Fulton's POV
Arsenic: it's a white powder, and because it's tasteless people are always slipping it into their victims' food and drinks. There was that movie where the old ladies murdered their brother's fiancee by putting arsenic on a powdered doughnut.
Cyanide: it's white and crystalline, often used in extracting gold and silver from mixed metal substances, what do you call them? Ore. It smells like bitter almonds and it's one of the most--
"Mr. Reed. Mr. Reed!"
Oh, shit, not again. I tore my eyes away from the window and turned to face Mr. Benson. He had his hands on his hips and his eyes were flashing; I could tell he was going to start in on me again.
"Mr. Reed, every day I come here and attempt to pass on to you some fraction of my knowledge of american history. The least you could do is to give me the courtesy of keeping your eyes to the front of the room and feigning either the vaguest interest or comprehension in what I am telling you."
I looked around me. Goldberg was asleep with his head on his desk a few seats over and was actually snoring softly, while some girl two rows up and to the left--Patricia something-or-other--was drawing a picture of a unicorn in her notebook. I also noticed Charlie, Guy and Connie were half- turned in their seats, eyeing me sympathetically.
"I am only asking, Mr. Reed, that you treat me with respect," Benson continued. "I understand that this is difficult for you, as you seem to lack a fundamental grasp of the concept. From what I saw in your behaviour towards that boy--#16, was it?--in last night's game, you don't respect your opponents, and judging by your attitude, composure, and accoutrements, you don't respect yourself either. You look like a common street criminal!"
"That was a legal check!" Guy broke in, rather late, but Benson ignored him and went right on staring at me. I met his gaze, but my mind was elsewhere. I was used to his shit, he was like a white-collar version of my father, and I had stopped listening to both of them long ago. I kind of shut my mind off to what's going on around me, and try to recite passages from books and movies in my head. I still hear what they're saying, but it's as if their voices are coming from the end of a long tunnel, and it keeps me from getting so mad over what they're saying. This time I was using The Masque of the Red Death, by Poe, my favourite writer: And the life of the ebony clock went out with that of the last of the gay. And the flames of the tripods expired. And the darkness and decay and the Red Death held illimitable dominion--
The bell rang, interrupting my recitation, as well as Benson's tirade. "Read chapter five for tomorrow and answer questions 1-6. I won't be collecting them, but the material will be covered in a quiz," he added, still glaring at me.
We all got up and started to leave. I noticed some of the kids were looking at me and snickering. I scowled at them and they froze, then scurried away like frightened mice.
"Nice one, Fulton," Connie said, putting her hand on my shoulder.
"Yeah man, you sure know how to scare people," Guy put in as we walked down the hall.
"You should have seen him the other night," Charlie added. "He was like Arnold Schwarzenegger or something."
I saw Portman leaning against the wall outside the cafeteria. "In or out?" he asked.
"Out," I said.
"Where do you guys go during lunch, anyway?" Guy asked.
"Reno, where else?" Portman quipped. "Fulton loves to shoot the craps."
Guy smiled, shook his head, and followed Charlie and Connie to go join the lunch line while Portman and I took off down our corridor.
"Benson still on your case, man?" Portman asked. When I nodded he grinned. "Want me to kill him for you?"
"Nah, maybe we could just pull his fingernails out instead. Make him scream."
"Anything you want, buddy," Portman slapped me on the back. "Connie told me the guy's got like a personal vendetta against your wardrobe."
I looked down at myself. I was wearing a black Sonic Youth t-shirt over a long-sleeved white shirt with a torn neck, green army pants and black Converse high-tops. I looked alright to me. "Yeah, though he prefers the term 'accoutrements,' the pretentious little prick. But fuck him, man. Let's go get oblivious." *** I was lying on my back, staring at the ceiling and listening to the new album by And You Will Know Us by the Trail of Dead--man, those Texas boys could rock!--when Portman walked in.
"Hey, what's up? Oh, shit, I love this album!" Portman flopped down on his bed and pulled out his Math book.
Good, that was the reaction I was hoping for. Now just follow it up with the question....I opened my mouth but nothing came out. What was wrong with me? Portman's your friend, it's only natural to ask your friend to go to a concert with you, so ask him already! Be casual, if he doesn't want to go it's no big deal. But it was a big deal. I'm not the kind of person who makes friend easily, in fact, for a long time I didn't have any friends at all, and I didn't want any, either. Then one day I saw the Ducks--they were still D5 back then--playing hockey on the frozen pond. They just looked like they were having so much fun, even though they really blew. I wanted to be a part of that. I knew I couldn't be like Charlie or Guy or Connie, just zipping around, chatting to everybody, but I could watch them. And watch them I did. I went to their games, their practices, I even followed them to the sports store when they got new equipment. I like watching people, trying to figure them out, it's sort of a hobby of mine, and after a few weeks of watching the Ducks, I felt as if I knew each of them.
Even after I joined the team, I wasn't really close with anyone, except maybe Charlie, but then Portman came along. I guess it started because we were both enforcers and liked the same sort of music, but over time my feelings for him grew into something more, and now I kind of liked him. I mean really liked him. He doesn't know, of course, he can't possibly reciprocate, and I'd die before I'd tell him. Still, I shouldn't be too much of a pussy to ask him to go to a concert with me. I mean, it's not like it would be a date or anything...
"Hey, Fulton, sorry to bother you, but this shit is totally over my head. Do you think you could help me out?"
"Sure." I jumped off my bed and sat down beside him on his, taking his textbook and looking it over. "Oh, you've started trig, huh?"
"Yeah, it's a real bitch."
"To start with, yeah, but once you get the hang of it, it's a piece of cake. Do you want me to turn down the music so you can concentrate?"
"Hell no, I love these guys!"
Alright Fulton, time to give it another shot. "They're, uh, coming to town, you know," I said casually, looking at the wall.
"You're shitting me, when?"
"The 20th. They're playing at the Coliseum."
"Oh, man, we gotta go! Where can we get tickets?"
Portman couldn't sit still till we got them, so we borrowed Adam's credit card and ordered them by phone. Back in our dorm, all the while I was helping Portman with his math, I couldn't stop smiling. It's times like this, when everything works out better than you could have imagined, that make me wonder if maybe there is a god. Someone up there must like me.
Arsenic: it's a white powder, and because it's tasteless people are always slipping it into their victims' food and drinks. There was that movie where the old ladies murdered their brother's fiancee by putting arsenic on a powdered doughnut.
Cyanide: it's white and crystalline, often used in extracting gold and silver from mixed metal substances, what do you call them? Ore. It smells like bitter almonds and it's one of the most--
"Mr. Reed. Mr. Reed!"
Oh, shit, not again. I tore my eyes away from the window and turned to face Mr. Benson. He had his hands on his hips and his eyes were flashing; I could tell he was going to start in on me again.
"Mr. Reed, every day I come here and attempt to pass on to you some fraction of my knowledge of american history. The least you could do is to give me the courtesy of keeping your eyes to the front of the room and feigning either the vaguest interest or comprehension in what I am telling you."
I looked around me. Goldberg was asleep with his head on his desk a few seats over and was actually snoring softly, while some girl two rows up and to the left--Patricia something-or-other--was drawing a picture of a unicorn in her notebook. I also noticed Charlie, Guy and Connie were half- turned in their seats, eyeing me sympathetically.
"I am only asking, Mr. Reed, that you treat me with respect," Benson continued. "I understand that this is difficult for you, as you seem to lack a fundamental grasp of the concept. From what I saw in your behaviour towards that boy--#16, was it?--in last night's game, you don't respect your opponents, and judging by your attitude, composure, and accoutrements, you don't respect yourself either. You look like a common street criminal!"
"That was a legal check!" Guy broke in, rather late, but Benson ignored him and went right on staring at me. I met his gaze, but my mind was elsewhere. I was used to his shit, he was like a white-collar version of my father, and I had stopped listening to both of them long ago. I kind of shut my mind off to what's going on around me, and try to recite passages from books and movies in my head. I still hear what they're saying, but it's as if their voices are coming from the end of a long tunnel, and it keeps me from getting so mad over what they're saying. This time I was using The Masque of the Red Death, by Poe, my favourite writer: And the life of the ebony clock went out with that of the last of the gay. And the flames of the tripods expired. And the darkness and decay and the Red Death held illimitable dominion--
The bell rang, interrupting my recitation, as well as Benson's tirade. "Read chapter five for tomorrow and answer questions 1-6. I won't be collecting them, but the material will be covered in a quiz," he added, still glaring at me.
We all got up and started to leave. I noticed some of the kids were looking at me and snickering. I scowled at them and they froze, then scurried away like frightened mice.
"Nice one, Fulton," Connie said, putting her hand on my shoulder.
"Yeah man, you sure know how to scare people," Guy put in as we walked down the hall.
"You should have seen him the other night," Charlie added. "He was like Arnold Schwarzenegger or something."
I saw Portman leaning against the wall outside the cafeteria. "In or out?" he asked.
"Out," I said.
"Where do you guys go during lunch, anyway?" Guy asked.
"Reno, where else?" Portman quipped. "Fulton loves to shoot the craps."
Guy smiled, shook his head, and followed Charlie and Connie to go join the lunch line while Portman and I took off down our corridor.
"Benson still on your case, man?" Portman asked. When I nodded he grinned. "Want me to kill him for you?"
"Nah, maybe we could just pull his fingernails out instead. Make him scream."
"Anything you want, buddy," Portman slapped me on the back. "Connie told me the guy's got like a personal vendetta against your wardrobe."
I looked down at myself. I was wearing a black Sonic Youth t-shirt over a long-sleeved white shirt with a torn neck, green army pants and black Converse high-tops. I looked alright to me. "Yeah, though he prefers the term 'accoutrements,' the pretentious little prick. But fuck him, man. Let's go get oblivious." *** I was lying on my back, staring at the ceiling and listening to the new album by And You Will Know Us by the Trail of Dead--man, those Texas boys could rock!--when Portman walked in.
"Hey, what's up? Oh, shit, I love this album!" Portman flopped down on his bed and pulled out his Math book.
Good, that was the reaction I was hoping for. Now just follow it up with the question....I opened my mouth but nothing came out. What was wrong with me? Portman's your friend, it's only natural to ask your friend to go to a concert with you, so ask him already! Be casual, if he doesn't want to go it's no big deal. But it was a big deal. I'm not the kind of person who makes friend easily, in fact, for a long time I didn't have any friends at all, and I didn't want any, either. Then one day I saw the Ducks--they were still D5 back then--playing hockey on the frozen pond. They just looked like they were having so much fun, even though they really blew. I wanted to be a part of that. I knew I couldn't be like Charlie or Guy or Connie, just zipping around, chatting to everybody, but I could watch them. And watch them I did. I went to their games, their practices, I even followed them to the sports store when they got new equipment. I like watching people, trying to figure them out, it's sort of a hobby of mine, and after a few weeks of watching the Ducks, I felt as if I knew each of them.
Even after I joined the team, I wasn't really close with anyone, except maybe Charlie, but then Portman came along. I guess it started because we were both enforcers and liked the same sort of music, but over time my feelings for him grew into something more, and now I kind of liked him. I mean really liked him. He doesn't know, of course, he can't possibly reciprocate, and I'd die before I'd tell him. Still, I shouldn't be too much of a pussy to ask him to go to a concert with me. I mean, it's not like it would be a date or anything...
"Hey, Fulton, sorry to bother you, but this shit is totally over my head. Do you think you could help me out?"
"Sure." I jumped off my bed and sat down beside him on his, taking his textbook and looking it over. "Oh, you've started trig, huh?"
"Yeah, it's a real bitch."
"To start with, yeah, but once you get the hang of it, it's a piece of cake. Do you want me to turn down the music so you can concentrate?"
"Hell no, I love these guys!"
Alright Fulton, time to give it another shot. "They're, uh, coming to town, you know," I said casually, looking at the wall.
"You're shitting me, when?"
"The 20th. They're playing at the Coliseum."
"Oh, man, we gotta go! Where can we get tickets?"
Portman couldn't sit still till we got them, so we borrowed Adam's credit card and ordered them by phone. Back in our dorm, all the while I was helping Portman with his math, I couldn't stop smiling. It's times like this, when everything works out better than you could have imagined, that make me wonder if maybe there is a god. Someone up there must like me.