Chapter 61
BANNED!
Finally, Monday comes around. It’s Brainzilla’s first day back from the hospital. It’s my first day back from the mental hospital. We’ve barely set foot in homeroom before we get called to Mr. Tool’s office.
Those guys really know how to give a girl some space. Like, thismuch.
The rest of the Freakshow is already sitting in Mr. Tool’s office when we arrive. Flatso is wearing tons of navy eye shadow, which gives her a menacing, glowering look. Everyone else seems blank, except for Zitsy, who is staring at Mr. Tool as if he’s a cliff he might fall off. We’re definitely not at our best, and being called in to see Mr. Tool isn’t making things better.
“What’s up?” I ask.
“Chicken butt!” Zitsy says involuntarily. He clamps a hand over his mouth as nobody laughs.
Mr. Tool taps his fingers against his desk impatiently, then snaps up a paper lying there. “What do you know about this?” he asks, brandishing one of our Rally for Reason fliers.
“Um… that we’re pro-reason?” I say, looking at the others.
“I made that,” Eggy announces. “We wanted to do something positive for the school.”
“Well, I’m afraid that this event has been canceled,” Mr. Tool announces. “You can’t simply schedule an event on school grounds without the proper permission and clearance.”
For a moment, we all just stare at one another.
“How do we get the proper permission and clearance?” Zitsy asks.
Mr. Tool gives him a narrow-eyed smile. “You can submit an application to my office.”
“Okay.” Tebow stands up, as if the matter is settled. “We’ll do that.”
“I’m afraid your application has been denied,” Mr. Tool says.
Tebow—bless his sweet, innocent self—looks confused. “How can it be denied if we haven’t submitted it yet?”
Mr. Tool throws our flyer in the trash. “That’s how. This event is not happening. Not this weekend. Not next weekend. Not in my lifetime.” He shoots a look at me.
“Why?” I ask. The word dribbles from my lips like a coffee spilling from the edge of a chipped mug.
“Because you can’t handle it.” Mr. Tool’s voice isn’t mean, but his words stab through me, anyway. I feel all eyes dart to Brainzilla, who is studying the carpet, unmoving in that comfortable chair of his. It takes all my energy not to lunge across Mr. Tool’s desk and take a swipe at him. What’s he trying to do—make Katie take another bottle of pills?
I hear the door open and turn to see Tebow’s back as he leaves the office. Eggy is next, and then the rest of us rise and file out.
Our event is banned.
Operation Happiness is over.
Chapter 62
DIGGING OUT
The back stairwell is claustrophobic and a really sickly shade of green. Also, the faint smell of barf seems to linger in the corner closest to the door, and it’s always about fifteen degrees hotter than the rest of the school. The windows here are the industrial kind threaded through with slim wire, and someone has used one as a canvas on which to scratch a lovely image of an angry penis.
I usually avoid the back stairwell because it makes me feel like I’m stuck in the Grinch’s pocket. Then again, everyone else avoids it, too. So it’s a good place to come if you want to be alone.
Which I do.
I can’t believe our Rally for Reason has been banned. The school doesn’t want reason. Literally. It’s not even a metaphor.
The door pops open, and I turn away, not wanting to make eye contact with whoever has chosen to walk through this wasteland.
“You’re gonna die,” Digger Whitlock announces.
“I know that, Digger.” I look up at him. He’s blinking at the angry penis, like he can’t make sense of it. “Why do you keep reminding me?”
Digger sits down beside me. His fat, square fingers reach out to touch the vomit-green paint, and when he moves, his clothes release the faint smell of wood smoke. He traces a circle, keeping his eyes on the wall. “People need reminding.” His voice is slow, almost mechanical. “If everyone remembers that they’re going to die, then maybe they’ll remember to live.” His eyes slide across the floor. “My brother didn’t get a chance to live, Maggie. Andy never even thought about it.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
Digger’s eyes lift to meet mine. All this time, I’ve heard Digger telling us that we were going to die, but I’ve never bothered to wonder what he meant by it. I just thought he was borderline nuts, and trying to scare us. And as I meet his soft brown gaze, I see something I didn’t expect: reason.
It’s like he and I are having our own mini rally right here, in the Grinch’s pocket.
“You’re right,” I tell Digger. “I am going to die. We all are. But not today.”
“Not today,” he agrees.
I look up at the glass, past the iron threads and the angry penis, and realize that outside, the sky is perfectly blue. I’ve been looking at the window instead of the sky.
We can’t give up on the rally. I can’t.
I won’t.
It’s time to call an emergency meeting of the Freakshow.
Chapter 63
SCREAM OUT
Chapter 64
BEYOND OUR WILDEST DREAMS
Here is the thing about Facebook: Its power can be used for evil… but can also be used for good. So we harness its power and invite everyone to the Scream Out. We send e-mails and put flyers up around town. We’ve planned the Scream Out for Saturday, which is only two days away. That means turnout will be small. But, in a way, the fact that we don’t have much time is an advantage—there’s less time for the school to find out, and less time for us to come to our senses and back out.
Flatso’s mom works for the mayor’s office, so she gets us a permit for the town green. Eggy knows a bunch of musicians, and a local band called Flying Squirrel says we can borrow their microphones and speakers. Zitsy’s dad gets some carpenter friends to volunteer to build us a stage. Tebow even persuades the local bakery to donate a bunch of cookies. What else do you need to do to organize a bunch of people to get together and scream? I mean, I could pretty much do that in my living room with zero planning whatsoever.
On Saturday, Tebow shows up about an hour before the Scream Out to pick me up. He seems a little nervous as we drive downtown in his dad’s old car, but I’m not. Even if it’s just the Freakshow, I’m ready to scream and eat cookies.
There’s a light dusting of snow on the ground, but the air is warm, which has made the day misty and gray. It softens the edges of the buildings and trees beyond the car window and makes me feel as if I’m drifting through a cloud.
The traffic slows as we near downtown, and Tebow frowns as we inch forward. “Something’s going on,” he says. “There are a ton of cars.”
I lean forward to peer through the window. “A concert, or something?” I ask. “This is going to mess up the rally.”
“We should’ve checked the town calendar.” He turns down a side street, but cars are parked on either side. We end up parking six blocks away and walking toward the town green. I feel the sun slanting in toward us, and I wonder if some of the mist will burn off and the snow will melt.
As we get closer, we notice a lot of familiar faces on foot. “Hey, man,” Tommy Marinachi says.