13 by Jason Robert Brown Page A

do that to you—you’re my friend. You’ve got to relax.”
    â€œOkay,” I choked. By that time I was leaning against a locker for support.
    â€œBut remember,” Archie said, “good things can happen if you help me.”
    I was desperate to get away. Practically dying.
    â€œArchie, listen. I’ve really got to go. We’ll talk, okay?”
    I began to walk away, fast. But ten feet or so down the hall, I heard a loud thud. When I turned there was Archie—on the floor, twitching and gasping like a freshly caught fish. Ten thousand thoughts rushed through my head at once. Had I done this to him somehow? Was he going to tell people I had pushed him? Was I his last-ever hope for happiness at that miserable school? Was he really in trouble?
    â€œHold on!” I cried. “I’ll get the nurse!”
    I was maybe ten steps down the hall when I realized that the gasping had stopped. I turned, expecting him to be dead, and instead he was propped up on his arms smiling impishly at me.
    â€œJust imagine that on the dance floor in the middle of your bar mitzvah!”
    â€œArchie!” I said.
    His eyes narrowed. “Just get me that date!”
    With that, Archie got himself up on his feet. It took forever. He couldn’t just stand up. Instead, he had to brace his feet against the lockers, then walk forward on his hands until he was upright. Halfway through, I made a motion to help, but he stopped me with a glance.
    â€œI’ve got it.”
    Once he was on his feet, he moved down the hall without another look. I was calculating in my head: What happens if I say yes? How do I get Kendra to goon a date with him? She’s Brett’s girlfriend! Or she will be soon. But what happens if I say no? If Archie tells my mother I didn’t invite him, all of a sudden he’s gonna be at the house every night eating dinner with us. And what if, oh my god, what if he really does come to the bar mitzvah and does the crazy fake seizure?
    A little too quietly, I said, “I’ll try.”
    Archie looked over his shoulder. “What?”
    â€œI said I’ll try, okay?”
    You should’ve seen the grin the spread across his face—so hopeful. Like for the first time in years that someone had agreed to help him. I felt pretty good about myself, to tell the truth.
    â€œI knew you would,” he said, and sort of snorted.
    And DINK clump, DINK clump , he was off down the hall.

8
    IN NEW YORK, a bad day was a cab tearing through a puddle on a rainy day, dousing you with dirty water. Or getting stuck on the subway back from Shea after the Mets lost in the bottom of the ninth. Or having to spend the afternoon at Bloomingdale’s shopping for pants with your mom. Annoying, but basically harmless. Apparently, a bad day in Indiana involved destroyed friendships and being threatened by the neighborhood psycho. After shaking loose of Archie, I ran to the cafeteria as fast as I could, but by the time I got there, they were just pulling up the food trays. I ran to the counter anyway, but the lady behind the cash register shooed me away.
    â€œWe stop serving at twelve thirty-five on the dot,” she said.
    I glanced at the clock. It was 12:37.
    â€œWhat’s a couple of minutes?” I said. “I need to eat.”
    The lady smiled. “And you can tomorrow. By twelve thirty-five.”
    Conversation over.
    I turned and took in an entire lunchroom full of seventh graders throwing milk cartons, eating cookies, gossiping, and joking. I vaguely recognized some of the kids I had met earlier in the day, but Brett was nowhere to be seen, and neither were any of the other kids in his clique. I didn’t know where to go.
    Except there was Patrice, sitting by herself at a table near the door. And she was staring right at me. But then she turned away, buried her face in a notebook, and began to write furiously. I remembered seeing a whole stack of those