Free Dawn of the Jed by Scott Craven Page B

open.
    “Ya think?” I pounded the locker with my left fist, not even making a dent. My right arm was probably laughing.
    “OK, sorry, I know how much this sucks,” Anna said as I felt her continue to rummage. “I’ve got duct tape, but no staple gun.”
    “You won’t find it because it’s not in there,” I said. “Principal Buckley sent us a letter over break. It had come to his attention I carried a weapon, and due to Pine Hollow’s zero-tolerance policy toward the packing of stapling heat, that gun would no longer be allowed on campus.”
    “That does that, then,” Anna said, zipping my backpack shut. “I’ll make sure to wrap the tape extra tight.”
    “That’s fine, except there is still the small detail that my arm is in there, and I am out here.” I pulled my left hand back but stopped in mid-slam, the futility settling in.
    “So how did you set off Robbie this time?”
    “The real question is, what the hell was Robbie doing here at seven fifteen? The guy is so unfamiliar with morning, he can’t even point to where the sun comes up, let alone that we call that direction ‘east.’”
    True story. Robbie arrived about five minutes after the first bell. It was as if he was the only student issued a hall pass on a permanent basis.
    I summed up the experience for Anna. I’d arrived early, just as we’d planned the night before. Maintenance had just opened the front gate, and as I walked into the quad—a spacious courtyard serving as the home of the Eighth Grade Lawn, named after the only students allowed to walk on its surface—I expected to be the day’s first arrival.
    But I was the second. Robbie leaned against the water fountain just inside the gate.
    Last semester, Robbie was never alone. He was always flanked by Ben and Joe, making for the Tiresome Trio. If Robbie was the CEO of Don’t Cross Me Enterprises, Ben and Joe were heads of the Whatever You Say, Robbie Division. But this semester, Ben and Joe weren’t as obvious. On a bully sabbatical, perhaps.
    I was pretty sure the football game had something to do with it. When it was over, Ben and Joe shook my hand without trying to pull it off. I will take begrudging respect anytime.
    Robbie, on the other hand (when I had another hand), still despised me. Some things never changed.
    I didn’t even know Robbie was at school until something tapped my chest. Looking down, I saw half a cigarette smoldering by my feet. I looked up, and there was Robbie, in my face. He was there so often I should’ve been charging him rent.
    It was the usual scintillating one-sided conversation. “How goes the deadness today? Love the scent, is that Eau de Autopsy? Loosen up Jed, you look a little stiff.”
    Blah blah blah. The usual script had Robbie tossing me over his shoulder and dumping me in the next available trash can. Then he ad-libbed. He put out his hand.
    “You know, just because I’m the bully and you are the bully-ee doesn’t mean we can’t get along.”
    Too tired to do anything but go along, I watched as my hand was swallowed by Robbie’s, felt a quick shake before the yank that nearly threw me to the ground.
    Crap.
    “My arm?” I said. “Really? That’s what this has come to now?”
    Robbie held my right arm, sheared at the shoulder. I knew what he was going to say, mouthing the words as he spoke them.
    “You should know better than to be unarmed.”
    He turned and entered A Hall, the door clicking behind him. I could have followed. Instead, I pictured the way it would normally turn out. I would plead, and having no effect, I would finally decide to stand up against him. By that time, of course, I was already upside-down in a trash can, or stuffed into a display case, or tossed into the Dumpster behind the cafetorium, ears ringing from the clang of the lid slamming down.
    Instead, I waited. In a few minutes, Robbie returned. Inches from my face, he said softly, “Locker 249. Have a nice day.”
    “With that, he walked across the