“It was, yeah, but come on. You know what I’m talking about.”
Wheeler puts down his pencil and digs into his backpack. Shockingly, there are other textbooks in there. And folders. Honest-to-God folders. From one of them, he pulls a sheet of paper and hands it to me. It’s his school transcript, filled with line after line of Ds and Fs for both freshman and sophomore year. By the time he graduates, projected to be by his thirtieth birthday, Wheeler’s transcript will be a meme used to scare children into studying harder.
“Do you see it?” Wheeler asks.
I don’t.
“Look at my class rank.”
At the bottom of the page in the class-rank box, 508/509 is printed.
“Who’s dead last?” I ask.
“Joe Vogelsang.”
Ah, him. A year ago, Joe drank an entire bottle of Crown Royal when his parents were out of town, then took their car for a joyride. One ignored red light and two paralyzed people later, Joe’s now awaiting trial.
“I can’t beat him,” Wheeler says. “He’s still a student here and not doing any of his work, so I can’t beat him for the lowest rank. At least until he’s convicted and officially removed from the school roster.”
“I still don’t get it.”
“Number two’s good enough for me, man,” Wheeler says. “I proved I can be the worst—at least the worst of the nonfelons—so now it’s time for the dramatic turnaround. Let’s see how good at this I can be. Who knows, maybe my brothers were onto something with the whole studying thing. Besides, you heard Malone the other day. Imagine what I could do if I really tried. None of this is that hard. I just have to do it. And seriously, who wants to end up living in a stupid barn like your uncle? I mean, yeah, he has money and stuff, but the guy’s pretty much a loser. No offense.”
I give him a none taken wave of the hand. “So you’re now Nerdy Wheeler?”
“Instead of Screwup Wheeler, yeah. Why not try something new, right? But, man, let me tell you, it sucks. I have all these credits to make up, and I’m in guidance all of third period now doing courses online, and I have permission to be here working during lunch, but it’s so much, dude. The good news is my mom’s so thrilled that she says if I pass all my classes this semester, she’ll help me get a new car.”
“And get rid of the Wheelermobile?”
“All things must come to an end, dude. Besides, if I pull this off, I’m a shoo-in for Most Changed in the yearbook next year.”
If ever there was an I’ll believe it when I see it moment, this is it. But I don’t tell Wheeler that. Mostly I’m impressed. It’s sort of what I’m doing with Not Max. So, I say, good for us.
Well, good for us until Stranko walks into the media center. He comes through the doors and gives the room a quick once-over. When he sees us, his head jerks to a stop, then he comes our way. Not that I blame him. Wheeler, even Nerdy Wheeler, unsupervised anywhere is definitely cause for concern.
“What’s going on here?” Stranko asks.
“Just getting my homework done,” Wheeler says.
“Homework? Right.”
“No, seriously. Look.”
Wheeler pushes his book and a page of algebra problems toward Stranko, who smirks as he looks it over.
“Good luck with that. At this point, you’d have better luck putting out a house fire with a cup of water.”
“Thank you for your support, sir.”
Stranko scowls, which only grows in intensity when he notices Wheeler’s beaver shirt.
“And would you care to explain your shirt to me?”
“This?” Wheeler says, pointing to the woman. “Well, as far as I can tell, the family owns a petting zoo or maybe they live in the woods, I don’t know, but for some reason, her husband wants the beaver shaved. Maybe it has fleas or something.”
Stranko’s eyes go full-on coin slot.
“Is that right?”
“Well, sure,” Wheeler says. “Why? Do you have a different interpretation?”
Stranko’s lip twitches.
“You need to turn that shirt inside out,” he says. “Then I never want to see it in the school again. Do we understand each other?”
“Absolutely, sir. Thank you for your continued concern about my well-being and education.”
Wheeler sits there, staring up at Stranko, who’s not moving.
“I said turn the shirt inside out,” Stranko says.
“You mean right here? Now?”
“That’s what I said.”
Wheeler shrugs, then mouths perv at me as he stands up. He takes his shirt off, deliberately fumbling with it longer than he has to before turning it inside out. When he finally gets the shirt back on, he gives Stranko a Happy? look.
“Never again,” Stranko says, then leaves without responding.
“Jerk,” I say.
“Who cares? He’ll get his.”
“Wait, are you saying the New Studious Wheeler didn’t completely kill off Old Devious Wheeler?”
“Dude, this is just an upgrade, not a brand-new install. The old me isn’t going anywhere.”
Which is a scary thought indeed.