Free I am a Genius of Unspeakable Evil and I Want to be Your Class by Josh Lieb Page A

with my classmates. They’ve been giving me weird looks all morning. Not mean looks, just weird . Any looks are weird, of course, since normally they don’t notice me at all. But these looks are especially weird. Sad, almost. And they’re whispering to each other even more than usual.
     
    I didn’t pay much attention to this at first. After all, if you’re the only human at the zoo, you don’t really care when the monkeys start throwing poo at each other.
     
    But I have just bumped into Liz Twombley in the hallway (normally a pleasant experience) and, to my amazement, I see real tears welling up in her china blue eyes.
     
    “Did I hurtcha, Liz?” I mumble.
     
    “Oh, Oliver!” she gasps, all heaves and suppressed emotion. She throws a hand over those previously mentioned china blues and rushes into the ladies room.

    PLATE 10: Pammy Quattlebaum has left a poem on my seat.
    Something is definitely going on.
     
    I step cautiously into English class. The room is a beehive of buzzing whispers that silences the second I walk in. Everyone is staring at me, but they all look away as soon as I look back at them. All except for Tatiana. She lowers her expensive pink sunglasses 56 and gives me a long slow wink, then resumes writing VOTE4 TUBBY on the wall with a felt-tip marker.
     
    The mystery deepens when I reach my desk and see that Pammy Quattlebaum has left a poem on my seat ( see plate 10 ).
     
    TO A STUDENT DYING YOUNG
     
    By P.E. Quattlebaum
     
    That time your chair collapsed in class
We helped pick up your toppled mass
You’d landed on some wood and screws
We hoped it would not leave a bruise.
     
    A mere bruise now would be as sweet
As the jam you smear on your luncheon meat—
    There’s more, much more, but that’s all I can stand to read right now. I look up at her with annoyance and confusion (and, I’m afraid, some intelligence) plainly on my face, only to find her looking right back at me. Her ridiculous cow eyes are full to the brim with sympathy.
     
    I scan the room. Everyone’s ridiculous eyes are full to the brim with sympathy. Only Tatiana seems normal (for her). She clutches her scrawny belly gleefully, like it’s about to crack open with laughter.
     
    Moorhead enters, but he doesn’t leave the doorway. “Pammy, can you lead everyone in a discussion of the symbolic meaning of television in Fahrenheit 451 ?”
     
    “Of course, Mr. Moorhead.”
     
    Moorhead turns a sickly yellow-toothed smile in my direction. “Oliver, I’d like to see you in the hallway for a minute.”
     
    All eyes are on me as I follow him out. Moorhead closes the door behind us, and we are alone in the deserted hallway. This close to him, I notice he doesn’t smell quite as noxious as usual. He’s taken my advice about the deodorant.
     
    “Oliver, I have to say, I was as surprised as anyone when you decided to run for president.”
     
    I look back at him with genuine puzzlement.
     
    “But now . . . well . . . in light of what we’ve all heard . . . and you should know, your secret is out . . . well, it makes a lot more sense.”
     
    To him, maybe.
     
    “Just know that we’re all rooting for you. And not just in the election. Every day you hear about another medical miracle, some new treatment. . . .”
     
    And suddenly the answer washes over me like a tidal wave of rainbow sherbet.
     
    They think I’m dying.
     
    “They have wonder drugs these days that were unthinkable when I was your—”
     
    These idiots think I’m dying! And they think I’m running for president as some sort of last-ditch make-a-wish plan to get the most out of life. It all makes sense now—it’s the only way their puny brains could fathom my decision to run. 57
     
    “But you’ve got to stay upbeat. Optimistic. That’s the most important thing you can do.”
     
    I display my teeth like two lines of sticky pearls. “My Daddy says I’m very brave.”
     
    “I’m sure he does,” says Moorhead as he rests his