"Oh, here's an idea. How about you use your brain and stay the hell out of it?"
After all the confusion and incongruousness that Kevin had been contending with over the past few days, it was a comfort to know that at least Nat was consistent.
School had let out for the day, and after making absolutely sure that neither Eddward nor anyone likely to eavesdrop and pass it along to him was within hearing range, Kevin had confided in his friends about his intentions. Well, "intentions" was the wrong word... at this point it was really only a notion. In any case, the reactions he was receiving were more or less what he had expected.
Nazz shook her head, clearly perplexed. "Seriously, Kevin, what brought this on?"
"You know that conscience I have?" Kevin answered dryly. "It's starting to get to me." He had yet to tell them about what he had accidentally walked in on.
Beside him, Nat executed a flawless facepalm. "Oh dear God, no, Kevin, don't listen to your conscience. Those things are evil."
"I thought the point of a conscience was not being evil," Kevin pointed out.
"Rolf believes this will only end in tears," Rolf said, clutching his pig as if for security. "Please let Rolf be mistaken in his thinking that Kevin will do something silly."
"I don't even know what I'm going to do yet," Kevin protested. "I mean, just because I know where they are doesn't mean I can just waltz in and take them. I know I have to be smart about this, because if I'm not, I don't actually accomplish anything!"
"Wait, wait, just–" Nat broke in. "Answer me this. Even if you do pull it off, even if you do find some way to–" He dropped the volume of his voice. "–to return the tags, so what? What are you hoping to accomplish at all?"
Kevin opened his mouth to reply, and hesitated for a moment. "Uh... integrity?"
"To be fair, integrity is doing the right thing when no one's watching," Nazz admitted.
"But why?" Nat demanded. "Do you think he'll stop being a dick to you if you do something nice for him?"
"Not really," Kevin said with a shrug. "I mean, best case scenario, he never even finds out it was me."
Nat threw his hands upward. "Then what is even the point?"
"What part of 'my conscience is getting to me' don't you understand?"
"The part where you're planning on getting involved in jock pissing contests! Don't you get it, Kevin? If you do this, not only are you picking a side, but you're siding with Eddward."
"This–" is more than just a pissing contest. Jocks don't cry over pissing contests. Something held him back from explaining exactly what had made up his mind. There was something... private about it. Part of him still felt guilty that he had seen it at all, and he didn't feel right about telling everyone that he'd walked in on Eddward crying in the locker room. It felt so cheap and petty, and... well. He had no desire to be either of those things. "Look, I'll figure something out, okay? I probably won't even have to do anything dumb to pull this off. I mean, like I said, it's not like I can just barge into a locker room I don't belong in and start ransacking the place. Because that's probably a suspension, and my conscience is not worth that."
"Rolf is more worried about other suspensions," Rolf interrupted. "Such as suspension of Kevin, upside down, over the second floor railing."
"It's not gonna come to that," Kevin assured him. "If I do this right, he's not even gonna know I was invol–"
Up ahead, Eddward emerged from an adjacent hallway, turned the corner, and began walking in their direction. Johnny and Jimmy flanked him once more.
Kevin's throat bobbed nervously; they'd pass by again, like they had been doing, maybe with a parting shot from Jimmy about his sweater, which he could take. It was the end of the day. They wouldn't bother them.
But Edd might see him, and see the look on his face. Kevin had witnessed a private moment, and he wore his heart on his sleeve; what if it showed?
"Go on, guys, I left something at my locker," he blurted, before turning and ducking around a corner.
"Kevin, your locker's the other wa–" Kevin was already off, taking an extremely circuitous detour to the parking lot, and the relative safety of his bike.
The following day brought an answer to his problem.
Why that particular football player chose that particular moment to accost Kevin in the hallway was debatable. Kevin didn't know his life – maybe he'd just gone through an ugly break-up, or flunked a test, or maybe he'd just found out he was adopted. The fact of the matter was that the guy had a lot of excess energy and frustration to burn off, and a skinny five-nine dweeb in taped horn-rimmed glasses was as good an outlet as any, apparently.
Admittedly, he should have been watching where he was going; one never knew when someone might interpret an accidental bump in the hallway as a challenge to a fight. He couldn't help but be distracted; he had a problem and a hundred different obstacles between him and the solution, a combination that made for a full head and a bad day.
Kevin found himself hurtling into a locker, where the jutting metal frame of the combination dial slamming painfully into his back, just below his shoulder. Sharp pain paralyzed him for a moment, long enough his attacker to close in on him. At the last possible moment, he ducked, and the kid's fist struck the spot on the locker level with where his face had been.
He barely recognized the guy. He was vaguely familiar, probably one of his classmates, but classmates were hard enough to keep track of when they weren't trying to sandwich him between their knuckles and whatever hard surface they could find. He twisted out from between the bully and the lockers, before taking off to flee. The athlete was twice his size and unfairly fast, and managed to grab his sleeve as well as a chunk of his arm. Kevin yelped in pain, and felt himself be dragged back and thrust against the damn locker again. On instinct, he lashed out with both hands; one missed entirely, while the other scored a lucky hit below the football player's eye.
To his immense relief, the confrontation had not gone unnoticed, and two teachers appeared to separate them – Kevin wondered if they had happened upon the scene, or if someone had gone and fetched them. One of them – Kevin thought he recognized him as one of the P.E. coaches –got between them and managed to push the football player back. The other stayed by him, placing a restraining hand on his shoulder as if the wimpy kid in the ugly sweater was likely to leap back into the fight.
To his immense annoyance, it turned out that he was in trouble for fighting, as well.
"I didn't do anything," he protested, though he dutifully followed the faculty members to the office. "I was just going to class, and he jumped me–"
"The school has a zero-tolerance policy on fighting," Teacher #2 explained bluntly. "You were both being disruptive."
"That wasn't a fight," Kevin persisted. "He was trying to punch me, and I was trying to get away."
"I saw you hit back."
What, so I was supposed to just stand there and take it? Frustrated, Kevin fell silent, and fixed his eyes on the ground so he wouldn't have to look at the other, equally sullen student. He dearly wished he could bring himself to speak his mind on the subject, or at least glare at the guy, but considering how close the other had come to kicking the crap out of him, it was infinitely wiser to keep quiet and keep his head down.
He managed to duck a suspension by dropping the protests, swallowing his pride, and apologizing to the jackass for hitting him, but what he could not avoid was a detention, a phone call to his parents, and–
"You're on campus cleanup tomorrow."
Kevin groaned inwardly.
"The track team will be at a meet tomorrow at Pleasant Hill. You can spend your lunch period cleaning up the locker room."
Kevin gaped. No. No way.
That was... certainly serendipitous. It looked as if he would be getting his chance after all.
If nothing else, it was worth it to see the football player's utter bewilderment when, on the way out, he thanked him civilly and sincerely for nearly punching his teeth down his throat.