Leverage by Joshua C. Cohen

Author:Joshua C. Cohen
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Group USA, Inc.
Published: 2010-12-03T05:00:00+00:00

29

DANNY

That first Monday back in school since Ronnie’s suicide, I’ve just sparked the Bunson burner in first period chemistry—pretty much the coolest part of the class is getting to play with fire—when the PA system’s angry squawk interrupts my brilliant new scheme to melt Studblatz’s face off.

“Please send Danny Meehan to the principal’s office.”

The students around me titter in unison.

“Busted!”

Any student unlucky enough to get called in front of Oregrove’s school secretary will meet a stout old woman with an Aqua Net hair dome and puffy arms swollen up like boiled bratwurst. Mrs. Doyle harrumphs at you in greeting because she knows if you’re standing before her, chances are you’ve been up to no good. Fisher brags that he’s called down so often Mrs. Doyle now lets him address her by her first name.

Today Mrs. Doyle comes around her desk and welcomes me like a long-lost relative from the old country. She lays cocktail-sausage fingers on my forearm and pulls me into her pork-roast bosom.

“Oh, Danny, such terrible news. Such terrible, terrible news,” Mrs. Doyle repeats, hugging me tightly. She stuffs me into her chest, blocking out all sound and light. She releases me and then leans down to look me in the eye as she cups my neck. Tan makeup flakes her downy jowls and fills the crinkles around her eyes and mouth like flour, like she just baked a flesh-cake. “Principal Donovan and Coach Nelson wanted to meet privately with the team and see how you’re all handling things since the announcement last week.”

Mrs. Doyle leads me into Principal Donovan’s office and then into a side room I’ve never had the honor of entering. The room contains a large circular conference table. My teammates are seated around it like morose hobbits. Coach Nelson and Principal Donovan talk in low voices at the far corner while sipping out of “I’d Rather Be Fishing” and “Is It Friday Yet?” coffee mugs. Fisher glances up at me and for once he isn’t smiling. Gradley and Menderson doodle in their notebooks while Paul tattoos the side of his sneakers with a ballpoint pen. Steve picks out thread at the knees of his jeans. Pete Delray chews off a hangnail while training his eyes on the door as if waiting patiently to be excused. Only Bruce sits stone still, head dipping forward from the neck, awaiting a hangman’s noose. The rest of the guys all seem to be pretty focused on their laps.

“You okay, kiddo?” Mrs. Doyle asks Fisher, laying a hand on his shoulder as she stands behind him.

“Yeah, Maude, thanks.” Fisher reaches up and squeezes her hand as if she were his grandma. Maybe detention isn’t so bad, I think.

After Mrs. Doyle exits, Principal Donovan begins his spiel talking about “tragic event” this and “sudden loss of life” that and how sad we all must be feeling. His speech sounds practiced and fake and I tune him out. Instead, I concentrate on Bruce and his glazed, vacant eyes sunk into bruised sockets.

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