels, clocks, figurines, and a million different things that might have been useful, but might have been just for decoration too. Who could tell? It seemed like an awful lot of stuff for just one house.
Mrs. Donnelly lived here with her daughter, Sophie. And, of course, me, now.
Sophie was sixteen. She went to the high school. I didn’t much like it that I had to be here. Multiply that by fifty, and that’s how much Sophie didn’t like it that I had to be here.
“Mother—are you on drugs? How could you bring that—that freakazoid into our house?”
“Shhh—Sophie. He’ll hear you.”
“I want him to hear me!” Sophie shrieked. “How else is he going to get the message to clear out?”
“He has nowhere else to go,” Mrs. Donnelly pleaded.
“And that’s my problem? Just because he comes from the same hippie-dippie flea circus where you grew up doesn’t mean we have to adopt him!”
“Lower your voice,” her mother ordered sternly. “It’s only for six weeks—two months at the outside.”
“Two months? I have to live my life! Do you know how long it took me to get Josh Weintraub to ask me out? What’s he going to think when he drives up and sees this tie-dyed streak of misery draped across the porch?”
This whole conversation went on before either of us had spoken a single word to the other. I didn’t actually talk to Sophie until later that night when I accidentally blundered into her room. She was in her pajamas, speaking on the phone while smearing pale green cream all over her face.
She threw down the handset. “You. Out. Now.”
I stood frozen, staring at her. “What—what’s on your face?”
“Oh, right, you’ve never heard of moisturizer. You were just looking for an
I was mystified. “What are you moisturizing?”
She stamped a slippered foot. “My skin, genius! It’s a beauty product, okay? Scram!”
I backed out into the hallway. She slammed the door with such force I’m amazed the wall didn’t crumble. The one at Garland probably would have.
There I stood, still facing her door, paralyzed with discovery. Beauty. That was precisely the word that had been haunting me. Sophie Donnelly was beautiful. I had seen beautiful girls on book jackets, and even noticed some from a distance when Rain and I had gone into town for supplies. But this was the first time I’d ever really met one. I never could have imagined how strong the effect would be. Just standing near her—even when she was yelling at me—made me feel…nice.
It sure was a strange and complex world outside Garland.
5
NAME: HUGH WINKLEMAN
Adults are always trying to figure out what makes kids tick. They send professors into middle schools to do research and run tests; they publish thousand-page studies.
Know what? They don’t have a clue.
If you want to understand middle school students, there’s only one way to do it: follow the wedgies. Wedgie-givers and wedgie-receivers. Take it from someone who’s been down that road before.
Sad to say, I’m one of the receivers. Zach Powers, Lena Young, and their crowd ride roughshod over a lot of people. But if statistics were taken, I’d be victim number one.
Until Capricorn Anderson showed up.
Even I could pick on a guy like that. Not that I’d ever do such a thing. I’d never lower myself to the level of those nitwits. But what a kid.
He wasn’t nerdy in a typical way. He wasn’t a computer geek or captain of the chess club (that was me). He couldn’t speak Klingon; in fact, he’d never even heard of Star Trek. But just one peek at the guy and you knew that, dweebwise, there was a new sheriff in town.
A lot of eyes were on him as he sat down in the cafeteria. God, it felt good to have them staring at someone else for a change. I walked over to him. A guy like this was going to need all the friends he could get (one).
“Capricorn, right?” I set my tray down across from him. “I’m Hugh—from social studies class.” I stuck my hand out, but he just stared at it. It wasn’t a snub. Believe me, I could teach a college course on snubs. This was cluelessness. He honestly didn’t know what to do.
“I remember you,” he said finally. “There are so many people here. It’s hard to keep track.”
“I can help you with that.” I pointed to the table where Zach and Lena were holding court. “That crowd thinks they own the place. They think that because they do. Stay away from them. They’ll chop you up and press you into salami. Now, anyone you see hanging around their crew falls into one of two subgroups—the jocks and the wannabes. Stay away from both. And you definitely don’t want anything to do with goths, burnouts, skateboarders, hip-hop kids, environmentalists, or anybody who has a baseball cap on backward.” I took note of the blank expression on his face. “You know, standard survival skills. I’m sure it was similar at your old school.”
“I was homeschooled before this.”
“No kidding.” I’d heard of that, but I’d never met anybody who did it. “What’s it like?”
“Wonderful,” he said wanly.
“I’ll bet!” My enthusiasm was genuine. “It must be nice to wake up in the morning and not have to worry about walking into a hostile environment, with your next wedgie a matter of not if but when.”
“What’s a wedgie?”
Wow. Homeschooling must be heaven! I didn’t answer the question. He’d find out soon enough.
My eyes fell on Cap’s lunch, which consisted of salad, carrot sticks, and two slices of whole wheat bread. He must have noticed, because he was looking just as curiously at my hamburger.
“What part of the animal does that meat come from?”
“I don’t know.” I chewed thoughtfully. “The lips, probably. Want a bite?”
“I’m a vegetarian.”
At that moment, I heard an all-too-familiar thpoot coming from behind us. Maybe one kid in a thousand would have recognized the sound. But I’m that kid. It was an incoming spitball.
I tensed, waiting for impact. But it wasn’t aimed at me. Instead, I watched the tiny projectile land and lodge itself amid Cap’s cascading piles of long hair. He didn’t even feel it. Hermits could hole up in all that hair, and no two would ever meet.
At Zach’s table, a celebration was going on, with lots of backslapping and high fives. Darryl Pennyfield, Zach’s football buddy and co-Neanderthal, was horsing around. Deadeye, I called him, but never to his face. When his face was too close, mine was usually being stuffed into a locker. Then I caught sight of the straw in Naomi Erlanger’s hand. I guess Cap’s mop was an irresistible target for amateur spitballers, not just the professionals.
The PA system came to life with the voice of Mr. Kasigi. “Just a reminder—the election for eighth grade president will be held on Tuesday, September twenty-sixth. The position is open to all eighth graders. So far, only one name has been placed in nomination—Capricorn Anderson. Thank you.”
I was blown away. “You’re running for president? In your first week here?”
Cap scanned the ceiling. “Who is that? If he wants to talk to us, why doesn’t he just come into the room?”
“But why is he talking about you?” I persisted. “Are you running for president?”
“Of course not. I don’t believe in government. I come from an autonomous collective.”
“But Mr. Kasigi said—” And suddenly, I just knew.
The triumphant grins on the smug faces of Zach and company told the whole story. Cap hadn’t placed his name in nomination. Zach had done it for him. I’d heard something about this last year. The eighth graders had picked this computer genius, Luke Simard, and got him elected president just so they could make fun of him. By the end of the year, the poor kid was so crazy that he skipped graduation and applied to an alternative high school so he wouldn’t have to face four more years with the people who’d made his life so miserable.
Now we were the eighth graders, and it was our turn to do the same thing. Only, instead of picking the smartest guy in school, Zach had zeroed in on somebody who didn’t even seem to know what a PA system was.
I opened my mouth to issue the warning. The words were forming on my tongue: Cap—get over to the office this minute and take yourself out of nomination! Do it now, before it’s too late—
And then it hit me. If Cap Anderson had never been born, the name announced to the whole school would have been mine. My strange and hairy new friend was the only thing preventing me from being the next Luke Simard.
I shut my mouth and kept it shut, trying to keep my eyes off the spitball still lodged just above Cap’s left ear. I felt bad about it, but I felt something else too:
Better him than me.
6
NAME: NAOMI ERLANGER
The time was coming. I could almost smell it.
One day Zach Powers was going to be my boyfriend. Sure, he was sniffing around Lena—everybody knew that. But sooner or later he’d see that she lacked the depth and sincerity of yours truly, and that, besides, she had the hots for Darryl, or maybe Grant Tubman, if only he’d get rid of that ridiculous tongue stud that looked like a pimple. Enough said—especially about Lena, who was my best friend.
It was tough to compete with Lena, who was so naturally pretty and had a very strong personality. To be honest, she was kind of a bulldozer when it came to getting what she wanted, but I don’t say that in a mean way. People did what she told them to because they liked her—not just because she’d make their lives miserable if they didn’t. And since I was more shy than Lena, and not quite so willing to squeeze into size-zero jeans and apply makeup with a snow blower, I had to try a little harder to get Zach’s attention.
Who would have th
The minute I shot that spitball in the cafeteria, I could feel Zach noticing me. He said, “Nice trajectory,” and he asked if he could finish my Tater Tots. I knew it was the turning point in our relationship. The road to Zach went straight through the new hippie kid.
Example: Zach wanted to make Cap eighth grade president. Sure, the rest of us had our hearts set on Winkleman, but I quickly volunteered to work on Cap’s election campaign. Not that anybody was running against him, but we still had to make it look real so Mr. Kasigi wouldn’t get suspicious.
We made posters. My favorite was: CAPRICORN ANDERSON—THE PEOPLE’S CHOICE, because while I was painting it, Zach said, “It doesn’t have to be perfect, Naomi. It’s not like anybody’s going to have to vote for him.” And while he was talking, his hand brushed my hand.
Lena was a little suspicious when I told her we didn’t need any help with the election. You definitely didn’t want to get on her bad side. But by the time Zach and I started going out, she’d probably be hot and heavy with Darryl (or Grant Tubman, minus the tongue stud). So I was safe.
Zach was so cool. It was almost like watching the plan beamed straight from his brain onto the screen of a blockbuster movie. We put up the posters, scared off two dummies who wanted to run for the job, and presto! Capricorn Anderson was elected eighth grade president, unopposed.
“The best part is the doofus has no idea what just happened to him,” Zach chortled.
“Who knows what’s going on under all that hair?” snorted Lena.
I personally got the impression that Cap thought all new students had to go through this. Like being president was part of registering and choosing electives. But I kept my mouth shut and laughed along with the others. Zach had a great smile.
When they made the announcement at the all-school assembly, Zach and Darryl hoisted the new president up on their shoulders and marched him onto the stage. He’d been around C Average for a couple of weeks, and people knew his name from our posters and had seen him in the halls. But this was the first time the entire student body made the connection. Eleven hundred kids took in the sight of a genuine middle school hippie—this tall, skinny, longhaired boy in tie-dye, toes poking out of those homemade sandals. He looked so silly, so goofy, so weird that he was almost cute. Not attractive, but adorable in the sense that you can’t help pitying him—like a wet puppy rolled in sand.