Mountain Dew on Farrell and he and his laughing henchman left the hallway and Farrell behind and headed for the locker room. This girl, this Nora Evans, had distracted Farrell. He hadn’t thought this one through and that really bugged him. At the same time, though, he liked the distraction that was Nora Evans even as he sat in a large trashcan covered in muck. There were still many questions to be answered but Farrell now knew one important fact. Andre Davies wasn’t a problem anymore now that Farrell knew that Andre Davies could be a problem.
* * *
In the boy’s locker room, the last few members of the basketball team finished changing into their school uniforms and headed off to class. Andre ran a comb through his hair and admired himself in the small mirror attached to the inside of his gym locker. He turned to the only other player left, Jon Roberts, his right hand man.
“How do I look?” he asked as he stood before his teammate.
“I don’t know,” Jon replied. “You look alright.”
“Do you think I’m losing my hair?”
Jon was adjusting his school tie and pulled it a little too tightly around his neck, slightly put off by Andre’s unexpected line of questioning. “Dude, I don’t look at your hair,” he finally said. “I don’t care about your hair.”
“I’m better looking than him,” Andre said, more to himself than to Jon.
“Better looking than who?” Jon stared at his team captain, a look of alarm on his face, like he was looking at a crazy person. “Who are you better looking than?”
Andre didn’t meet Jon’s stare. He was momentarily lost in his own thoughts, however shallow they may have been. He finally snapped out of it and turned away from the mirror in his locker, and slammed the locker shut. “Better looking than everyone, dude,” he said lightheartedly. He slapped Jon hard on the back and strutted off to class.
Andre made it halfway down the hall before he stopped and felt around his neck. He wasn’t wearing his school tie. It seemed for a moment that he might just let it go and run the gauntlet, hoping no one would notice and he could get away without a uniform infraction. Instead he turned around and jogged back down the hall.
“Dude, you let me forget my tie,” Andre said as he entered the locker room. It was empty, however. Jon Roberts, who had been there only a moment before, was nowhere to be seen.
“Roberts?” Andre asked as he stepped over Jon’s backpack full of schoolbooks and headed for his locker. There was no answer in return. Andre shrugged it off and grabbed a tie from his locker. He began fixing the tie around his collar as he hurried out of the locker room, slamming the door behind him as he left. As the door slammed, however, Jon Roberts’s locker popped open—and Jon Roberts popped out! His body fell to the ground, his eyes glassy and lifeless and blood dripping from his ears.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Rom saw the entire world in numbers. In his head, when he imagined Farrell, he imagined the number two. His mind’s eye imagined the number two to be flaming red and much larger and more imposing than the icy blue number one. The number six, which is what he thought of when he looked at Izzy, was red and white like a candy cane and quite small. It was quite small but very bright. Rom thought of himself as the number 835. It was a purplish color and the three was like a balloon floating between the other two numbers.
Every number had its own particular look and every thing looked like a number. Numbers were certain. They gave value to things. The Sun was approximately 92,957,000 miles from the Earth. At the equator, the Earth spun at 1038 miles per hour and, most importantly, a king-sized bag of peanut M&M’s weighed 3.27 ounces. Fact! Rom, himself, measured five foot, three inches tall. He weighed one hundred and five pounds. He was thirteen years old. He was numerically certain.
Rom knew when numbers were correct and he knew when they were
* * *
In the boy’s locker room, the last few members of the basketball team finished changing into their school uniforms and headed off to class. Andre ran a comb through his hair and admired himself in the small mirror attached to the inside of his gym locker. He turned to the only other player left, Jon Roberts, his right hand man.
“How do I look?” he asked as he stood before his teammate.
“I don’t know,” Jon replied. “You look alright.”
“Do you think I’m losing my hair?”
Jon was adjusting his school tie and pulled it a little too tightly around his neck, slightly put off by Andre’s unexpected line of questioning. “Dude, I don’t look at your hair,” he finally said. “I don’t care about your hair.”
“I’m better looking than him,” Andre said, more to himself than to Jon.
“Better looking than who?” Jon stared at his team captain, a look of alarm on his face, like he was looking at a crazy person. “Who are you better looking than?”
Andre didn’t meet Jon’s stare. He was momentarily lost in his own thoughts, however shallow they may have been. He finally snapped out of it and turned away from the mirror in his locker, and slammed the locker shut. “Better looking than everyone, dude,” he said lightheartedly. He slapped Jon hard on the back and strutted off to class.
Andre made it halfway down the hall before he stopped and felt around his neck. He wasn’t wearing his school tie. It seemed for a moment that he might just let it go and run the gauntlet, hoping no one would notice and he could get away without a uniform infraction. Instead he turned around and jogged back down the hall.
“Dude, you let me forget my tie,” Andre said as he entered the locker room. It was empty, however. Jon Roberts, who had been there only a moment before, was nowhere to be seen.
“Roberts?” Andre asked as he stepped over Jon’s backpack full of schoolbooks and headed for his locker. There was no answer in return. Andre shrugged it off and grabbed a tie from his locker. He began fixing the tie around his collar as he hurried out of the locker room, slamming the door behind him as he left. As the door slammed, however, Jon Roberts’s locker popped open—and Jon Roberts popped out! His body fell to the ground, his eyes glassy and lifeless and blood dripping from his ears.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Rom saw the entire world in numbers. In his head, when he imagined Farrell, he imagined the number two. His mind’s eye imagined the number two to be flaming red and much larger and more imposing than the icy blue number one. The number six, which is what he thought of when he looked at Izzy, was red and white like a candy cane and quite small. It was quite small but very bright. Rom thought of himself as the number 835. It was a purplish color and the three was like a balloon floating between the other two numbers.
Every number had its own particular look and every thing looked like a number. Numbers were certain. They gave value to things. The Sun was approximately 92,957,000 miles from the Earth. At the equator, the Earth spun at 1038 miles per hour and, most importantly, a king-sized bag of peanut M&M’s weighed 3.27 ounces. Fact! Rom, himself, measured five foot, three inches tall. He weighed one hundred and five pounds. He was thirteen years old. He was numerically certain.
Rom knew when numbers were correct and he knew when they were
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