Some of them regarded the rubble with awe. Others glanced curiously at Brother Leon and Archie. No matter where they looked, it was great—an interruptionof school routine, a diversion in the deadly order of the day.
“Didn’t I tell you I wanted everything to go smoothly? No incidents? No funny business?”
The worst part of Leon’s fury was the way he whispered, this terrible tortured hissing from his mouth, giving his words a tone more deadly than a shout or a yell. At the same time his grip on Archie’s shoulder got tighter and Archie winced with pain.
“I didn’t do anything. I didn’t promise anything,” Archie said automatically. Always deny everything, never apologize, never admit anything.
Leon pushed Archie up against a wall as the boys began to fill the corridor, pouring into Room Nineteen to view the destruction, and milling around outside; talking and gesturing, shaking their heads in wonder—the legend had already begun.
“I’m in charge, don’t you see? This entire school is now my responsibility. The chocolate sale is ready to start and you pull something like this.” Leon released him without warning, and Archie hung there as if suspended in mid-air. He turned and saw some guys staring at Leon and him. Staring at him! Archie Costello humiliated by this sniveling bastard of a teacher. His sweet moment of triumph spoiled by this nut and his ridiculous chocolate sale!
He watched Leon storming away, pushing his way through the tumultuous corridor, disappearing into the swarming stream of boys. Archie massaged his shoulder, gingerly feeling the spot where Leon’s fingernails had bitten deep. Then he thrust himself into the crowd, pushing aside the guys gathered near the doorway. He stood at the entrance, drinking in the beautiful debris of Room Nineteen—his masterpiece. He saw Brother Eugene still standing there in the midst of the shambles, tears actually running down his cheeks.
Beautiful, beautiful.
Screw Brother Leon.
CHAPTER
TWELVE
“TRY IT AGAIN,” the coach bellowed, his voice hoarse. The danger point—his voice always got hoarse when he lost his patience, when he was in danger of blowing his top.
Jerry picked himself up. His mouth was dry and he tried to suck spit into it. His ribs hurt, his entire left side was on fire. He stalked back to his position behind Adamo who played center. The other guys were already lined up, tense, waiting, aware that the coach wasn’t happy with them. Not happy? Hell, he was furious, disgusted. He had arranged this special practice giving his freshmen a chance to scrimmage against a few members of the varsity, to show off all he had taught them and they were doing lousy, rotten, terrible.
There was no huddle. the coach barked the number of the next play, a play designed to suck in Carter, the big beefy varsity guard who looked as if he could chew freshmen up and spit them out. But the coach had said, “We’ll have somesurprises for Carter.” It was tradition at Trinity to toss star players against the Freshmen and to build plays designed to stop the stars. This was the only reward the Freshman team reaped because most of them were too young or too small to play varsity.
Jerry crouched behind Adamo. He was determined to make this play work. He knew that the previous play hadn’t worked because his timing was off and because he hadn’t seen Carter come crashing out of nowhere. He had expected Carter to blitz and instead the big guard had pulled back and skirted the line, annihilating Jerry from behind. What infuriated Jerry was that Carter toppled him gently, lowering him to the ground almost tenderly as if to prove his superiority. I don’t have to murder you, kid, it’s easy enough this way, Carter seemed to be saying. But this was the seventh consecutive play and the damage of being tackled play after play was taking its toll.
“All right, guys, this is it. Make or break.”
“It’s all over, fellas,” Carter
“Didn’t I tell you I wanted everything to go smoothly? No incidents? No funny business?”
The worst part of Leon’s fury was the way he whispered, this terrible tortured hissing from his mouth, giving his words a tone more deadly than a shout or a yell. At the same time his grip on Archie’s shoulder got tighter and Archie winced with pain.
“I didn’t do anything. I didn’t promise anything,” Archie said automatically. Always deny everything, never apologize, never admit anything.
Leon pushed Archie up against a wall as the boys began to fill the corridor, pouring into Room Nineteen to view the destruction, and milling around outside; talking and gesturing, shaking their heads in wonder—the legend had already begun.
“I’m in charge, don’t you see? This entire school is now my responsibility. The chocolate sale is ready to start and you pull something like this.” Leon released him without warning, and Archie hung there as if suspended in mid-air. He turned and saw some guys staring at Leon and him. Staring at him! Archie Costello humiliated by this sniveling bastard of a teacher. His sweet moment of triumph spoiled by this nut and his ridiculous chocolate sale!
He watched Leon storming away, pushing his way through the tumultuous corridor, disappearing into the swarming stream of boys. Archie massaged his shoulder, gingerly feeling the spot where Leon’s fingernails had bitten deep. Then he thrust himself into the crowd, pushing aside the guys gathered near the doorway. He stood at the entrance, drinking in the beautiful debris of Room Nineteen—his masterpiece. He saw Brother Eugene still standing there in the midst of the shambles, tears actually running down his cheeks.
Beautiful, beautiful.
Screw Brother Leon.
CHAPTER
TWELVE
“TRY IT AGAIN,” the coach bellowed, his voice hoarse. The danger point—his voice always got hoarse when he lost his patience, when he was in danger of blowing his top.
Jerry picked himself up. His mouth was dry and he tried to suck spit into it. His ribs hurt, his entire left side was on fire. He stalked back to his position behind Adamo who played center. The other guys were already lined up, tense, waiting, aware that the coach wasn’t happy with them. Not happy? Hell, he was furious, disgusted. He had arranged this special practice giving his freshmen a chance to scrimmage against a few members of the varsity, to show off all he had taught them and they were doing lousy, rotten, terrible.
There was no huddle. the coach barked the number of the next play, a play designed to suck in Carter, the big beefy varsity guard who looked as if he could chew freshmen up and spit them out. But the coach had said, “We’ll have somesurprises for Carter.” It was tradition at Trinity to toss star players against the Freshmen and to build plays designed to stop the stars. This was the only reward the Freshman team reaped because most of them were too young or too small to play varsity.
Jerry crouched behind Adamo. He was determined to make this play work. He knew that the previous play hadn’t worked because his timing was off and because he hadn’t seen Carter come crashing out of nowhere. He had expected Carter to blitz and instead the big guard had pulled back and skirted the line, annihilating Jerry from behind. What infuriated Jerry was that Carter toppled him gently, lowering him to the ground almost tenderly as if to prove his superiority. I don’t have to murder you, kid, it’s easy enough this way, Carter seemed to be saying. But this was the seventh consecutive play and the damage of being tackled play after play was taking its toll.
“All right, guys, this is it. Make or break.”
“It’s all over, fellas,” Carter
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