Chapter Ten

Chill and I ended up working behind a large tarp so that no one in the school would see the mural until it was completed. We were allowed to hook speakers up to my iPod as long as we kept it low. It made it easier to work without talking—less awkward.

“I’ve got to go,” I told him one day.

“Where?” he asked. “The bell won’t go for a while.”

“I want to get to class early to give Mr. Sfinkter my book.”

“You finished it? That’s great!” he said with what could have been taken for genuine excitement. “Can I read it?”

“Yeah, sure,” I told him. “I’ll get you a copy when I get a chance.”

“You can just e-mail it to me.”

“Okay,” I said, collecting my things. “Is it okay if I go?”

“Of course.”

I started to get out from under the tarp when he called after me.

“Sean,” he said.

“What?”

“Good luck.”

“Sure.”

Impatiently I waited at the front of the class for the bell to ring and for Mr. Sfinkter to appear. I think the rest of the class was there, although I didn’t notice. I hadn’t noticed them for most of the semester.

Mr. Sfinkter came in wearing a bright green jacket and red bow tie, his glory almost blinding me as he approached.

“Mr. Fitzsimmons, having trouble finding your seat?” he asked.

“I finished it,” I told him, almost bubbling over.

“What did you finish?”

“The book.”

“This is an English class, Mr. Fitzsimmons. You’ll have to be specific as to which book you finished.”

“My book, sir. The one I’ve been writing.”

“What?” he said. “Oh yes, that. Good for you. I remember when I finished my first book. It was quite a feeling. My publisher was almost salivating when I gave it to him. The size of it alone was intimidating and struck him with awe.”

He got taller when he talked about his book.

“But enough about me. We must get on with studying the works of my peers. Now take your seat.”

“I have a copy for you, sir.”

“You do? Oh, yes of course you do. Well, I can’t very well read it now, can I? Set it on the desk and take your seat.”

“You will read it, though?” I asked.

“Yes, yes,” he said impatiently. “Now take your seat.”

I set it gently on his desk before returning to my seat.

I sat down, twitching with excitement. I looked over at Chill. He seemed to be looking at me the way you look at someone who just received bad news, like their cat had died or something.

I couldn’t figure out why at first. Then I figured that his jealousy had just turned to self-pity. I gave him a sympathetic smile in return. Maybe I’d been too hard on him.

“Well, thanks to Mr. Fitzsimmon’s little delay, I’m only going to be doing one student’s career today. And who’s the lucky person?” He picked up my manuscript and tossed it in his drawer before shuffling through the last few papers and pulling one out.

“Miss Langdon,” he said. “You want to be...” He quickly skimmed the paper. He laughed. “A doctor? Brains aside, with your clumsiness you’d be more likely to cause injuries than cure them. No, I think you’d best go for a rethink on that, perhaps picking a profession in which your work environment has no sharp edges. But nothing with small children, please. You’d kill them for certain.”

I heard a snap and looked over at Chill. He was holding a broken pencil.

“Mr. Holinground, is there a problem?”

“None I wish to discuss,” he said with the confidence and authority I used to admire.

They stared at each other for a while before Mr. Sfinkter finally spoke. “Good. Now everyone take out your copies of Romeo and Juliet. We’ll be working on it for our final weeks,” he said. “This play has a lot to teach you. It shows not only that children should always listen to their elders, but the dire consequences which result when they don’t.”

As we all took out our copies of Shakespeare, I saw Chill slip his sketchpad into his notebook.

For the first while he was doing a good job at covering up, looking up at the front and down to the pad as if taking notes on the passages that Mr. Sfinkter wanted us to pay the closest attention to. But as the class progressed, Chill’s sketching became more frantic.

“Mr. Holinground,” the teacher said. “Mr. Holinground!”

Chill dropped his pencil. “Yes, sir.”

“It’s nice to see you taking such detailed notes.”

“It’s a great play, sir,” Chill replied.

“Despite what you may think, Mr. Holinground, I am not an idiot. Now bring your sketchpad to the front.”

“Sketchpad, sir?”

“Bring it!”

Chill looked down at the sketchpad and then up to Mr. Sfinkter. I could only imagine what he’d drawn in his anger. I was sure it wasn’t going to be complimentary to Mr. Sfinkter.

Chill took a breath. With his usual sureness, he got to his feet, sketchpad in hand, and started to make his way to the front.

“Pick up your feet when you walk, Mr. Holinground,” barked the teacher.

At first, like everyone else in the class, I couldn’t believe what I’d just heard. I knew that Mr. Sfinkter didn’t notice us outside class, but could we really be that invisible to him?

The only one who didn’t seem the least bit surprised was Chill. He kept moving.

“Pick them up!” Mr. Sfinkter repeated.

Chill stopped.

“I can’t,” he said.

“You can’t or you won’t?”

“I have a bad leg, sir.”

“What do you mean by bad?” the teacher asked. “You sprained your ankle, perhaps tripping over that bag you leave lying around the school?”

“It’s been that way since birth, sir.”

“Oh,” Mr. Sfinkter said, making it obvious that he’d just never noticed before now. “Well, I guess God’s punished you enough then, hasn’t he? Take your seat.”

Chill spun around and returned to his chair without looking at anyone except Sara. She looked at him without pity, without judgment, with just pure understanding. I realized then what Chill saw in her.

At the end of class, Sara took extra care with her books. Chill rushed out of the class, and I went after him.

“He didn’t mean anything by it,” I said.

“Which part?”

“About your leg, he really didn’t know.”

“What about Sara? And everybody else that he takes enjoyment in belittling, even you? You’re just too...”

“I’m just too what?” I asked.

Chill shook his head. “I hope he helps you out, Sean. I hope he does all the things that he says he’s going to do. But I can’t turn a blind eye to all the things he’s done.”

And he walked away.