“Poor Tim,” Ellie says, pointing.
Like the others, Adleta’s covered in puke from the first one, two, or three barfings, but now, he has a hand over his mouth, his cheeks puffy as he tries to stop himself from spewing again. He turns his head—looking, looking, looking—his cheeks growing bigger, like a professional trumpet player—and then he begins staggering away from the team.
Right at Stranko and his dad.
And then I get it.
But it’s the coaches who really get it.
Stranko sees what’s coming and even puts up two hands, like that can stop the inevitable, but the fire hose stream of orange puke hits him square in face, filling his mouth and eyes. Then, like a sprinkler, Tim turns and pukes again, this time into his dad’s open mouth. Adleta drops to the floor, writhing around with his arms wrapped around his middle while Stranko and Mr. Adleta slough handfuls of vomit from their mouths.
“Did Tim…?” Ellie says.
“I think so,” I say.
“How?”
“I don’t know. But he did say he wanted something all his own.”
“Well, it looks like he got it.”
“I’m impressed,” Wheeler says.
“I’m nauseated,” Malone finishes.
Students continue rushing away from the toxic air of the gym and into the fresh air of the hall. Adleta’s still in the fetal position on the floor, but he’s turned away from his dad and Stranko and faces us as if he knew all along exactly where we were sitting. He’s far away, and his face is an orange-painted mess, but he gives us a look that is impossible to misinterpret.
It’s victory.
Chapter 13
In the two weeks following the pep rally pukeathon, three weird things happen.
The first occurs that night at the homecoming game, which, no surprise, we lose. I don’t have to be in the locker room to know the guys blame the loss on their mystery illness, a convenient excuse they can thank Adleta for. As for how Adleta pulled it off, he group texted us after school with the answer: ipecac.
If you don’t know, ipecac is syrup that causes you to throw up. Some girls have been known to drink it to simplify their eating disorders, so you have to be over eighteen to buy ipecac in a store. Online though, everyone is an adult with a few clicks of “Yes, I am over 18,” so it wasn’t hard for Adleta to get enough bottles to not only induce vomiting in twenty guys but also to speed up the process considerably.
In the packed nurse’s office, Stranko, Mrs. B, and Officer Hale interviewed the victims and dealt with angry parents, but beyond a lot of embarrassment and tired stomach muscles, everyone was fine. Not fine enough not to lose the homecoming game 49–6, but fine enough not to die.
But here’s the thing—the whole prank unnerved me. It’s not just that I can still smell the vomit as if microscopic, vile-smelling puke particles have permanently embedded themselves in my nostrils; it’s because, at its core, the prank was just plain mean.
Don’t get me wrong: Was the prank creative?
Yes.
Was anyone hurt?
Not really.
And did the prank do exactly what we wanted it to, which is make the Chaos Club look like assholes willing to injure people?
Yes.
So then why does Adleta’s prank make me uncomfortable?
Probably because when I think of the guys who were the victims…well, aren’t they feeling the same hatred and curl-up-and-die embarrassment I felt after the water tower? Is that something I really want to be responsible for? Is it possible to be Not Max without becoming heartless? I don’t know. Or maybe, just maybe, I’m being a baby about the whole thing.
Goddamn empathy.
Still, it isn’t my guilty conscience that’s the first weird thing that happens—it’s the theft of the school’s Zippy the Golden Eagle mascot costume.
According to the school newspaper’s website, Becca Yancey wore the costume during the homecoming game, flapping around like a dope as usual, then changed in the locker room before halftime so she could walk onto the field with the other popular kids/politicians-in-the-making who were nominated to homecoming court. When Becca went back to the locker room before the start of the third quarter, Zippy had flown the coop, as Mr. Watson might say. Becca’s impassioned plea during the morning announcements asking for Zippy’s return had me feeling so bad I considered initiating a Buy a New Zippy Kickstarter campaign, but one project a year is my limit.