This Might Hurt a Bit by Doogie Horner

Author:Doogie Horner
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon Pulse

CHAPTER 15

* * *

I HAVE ENGLISH NEXT, WHICH is in a different circle, which means I have to cross through the lobby again for the hundredth time today. Jake has study hall back in the circle we were just in for art, but he insists on walking me to English “for my protection.”

“You don’t have to do that,” I protest. “Really. You don’t have to walk me to class.”

“It’s fine, dude.”

“Won’t you be late for your class?”

Jake gives me a pitying look, like I’m a sucker for letting clocks tell me when to go places.

Jake keeps swiveling his head around, looking for Mark, Tommy, or Rob. What I haven’t told Jake is that I know exactly where Rob is: He’s in my English class. One reason I don’t want Jake to walk me to class is that I’m afraid they’ll bump into each other in the hallway, and Jake will fillet him like a fish with his black blade. That little fucker won’t stand a chance.

We reach the ground floor of the circle and follow the flow of students moving clockwise around the hallway. Jake’s eyes dart restlessly from face to face. A couple of people who meet his stare quickly look away or suddenly become very interested in the conversation they’re having.

As we near the lobby, we pass through a section of the hall lined with lockers. The lockers in our school are different colors depending on what circle they’re in. These are safety-cone orange. Kids open and close them with a loud clang. I want to distract Jake, but I don’t know what to talk about. Finally I venture, “PJ is going to ask Vern to the dance today.”

Jake continues scanning the crowd as we walk. “Is that why he’s dressed like a ventriloquist puppet?”

“Oh, you saw him?”

“Um . . . sort of. Across the lobby.” Jake rubs his eyes.

“You all right?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Just tired from last night, you know?” We pass a bathroom, and he swerves toward it. “Hold on a second,” he says, going inside. “Gotta piss.”

I wait for him, standing against the wall and watching people pass. Boy oh boy, what a crummy day.

A couple of minutes later Jake careens out of the bathroom. His face and the top of his shirt collar are soaking wet, like he dunked his head into the sink. He’s still clutching a wad of paper towels and wiping his face off as we resume walking. He crumples the paper towels up and drops them on the floor.

“Why are you soaking wet?”

He looks at me like I’m an idiot. “ ’ Cause I washed my face,” he snaps.

Okay. I am now officially more scared of Jake than of Mark.

We pass Mr. Hartman in the hallway. He eyes Jake suspiciously, as he should, and follows us as we enter the Thunderdome, posting up outside the principal’s office near the main entrance.

The Thunderdome is crowded, kids crossing through the center in pairs or clumps of friends. Happy voices bounce around the vaulted dome above us.

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