The worst thing about school the next day isn’t how the school newspaper website headline reads The Water Tower 5.
Or the photoshopped picture of the five of us in prison-orange jumpsuits accompanying the story.
Or the constant calls of “Water Tower Five!” in the halls.
Or how someone Sharpied it on my locker.
No, the worst part is that I respond to it by hiding my ass in the theater. Before school, between periods, during lunch, I sit in the dark theater, embarrassed, worrying that a group of students will come in and stand in a circle around me, mocking my very existence and stupidity.
Can you say delusions of grandeur?
And believe me, I know how pathetic I sound. Not Max would punch Just Max in the groin for behaving this way. Less than eight hours ago, I was full of gung ho confidence, ready to destroy my enemies single-handedly. Now I’m considering faking a stomachache so I can go home early. But I can’t help it. I didn’t think there was anything worse than being a nobody, but it turns out I was wrong. Being thought of as an idiot is way worse. Add that to the shame I feel for being a coward, for disappearing instead of walking the halls with a screw you swagger like any one of my movie heroes would do, and my descent into loserdom is complete.
Coming a close second in the Worst Thing about School the Next Day list is the perp walk Warden Stranko forces us to do from his office to the water tower after school. He marches us through a corridor of students in the parking lot, everyone laughing and pointing at us in the safety helmets we’re forced to wear. Like an inmate entering the prison population, I keep my head down as I walk and ignore the ridicule. It’s not easy though, especially with the entire lacrosse team waiting for us at the tower. As we get close, Geoff Varelman, the senior captain, says to the others, “Any of you guys smell piss? Because I smell piss. It reeks of piss.”
Clearly, Varelman has a bright future as a prison yard storyteller.
At the base of the tower, Stranko orders us to step into crotch-strangling harnesses with ropes and clips around the waist.
“Latch on when you get up top,” he says. “We don’t need a lawsuit if you fall to your death.”
“That’s very caring of you, sir. Thank you,” Wheeler says.
“Just get your butts up there.”
We climb the tower in the same order we did less than twenty-four hours earlier. This time though, it’s not excitement I feel but constant humiliation. The student mob has followed us from the parking lot to the tower, chanting “Water Tower Five!” the entire way.
“This sucks,” Wheeler says.
“You certainly have a way with words,” Malone says.
“And you certainly have a way with photography.”
“Enjoy this climb, Wheeler, because I’m throwing you off the tower as soon as we get to the top.”
But once we’re on the platform overlooking the parking lot, Malone doesn’t send Wheeler to his death, at least not right away. We’re all too busy looking down at the growing crowd of students pointing up at us and filming us with their phones. I can’t help but wonder if the Chaos Club is down there too, mixed in with the others, admiring their accomplishment. If they are, there’s no way of knowing it. What I do know is that the audience below is made up of a who’s who of personal tormentors.
Stranko and his lacrosse team for Adleta.
Tami Cantor for me.
The tsk-tsking youth groupers from Ellie’s church.
And Libby Heckman for Malone.
If I haven’t mentioned her earlier, Libby’s one of Malone’s former friends and, like Kate, one of the best artists in the school. More importantly though, she’s the reason every boy in this school has a picture of Malone half-naked. Last spring, Malone made the epic mistake of sending a topless picture of herself to a junior named Troy Huff, Libby’s ex-boyfriend. When the inevitable let’s give this relationship sent from the heavens a ninth chance occurred two days later between Libby and Troy, the picture of Malone wearing only an open robe appeared on everyone’s phone. Libby wasn’t exactly secretive about being the sender. And if you must know, yes, I’ve looked at that picture. Okay, more than a thousand times. It’s not something I’m proud of.
The only one of us without a ridiculer below is Wheeler. It’s not that he doesn’t have enemies. Far from it. It’s just that they’re all afraid he’ll recruit a ninja from H8box to fly around the world to lop their heads off.
“I guess we should get started,” Ellie says, picking out a brush from the bag lying on the catwalk. Beside the bag is a single can of blue paint we’re supposed to use to cover the “Assville High School—Home of the Golden Showers” message.