Stand-Off by Andrew Smith

Author:Andrew Smith
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers

CHAPTER THIRTY

“DO YOU WANT A BEER?”

How the hell did Spotted John Nygaard keep a steady supply of beer inside the boys’ dorm at Pine Mountain?

Oh yeah, he was a ninja.

I wondered if he’d ever assassinated anyone.

We sat down on the awkwardly close-quartered love seat. Spotted John kicked off his sneakers and turned on a video game called Battle Quest: Take No Prisoners, which was an absolutely inane contest involving murder, ninjas, a World War Five battle in future Stalingrad, and women whose clothes were apparently not as professionally stitched together at the seams as what the male characters wore.

“I better not,” I said. “Wouldn’t want to get crazy with Mabel again.”

“Oh. No worries. Besides, Balls took her home with him for the weekend.”

So totally gross.

“Do you ever play this game?” Spotted John asked.

Let me be clear: I never play video games, but I know a bit about diplomacy.

“I’m terrible at it. I’ll just watch you play.”

“I’m the bisexual ninja with the flame gun,” Spotted John said.

That confession was definitely five out of five rogue asteroids on the Ryan Dean West Things-I-Never-Saw-Coming Scale. “Uh. You actually smuggled a flame gun into Pine Mountain?”

“In the game,” Spotted John said.

“Oh. Yeah. I knew that’s what you meant. In the game.”

I figured we were going to make small talk before Spotted John broke down and did what he agreed to do. Maybe he was lonely without Cotton Balls around on the weekend. I got that. Being alone at Pine Mountain was rough sometimes. Weekends could be insufferably long.

“Since you’re a ninja and all, I was wondering, have you ever killed anyone?”

“Not in this country,” Spotted John answered. He bit the edge of his lip and flipped buttons on his game controller. “Do you ever smoke weed?”

I shook my head. “Nah. Not in Oregon.”

He said, “How are your ribs?”

I shrugged. “I think you were right. Just bruised. They’re a lot better now. Thanks for the pain pills, though.”

“Anytime, dude.”

Spotted John touched my side where JP Tureau had splattered my ribs. I kind of did what any guy would do and leaned away from him. Then he let his hand rest on my thigh.

What?

No no no no no.

I tried to make a joke of it. “Um, Spotted John, you are never going to get to checkpoint one on Mrs. Blyleven’s roadmap to consent, dude. So forget about it.”

“Ha ha,” he laughed.

“Heh.” I laughed back at him.

So fucking awkward.

And he left his hand there on my thigh for just a little bit too long for it to have been a Danish mistake, or a rogue five-fingered asteroid for that matter.

It was way too weird. What did I get myself into this time?

Spotted John paused his game. He pressed his hands into his knees and stood up. He cleared his throat and said, “Well, I’m going to have a beer, then. I’ll get the phone for you.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

Spotted John sat beside me and drank his Danish beer. He watched to be certain I didn’t get into the personal

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