I don't even bother with classes on Monday. No one seems to blame me, either. Jack and David had managed to get me to explain when they'd gotten back from dinner Sunday night, and then they told Spot who told Racetrack and so on and so forth. And they were all being really nice to me on Monday, what with letting me stay in bed all day with the covers over my head, pouting and stewing.
But Tuesday is another story.
They all come back in after breakfast and Racetrack cruelly yanks the comforter off of me and throws it on the floor.
"Get up," he says, with none of his characteristic sarcasm or even the slightest hint of compassion in his voice.
"No," I mumble, pulling the sheet up higher, which Race promptly steals from me as well. I roll over and glare at him and the other three guys standing above me. "Damn it, what do you want?"
"We're having an intervention," Jack says.
I roll my eyes. "Jesus, am I in A.A. or something?"
"It's fucking Tuesday," Spot says, beginning to go through my drawers. He pulls out some clean clothes. "You haven't gotten out of bed in over twenty-four hours and you're wearing the same clothes as you were on Sunday."
"Plus you kind of smell," adds Race.
"And they're going to sic the head nurse on you if you miss any more classes," David finishes.
They all stand and stare at me for a couple minutes. Feeling uncomfortable, I roll back over to face the wall again. "Guys, it's nice of you to care and all, but I just don't feel up to it today."
Apparently, they aren't having it. Jack and Racetrack grab me and literally drag me from my bed to the floor.
"Get up," the four of them say in unison.
I finally make it about halfway through third period and then am dragged to lunch. When I just sit at the table and sulk, Race sits across from me, glaring.
"Eat," he snaps.
I lower my eyes. "I'm not hungry, Race."
"You'll feel better."
"Will not." And before I can go back to sulking, Racetrack shoves half a turkey sandwich into my mouth, nearly choking me. "You know, you'd make a really good Jewish mother," I say around the bread.
Whether he understood me or not isn't evident, but he reiterates my point with his simple reply of "Chew."
After lunch is English, which I completely and utterly dread. Being the incredibly lucky person that I am, there are, of course, no seats open but my usual one by the time I get there. I'll have to remember to be early tomorrow.
Dutchy lifts his eyes to me as I make my way to my desk at the back of the room, and I'm able to take comfort in the fact that there is a rather spectacular bruise along his jawline. Without saying a word, I take my seat and fix my eyes on the blackboard.
Class passes by slowly after Mr. Denton's lecture, and the room is fairly quiet as everyone works on their assignments.
Quiet except for Dutchy trying to get my attention.
"Specs," he whispers, leaning over the edge of his desk. "Come on, Specs. We need to talk."
He keeps whispering and I keep staring at my notebook until Mr. Denton's head pops up from the stack of papers he's grading.
"Dutchy," he snaps, "and Specs. Is there something you'd like you share with the class?"
"I was just--" Dutchy begins defensively.
"You know, my patience is running really low for you two and your antics in my class. I'll see you both in detention, after school."
"I wasn't doing anything!" I try and speak in my defense, but the bell rings.
God, I hate my life right now. Not only do I have detention, which I've never had before in my life, but I have it with Dutchy.
"Sorry," he says, looking pitifully at me as I gather my stuff. I just glare at him and walk out.
Oscar smirks at me as I pass him. "Looks like the honeymoon's over," I hear him say to his friends.
I'm beginning to hope God will strike me down in an act of pity.
As if my day weren't long enough, I have to spend two hours after school in Denton's classroom, which I could be spending in bed, ignoring the world. To top it all off, I'm accompanied by the current bane of my existence.
Twenty minutes in, I'm ready to off myself. I begin looking around the room for items with which to bring about my demise. I wonder what I could do with a ruler, a chalkboard eraser, and one of those really big dictionaries.
"Boys," Denton interrupts my train of thought, "I'm going to run out for a cup of coffee. I'll be back in a few minutes. Behave yourselves while I'm gone."
He leaves and Dutchy turns to me as soon as the door closes. His mouth opens and I hold up a hand.
"Just don't, okay? Don't talk to me. You won't help your situation any."
He looks insulted. "Look, it's not like this is my fault."
"Actually, it's entirely your fault."
Before he can retort, the door opens and we both turn to it as Sarah Jacobs walks in.
"Oh, hey," she says. "Where's Mr. Denton?"
"Went out for coffee," Dutchy says. "You need something?"
"Oh, I was just going to ask him something about this article I'm writing for the newspaper." She smiles a little bit and something tells me she doesn't hate Dutchy anymore. "What are you doing in here?"
Dutchy shrugs. "Detention. I'm not exactly sure what I did, though."
Sarah laughs. "Well, you know how Denton always gets a little irritable this time of the year." She turns and heads for the door, then stops and turns back around. "Are we still on for after the show Friday?"
Nodding, Dutchy looks over at me and tries not to be obvious about it. Sarah leans down and whispers in his ear, though I can hear her loud and clear. "My roommates will all be gone Friday night."
Dutchy's cheeks get a little red and Sarah grins. Brushing her fingers along the bruise on his face, she shakes her head. "Try not to have any more altercations with desks between now and Friday."
I close my eyes and hope that when I open them, this will all have been one long, very bad dream.